Bomb Grade by Brian Freemantle

talk about tomorrow.’
    How much would there be of what she wanted to hear, wondered Natalia.
    â€˜A confirmed $100,000,000!’ queried a staggered Frolov.
    â€˜Deposits already lodged, from every purchaser,’ confirmed the Dolgoprudnaya boss of bosses.
    â€˜And there’s no problem at the plant?’
    â€˜They’re terrified. Doing exactly what they’re told, when they’re told, how they’re told.’
    There was a movement from Sobelov, the look for acquiescence before the man stood. Unasked, he poured drinks and put them before everyone and then raised his own glass. ‘I think Stanislav Georgevich is to be congratulated,’ toasted the man. ‘I have questioned this because I doubted it could work. I no longer have any doubts. So I apologize and pledge my full support.’
    Everyone drank and Silin briefly lowered his head in appreciation. If the bastard thought that was going to save him he was an even bigger fool than he’d so far shown himself to be.

chapter 8
    C harlie, who was not normally given to such impressions, thought Aleksai Popov was probably one of the most dramatic-looking men he’d ever met. The person who strode across the high-ceilinged baroque office of the Interior Ministry to meet him was tall, well over six feet, model-immaculate in a dove-grey suit accentuating the slope from broad shoulders to blade-thin waist. The height and the obvious athleticism and the autocratic way the man held himself would have been sufficient to make him outstanding in most surroundings, but it was his facial appearance that was most striking. Popov’s deeply black hair ran into a very full but whisker-trim beard, fashioned into a definitive wedge, creating a startling similarity with all the photographs Charlie had ever seen of the last Tsar. The handshake was firm without being bone-crushing, the cologne subdued, and Charlie thought it was probably difficult for Popov to walk down a street without being tripped up by women eager to fall underneath him.
    The simmering samovar was a nice traditional touch, although Charlie guessed the clear liquid in the close-by decanter to be alternative-choice vodka, and the chairs arranged without an intervening desk showed forethought, as well. Charlie was tempted, but he was enjoying the impression-making routine so he chose tea. Popov took vodka.
    It was Popov who suggested they use English (‘there will be many other meetings; we can alternate, each to practise upon the other’) and they moved smoothly through the friends-and-colleagues preliminaries.
    â€˜The West is clearly becoming impatient,’ suggested Popov, concentrating Charlie’s full attention.
    â€˜Concerned,’ qualified Charlie, diplomatically. ‘The enormous problems you face aren’t yours alone: they’re international.’
    â€˜I’d like to think that was completely true,’ said Popov. ‘Our greatest problem is being judged by the efficiency and expertise of American and English law enforcement. And we don’t have either.’
    Charlie wasn’t sure America or England had it, either. Or that misjudgment was Russia’s greatest problem. ‘Every reason, then, for us to cooperate as closely as possible.’
    â€˜The system has worked well with America. Your additional help will be appreciated.’
    Charlie discerned the danger of the earlier cliché ping-pong. Despite Popov’s indication of easy access, Charlie wasn’t sure how easy it would really be to meet the Russian with any regularity and didn’t intend wasting this or any other chance. ‘ Has the system worked well?’
    â€˜Isn’t it the opinion of London, and perhaps Washington as well, that it has? Or is doing?’
    Jumpy, thought Charlie, recognizing yet again the sort of opening that had been falling at his feet ever since he’d stepped off the plane. ‘I know from meeting the Americans