The Manganese Dilemma

by Ian Miller

  To Justin's surprise, the man looked philosophical, and they parted on reasonable terms.

  Since it was nearly midday, Justin decided to go back to the nearest town for lunch. He parked and found a pleasant place with outside tables. The view was less than exciting, with the road in the foreground, but the air was clean and crisp, and the sun was shining. It felt quite warm at the table he chose, which was quite sheltered, and when his order turned up, he felt life was well worth living. Whether Goldfinch got the land remained to be seen, but he suspected any commission he had hoped for had gone. It appeared that third person had scored a reasonable fraction of the land. He had no idea who this third person was, but then again, he did not care. He had been asked not to buy and he had not bought. Life was good, and he would bask in this sunshine for a little longer before going home.

  * * *

  "I'm not sure whether I succeeded or not," Justin explained to Rutherford, when he met again to hand over the keys to the beemer. "I did not buy, but there was a third person out there, and he got there sooner."

  "The early bird, eh?" Rutherford said.

  "Yes, well you said you wanted me to raise the price but not buy, so I thought –"

  "That's all right. I don't suppose you found out anything about him, or her?"

  "Definitely a him. I saw him."

  Justin explained how he had seen Middleton, and how he had photographed him as he drove back towards civilization, and how he had played the same trick on the second person, but without success. "I got a long distance photograph, but I doubt it's of much use, and the man drove the other way, although why I don't know, unless . . ."

  "I think you've worked it out," Rutherford said with a laugh, and he patted Justin on the shoulder. "He saw a car pull up, then back away. He wouldn't know exactly what was going on, but why take the risk? If you wanted details on him, you'd have to follow, and he would know you were on to him. You didn't follow?"

  "No, I didn't think it was important enough. I'm sorry if you –"

  "Don't be. You were right. We don't need to get involved in whatever is going on there. My objective was to irritate Goldfinch, and get him to lose some money. The last thing we need is to get involved in some other stoush for no benefit. If he wants to irritate Goldfinch, either consciously or not, let him get on with it."

  "That's what I thought at the time," Justin admitted.

  "Then you thought right. Maybe you've got a feel for this sort of thing."

  Justin had no idea what to make of this, so he said nothing.

  Rutherford was unsure what to take from Justin's silence and facial expression, so he decided to change the subject. "So what did you think of the site?"

  "It looked awfully like a lot of other sites," Justin explained. "I don't know what this development is about, but my guess is that if someone thought this place was too expensive, there are plenty of alternatives, and there's one more thing." He paused, because this would seem to question Rutherford.

  "Yes? Go on. I won't bite."

  "Well, it strikes me as odd to fix a place for a development without having the land tied up, at least provisionally."

  "My information says that's what's happened, though," Rutherford said with a shrug.

  "But is it?"

  "What're you getting at?"

  "Supposing someone suspected his organization had a security leak? Suppose they generated this to see what would happen?"

  Rutherford seemed a little stunned for a moment, then said, "That's an interesting point. Since we haven't bought any land, it'll be interesting to see what happens next. Right, here's your payment for two days work –"

  "It was really only one day," Justin reminded him.

  "We'll call it two days, so why don't we go and have another meal, unless you have something more pressing?"

  "I have nothing more pressing," Justin smiled, as he pocketed the envelope.

  "Excellent. No more business tonight. Just eat and enjoy yourself, while we get to know each other a little better."

  * * *

  Middleton closed the door to Goldfinch's office and stared at the impassive face behind the rather oversized desk. If Goldfinch was not a happy man now, he thought, this news was hardly going to improve things. He edged towards the desk. The spare chairs had been removed today, so he had to stand. Goldfinch looked up at him, with a touch of irritation, as if to say, "Well, get on with it."

  "We had competition," Middleton finally said. Reporting to Goldfinch that he had not exactly carried out instructions was not one of the more desirable things to do, so he felt he should feed the bad news in as indirectly as possible.

  "And?"

  "Well, I have a provisional contract on one of the sites, but –"

  "Provisional on what?"

  "On getting three other sites," Middleton said, "and I lost out on two of them, so I can back out if you wish."

  "That's sensible," Goldfinch nodded, and Middleton gave a slight breath of relief. "Do we know who beat you to it?"

  "I don't know for sure, but I've got a fair idea."

  "Who?"

  "Justin Lamont. I saw him sitting outside having lunch out there, and the obvious reason for going that far on a work day would be to buy land."

  "I suppose there are other possibilities," Goldfinch said, "but yes, I tend to agree."

  "There's more. You recall I've had someone watching Lamont and Ellison? Well, they left work an hour earlier than usual with another man who seems to be there to keep an eye on them. Unfortunately, they evaded my watchers, but –"

  "But you think someone is backing them, and sent Lamont off for the land?"

  "Yes."

  "You're probably right," Goldfinch said. "Lamont would be acting on orders."

  "So, do we buy those two?"

  "No. Let Lamont have the lot."

  "You're going to let him succeed?" Middleton was puzzled.

  "Nope. You'll notice there is a stream running through that land. What you may not know is there is an endangered species of snail there. I'll file objections, and persuade the authorities to block the development there on environmental grounds. There're plenty of alternative sites."

  "If there're endangered species, why did we want it in the first place?"

  "I have no idea whether there are or not," Goldfinch said with a laugh, "but if I let it be known there's an environmental group getting ready to protest, the developer will take the easy way out and go somewhere else."

  "That's cunning," Middleton said. "That'll fix Lamont."

  "Yes, it will won't it?" Goldfinch gave an inward smile. Someone had apparently saved Lamont from his first disaster, but that someone would tire of saving him sooner or later. Time to get some rumours going. What Middleton did not know was that this exercise had really been carried out to keep a source of information happy, and to do something for the next quarter's balance sheet, but Goldfinch had never felt deeply committed to it. In the first place, it was really too small. It was one of those so-called opportunities that would tie up too much of his time for insufficient return.

  The virtue of this rumour was that it could go back through his source to the developer, and the developer would go somewhere else. He would also be grateful to his source, and if he spread the word, the source would become far more useful. This would cost nothing, but it would screw Lamont. That was an outcome worth devoting time to achieve.

  The other benefit was it might flush out this other man who was helping Lamont.

  Chapter 15

  Doctor Bazina had given some thought to what she should do, and in the end she put in a request for funding for a project she had always wanted to do, but additionally, she attached a joint request on behalf of the Institute for the latest biggest magnetic resonance spectrometer with a raft of extras. There would be no way any funding agency would approve this, but on the other hand, if they approved a reasonable amount of it . . . Stop! She was dreaming. Now the envelope containing the reply was in front of her.
This, she thought, would at least show that FSB Colonel that he was hardly omnipotent. She tore the envelope open, and pulled out the documentation.

  To her sheer surprise, the application was granted in full. This was the first time in living memory that anyone at the Institute had received what they asked for, without something being chiselled off. She must quickly share her news, especially with the other scientists who joined in the application for the spectrometer. Her story that manganese had only one stable isotope must have had an effect. Why nobody had questioned the usefulness of such a machine for a nucleus with a 5/2 spin surprised her, but she was not going to question the decision.

  When she went for lunch, she was loudly applauded, and she felt quite embarrassed. Suddenly, everyone wanted to know her. This seemed to be silly, from her point of view, but she remembered a note that Maslov had attached to the notification: "Enjoy your fame". Yes, she had to do some good chemistry, but that was what she was good at. That part did not worry her at all. What did worry her was what would happen if the people who Maslov was after failed to turn up. When she had raised this possibility, Maslov merely laughed.

  "If nobody turns up to spy, then look at it this way: you have at least scored a funding success. I'm the one who gets embarrassed if I've got this all wrong."

  "You don't look very worried," she said. She meant it. He looked so confident that nothing could go wrong.

  "I'm not," he assured her. "First, I suspect someone will turn up, and the only time I'm in trouble is if I miss them and they get what they want. As for other scenarios, well the FSB Director ordered this operation, so he won't be making a big fuss of nothing happening. He also ordered your funding, and not very many people are going to argue with him on that."

  Doctor Bazina understood. There were not very many people who would whine about the Director of the FSB.

  * * *

  Doctor Bazina was about to go home, but first, as she approached her office, she needed to make a call. She took out her cell phone and was about to dial when she noticed her office door was not properly closed. She was sure she had locked it before she had gone down to the lab. She carefully approached the door, and yes, there was a light on inside. She prepared her cell phone, and opened the door. There was someone she had never seen before prying open her filing cabinet.

  "What do you think . . ." She suddenly realised that this man was somewhat bigger than her, and he began to move towards her. She took a quick photo with her cell phone, and turned and ran in the direction that was easiest for her, which was the opposite from going back towards the lab.

  She glanced back. The man, carrying a file, burst out of the office and began chasing her. Her shoes were not quite right for running, and he was catching her.

  Just then, two students came around a corner, while another man appeared from the other direction. This new arrival yelled out something and drew a pistol. The man chasing her decided to abandon the chase, and disappeared down a stairwell. The man with the gun followed down the stairwell, but seemingly failed to catch up with the quarry.

  Doctor Bazina decided it was time to phone Maslov.

  "Fortunately, nothing bad happened," Maslov tried to calm her. "The photo you took of the man is a real help."

  "I notice he took a file."

  "Yes," Maslov beamed. "One of the two I put in there, so he bit."

  "That's good?"

  "Yes. The information is quite cryptic, and raises more questions than answers, but it also gives suggestions where the answers are, and you will be pleased to know it's not here."

  "A trap?"

  "Indeed. The need for you to be able to go about your normal work made it difficult to set a trap here."

  "And what about that man with the gun?"

  "One of my men," Maslov said. "He was there to protect you, but also to be unobtrusive. Had you run the other way, where you had come from, it would have been a lot easier, but you weren't to know that."

  "You should have told me," she muttered.

  "Yes, but then we would have to test your acting ability. I believe it would have been too difficult for you."

  "So, did you catch your spy?"

  "Nope," Maslov said with a grin.

  "So it was a waste of time?"

  "Oh no. We know who he is now, and we deliberately let him go. We want to follow him, so don't you worry."

  "He might come back and –"

  "If he looks like he is coming anywhere near you again, he will soon be in a really unpleasant cell, that I promise. Now, you have had your bit of excitement. I doubt you will be troubled again, but if another contact appears, keep to the script."

  "I can do that," she said with a smile, as she got up to leave.

  Maslov watched her leave. He felt a little guilty about the way he was using her, but there were few alternatives. At least she was getting something she valued from the exercise; academic research money was always hotly contested, but an instruction from the head of the FSB did wonders for someone's chances.

  * * *

  For what might be the first time in her life, Ruth Telfar had no idea what to do next. The agent she had sent from Samara had never been in Ufa before, so would not have been recognised, but equally, he did not know his way around. His objective was to enter Bazina's office and check her filing cabinet. The problem was, he had no knowledge of chemistry, so he could have missed all sorts of things. He should have left it until evening; his counter was the place got securely locked with sophisticated alarms and he had no idea how to disable them. She had to admit he had a point there.

  He had been interrupted, but he had escaped, and he assured her he had not been followed or questioned. He was home free. She was less convinced. He had admitted this Bazina woman had a mobile phone in her hand, and that strongly suggested she could have taken a photograph. If the FSB identified him from a photo, anyone he contacted would be in danger. This man had to go to ground until this blew over, or maybe get out of the country.

  He had stolen a file. Actually, it appeared to be part of a file, because while the front page was clearly the start, three pages later it stopped, mid-sentence, and it was fairly clear more was to follow. The return address was a roadside address, and when her agent in Ufa had checked this out, it was a simple delivery box for letters, except it was unlike any usual box. It was set in a massive amount of concrete, and the box part appeared to be constructed from rather heavy steel. The agent mentioned that it was difficult to be sure, because she could hardly get out of the car and study the box. Whatever it was for, there was a track leading from the road going beside this box and into the woodland. Whatever was there was a long way back in. The track was fairly heavily rutted, as if some heavy vehicles had used it shortly after rain. She apologised, but she did not think it was safe to go further. Telfar acknowledged she would be right, as far as she was concerned.

  The next question was, what did the three pages they have tell? Each page was stamped "Top Security", which was why her agent had taken it. Half of the first page was simply complimenting Doctor Bazina on her skilful syntheses. There followed a large table of results, but they were written rather strangely. She, Telfar, had had this sent to her chemist, and the result was frustrating. The XYZ in the formulae apparently simply meant three functional groups or three structural elements, the identity of which would be known to those doing the work. In short this was merely a shorthand for what everyone knew, and it would be peculiar to their project. There were a lot of Rs, with differing numbers on them, and her chemist had explained that was conventional in chemistry for a range of substituents, which would be identified on another piece of paper. They did not have the piece of paper.

  The table listed the results of some specific test, seemingly as a per centage, and apparently a higher number was better because two had quite high numbers and were accompanied by exclamation marks. The document ended with a request to improve the synthesis of the highest scoring compound. There was effectively a plea. At p
resent this compound was essential to the motherland, but the current synthetic method was unusable in bulk. On scaling, the solution went . . . One needed page five to find out what to or where it went.

  This letter was two years old, so it was possible that Doctor Bazina had solved that problem. Or not. However, it took little imagination from the comment, "this compound was essential to the motherland" and it was in the filing cabinet of a manganese chemist, that this compound and the "Mndown" were connected. It also meant that place out in the woods needed inspection. The problem was, how to do it? This really should involve a physical inspection, but this was a rather unusual problem. Just supposing an agent succeeded in getting in and out, would the agent recognize anything important once in there? Samples could be stolen, but according to that sheet of paper, most of the samples tested did not work particularly well, and what she had was a list of about one hundred and eighty failures and two successes. Samples just lying around would probably be the rejects, or the good stuff used that day and not put away, but how could the agent tell?

  Maybe the first attempt should be to see if that place in the woods could be hacked. Yes, she would pass the problem over. That would buy her agents some time, and maybe an extra week or so of life, for if that place were top secret, people attempting unauthorised entry may well be shot on sight.

  * * *

  Rutherford was also uncertain as to what he should do next. His previous attempt at an attack on Goldfinch seemed to have ended up a draw. Neither won, neither lost. He had inside information that Goldfinch was launching a private campaign to get the site changed, presumably to hurt him, or Lamont and Ellison. That would not work because they had bought nothing, but that opportunity to hinder Goldfinch had been taken off the table. Goldfinch would have to avoid a purchase elsewhere because he would be accused of having a conflict of interest. Conflicts of interest had never held back Goldfinch before, but this time it would be publicly known. Goldfinch's best strategy would be to try and help the developer get the best deal, and he should only take either fees or a commission, and there was not much he, Rutherford, could do about that, short of finding out what Goldfinch's suggestion was and sabotaging that some way. But that would be very counterproductive and could get him into a lawsuit that he did not need, or worse, blacken his name throughout the market. Nobody would mind his spat with Goldfinch, but hurting a developer instead with a misdirected shot would not go down at all well.