Free Doctor Gavrilov by Maggie Hamand

not have any alcohol to drink.
    Hattab went to a tray of drinks on the table top; Dmitry shook his head. He said, ‘No, thank you… look, let’s not waste time, let’s get to the point…’
    The second, older man nodded, and began his obviously rehearsed preamble. ‘My government finds itself in a very difficult situation. We have, as I’m sure you know, this excellent nuclear research centre at Tajura, which your country assisted us to build. We have a research reactor which uses 80 per cent enriched uranium… but because of the uncertainty in the present situation we are not sure that we will be able to guarantee the continuation of fuel supplies for the reactor and so on, which at present we get in a turnkey arrangement with the Kurchatov Institute. The way the West is behaving towards us at the moment we are very anxious to be self-sufficient in this and other areas, such as uranium enrichment technology.’
    â€˜You want me to design gas centrifuges for you.’
    This directness was too much for them; they laughed nervously. The senior one gestured again for Dmitry to sit down; some coffee was brought on a tray. Dmitry took a cup and sat on the edge of one of the chairs; his host sat down opposite him. He said, ‘I can see that you are keen to talk business… Well, why not. It is best that we understand one another. I am told this is your area of expertise.’
    â€˜Indeed.’ Dmitry gulped down his coffee and placed the cup rather delicately on the edge of the table. He said, ‘Tajura is regularly inspected by the International Atomic Energy Agency. Let me try to be absolutely clear what you are suggesting… would this initiative be reported to the IAEA or not?’
    Instantly the Libyan became vague. ‘Well, of course this would not be my decision… I can’t say. But, I would imagine that, at this very early stage, this would not be considered necessary.’
    They looked at Dmitry, waiting for his reaction. Dmitry did not react. He looked as if he was thinking, although in reality he couldn’t think at all; he was mesmerised by the predictable awfulness of this conversation. He stared at the coffee table and his empty cup. The Libyan leaned forward and began again. ‘You are concerned, of course, that your expertise will be used not for peaceful but for military reasons. I can only reassure you that is not our intention, Dr Gavrilov. We wish be able to continue our legitimate and peaceful nuclear researches without the intervention of hostile powers.’
    Dmitry suddenly became impatient; he made a gesture with his hand as if to brush away all such distasteful matters. ‘Yes, yes, of course; there is no need for us to waste our time discussing this sort of thing… I am sure we understand one another completely.’
    He saw the men exchange glances. He knew what they were thinking, what their glances meant; we’ve got him, he’s going to go along with us. Dmitry felt hot, confused, he had to loosen his tie which threatened to choke him. He felt that he was playing a part, but that the part came only too easily to him; he took a deep breath and plunged on.
    â€˜Look, if you want information on gas centrifuges, I can provide it. But that will only be the beginning of your problems. First you will have to import parts and all of these, as you know, are on the IAEA trigger list. The intelligence agencies are much more shrewd about this sort of thing these days…’
    â€˜But this is not your end of the business, Dr Gavrilov. This would be for us to solve.’
    â€˜Most certainly. Of course, you are most likely not to succeed and then this would become my problem… because then I would not be able to continue with my researches and… well, possibly I would not get paid.’
    He saw the Libyans look at one another again. He wondered if he was laying this on a bit thick. Perhaps wanting money alone