Bomb Grade by Brian Freemantle Page B

quickly. With whom, and how, should I liaise in the future?’
    Popov appeared surprised. ‘With me, of course!’
    Charlie was surprised. For him to have been received by the colonel in operational charge of the specific Interior Ministry division was an act of extreme courtesy; for the man to put himself forward as the day-to-day contact was the most positive proof of how concerned the Russians were about nuclear banditry. ‘That would ensure the fastest possible reaction to what either has to tell the other.’
    â€˜Which is surely the first essential?’ suggested Popov.
    â€˜Absolutely.’ Would Kestler have reached the same understanding?
    â€˜This has been an extremely useful and fruitful first meeting.’
    Back to verbal ping-pong, accepted Charlie. To attempt anything further would be trying too hard too soon. ‘I hope so. Leading, I hope, to greater involvement.’
    â€˜It will be discussed,’ promised Popov. ‘We’ll talk soon.’ Again, the earlier inexplicable smile wisped across the Russian’s face.
    â€˜I’ll call you,’ suggested Charlie.
    â€˜No,’ refused Popov. ‘I’ll call you.’
    Working upon the well-established bureaucratic principle that bullshit baffled brains and that paperwork was the mile-high bullshit of bureaucracy, it took Charlie a long time setting out everything in his first report to London, reflecting as he did so that a lot of it wasn’t even bullshit.
    â€˜I totally disagree with your interpretation of the meeting with Colonel Scott,’ protested Bowyer, after it had all been transmitted.
    â€˜You’re not in any way linked to the opinion,’ Charlie pointed out. ‘It’s all down to me.’
    â€˜It reflects upon the embassy!’
    Charlie guessed the station chief could hardly wait to scuttle along the corridor to Saxon. He’d have to devise some way of communicating with London without Bowyer having access to the traffic. ‘I’m doing my job. It doesn’t reflect upon the embassy at all.’
    â€˜Do you believe the Americans share what they get from outside?’
    â€˜They told me they did. That’s why they’re pissed off, getting nothing in return.’
    There was a slight frown at what Bowyer considered an obscenity. ‘You really think there’s the slightest chance of your being included at the tail-end of a genuine investigation?’
    â€˜No,’ admitted Charlie, honestly. ‘But there wasn’t any harm in trying, was there?’
    â€˜So it’s not as good as it looks on paper … rather a lot of paper?’
    Fuck you, thought Charlie. ‘Why don’t we wait and see?’
    It was an empty response but Bowyer wouldn’t know that. Would the sneaky bastard risk a direct intervention to London or leave it to Saxon?
    Back at the Interior Ministry Aleksai Popov was coming to the end of his detailed account of his meeting with Charlie Muffin. ‘An unusual person. Certainly much cleverer than the American but then he’s much older …’ A man so obviously sartorially aware, Popov paused. ‘… Personally quite smart but with the strangest shoes.’
    Natalia didn’t need to be told what Charlie had looked like.
    She’d watched unseen from the corridor recess no longer containing the Lenin bust just outside her office door as Charlie had been escorted to Popov’s door. Although it was obviously Charlie, the crispness of the suit had surprised her, because he’d never dressed like that when she’d known him. But she’d recognized at once the puddled shoes and the eyes-missing-nothing head movement, actually jerking further into the recess in momentary fear he’d see her.
    It hadn’t been at all like she’d expected. There’d been the stomach lurch, the hollowness, and the slight tingling at the unreality of it all. But it hadn’t been as bad