The Manganese Dilemma

by Ian Miller

  For some time, Jason was to wonder whether he should have asked for more.

  Jason was surprised at how quickly things moved. He did not have a passport. He did the next day. When he told Burrowes about the flaw in the plan that he could not read Cyrillic, Burrowes promised to find an accountant who was fluent in Russian.

  "What about that woman who was with you when you came around before?" Jason asked.

  "Svetlana?" Burrowes asked. When he received a nod of agreement, he explained. "She's wanted by the Russian authorities. If she went back she would be arrested, and so might we."

  "Are we likely to anyway?" Jason was clearly nervous.

  "What for?"

  "Something like spying? I mean, this isn't real, is it? The government wants us to go, and they couldn't care less whether we buy this paint shop."

  "The Russians have to approve the visits," Burrowes said. "As long as you stick to doing what you said you would do, and maybe do some touristy things, the worst that will happen is they will cancel your visa and put you on the first plane home."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Jason, just stick to what they show you. If they don't want to show you something, just accept it, and say there won't be a deal."

  "Suppose they don't want a deal?"

  "Then they won't let us come, or they will let us come just to see what we want to do, but whatever, you will be in no danger looking at what they voluntarily show you."

  Jason was not exactly convinced, but he had little choice in the matter.

  When Burrowes got back to his work desk, he soon discovered that Rutherford had told Svetlana what he was going to do.

  "So, they say you're really going to go to Russia?" She seemed excited by this development.

  "The Russian government still has to agree to our visas," he said. "They could easily turn us down."

  "They probably won't do that," Svetlana said. "What with the Americans always talking about sanctions on Russia, I suspect they'll think someone who was prepared to break those sanctions would be particularly welcome."

  "I guess we'll just have to wait and see," Burrowes said. His excitement levels were easily kept under control.

  "Well, don't kill yourself with enthusiasm," Svetlana said. "I think it's really exciting."

  "What? Don't tell me now you want to come too?"

  "It would most certainly be fun if it weren't for the fact I'd be fairly quickly arrested and carted off to the Lubyanka, but that shouldn't stop you from seeing the sights. I'll have to give that some more thought and tell you what's worth seeing, and where to avoid."

  "Avoid?"

  "Most definitely avoid certain bars and so on in zones run by the local mafia."

  "It sounds as if your much vaunted FSB isn't doing its job very well," Burrowes chided.

  "And you don't have no-go places in New York?"

  "Touché."

  "No, there's much to see in Russia, and since you're going to be there, you might as well see what you can. Now, when you give me your itinerary, and what spare time you'll have, I'll sort out a schedule for you, with options."

  She seemed so enthused that Burrowes could hardly turn her down. The one thing he was afraid of was, if he got overly tired, this could feel like a long trip. Still, he did not have to do everything she suggested.

  Chapter 31

  "Well, so far, so good," Burrowes said to Jason as he studied the menu. They had been met at Domodedovo airport by a representative from the Embassy, who also offered to act as a translator during their site visits. He also felt he had to show them some of the sights in Moscow, which meant the trip from the airport was somewhat circuitous with pauses to see interesting buildings and sites, after which they arrived at the hotel in a diplomatic car. That led the people at the desk of the hotel to decide they were "important" foreigners, which seemed to mean the junior hotel staff were told to make a fuss over them. That made Burrowes feel embarrassed initially, but he was soon to be grateful.

  Tonight they had agreed to go to bed early, to get rid of the time change, and in the meantime, they had an interesting menu to choose from. This hotel was definitely not cheap, but as Jason remarked, Goldfinch was paying, so without being stupid, eat well. Thanks to the fuss being made over them, Burrowes found one English-speaking staff member and got a translation of the menu. As he remarked later, had he not been able to do this, the meal might have been "interesting".

  Burrowes was not a foodie, and his natural behaviour was to watch his dollars, so despite the fact that this was, for him, free, he chose a relatively cheap option. He noticed Jason watching his choice, and eventually Jason did the same.

  Previously, Burrowes had warned Jason that they would be under surveillance most of the time, so he should assume any conversation would probably be overheard. Accordingly, they should talk about their business in Russia, because otherwise it would look suspicious, but they should avoid saying anything that could be interpreted as troublesome. Jason had no idea what comprised "troublesome", so he was very cautious.

  Burrowes started discussing where they would be going the following day. He emphasised they should look carefully at the product range, and the profitability of the various products. "Even if the company is profitable," he said, "it's imperative it isn't due to one major customer, because that customer could go elsewhere."

  This had been prearranged as something that should be said. Jason believed this was too naïve for words, but Burrowes was going to say it anyway. As he said, it might be naïve, but they had to say something, and it was better for him to look like a worry-wort than to try to be too clever.

  The following morning they were up early. They had breakfast, and then met their embassy translator, who quickly took them to his car.

  "Sorry to hurry you," he said, "but I understand this is your least important contact, and I thought it better to do it first, as a sort of dry run. It's also the furthest away."

  This was obviously the one Svetlana insisted they see, even though it would be the least likely of any of such companies anyone would want to purchase. As she said, this would let them see some of the countryside.

  It was three hours away, and that involved rather fast driving. Diplomatic cars did not usually get speeding tickets, so as long as the driver was safe he would be ignored by traffic police. "Not as if there are very many of them," he said cheerfully.

  Burrowes was happy enough to leave the driving to someone else, especially as from watching other drivers he was not sure what the road rules were, or even if they were. Since Svetlana had selected this company so he could see the sights, he knew he should be looking at the countryside and admiring the view. What Svetlana had overlooked was that it was still early spring and while everything was probably green and lush, there was a light fog. What struck him was the flatness, the small hills that sometimes had abandoned buildings on top, and the depressions, that were filled with water. Eventually, he nodded off, waiting to arrive. The jet lag was still present.

  He was shaken, and informed they had arrived. One quick look at the building confirmed that this was not going to be a company that anyone would want to purchase. They went in, and the translator spoke to what appeared to be a bemused manager. Burrowes let Jason and the translator do whatever they were going to do, and effectively he stayed silent. Finally, it was decided that Jason had seen enough, there were polite handshakes, again with a highly bemused manager, and they began the long drive back to Moscow. This time the fog had lifted, and Burrowes made sure he could remember some features so he could mention them to Svetlana. He even took some photographs with his cell phone, particularly of abandoned buildings with attractive wild vegetation around them. They would probably provide some grounds for teasing her.

  At dinner, with the two of them alone, Jason could not resist saying, "I wonder who selected that company?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Not at all," Jason said, "although it makes my job somewhat easier. No one in their right mind
would want to invest in that."

  "Apart from the looks, any reason?"

  "Yeah. According to them, they make no profit, and don't seem to have much in the way of turnover."

  "Which means they are probably dodging tax."

  "Oh. I hadn't thought of that."

  "I did a bit of a web search for publicly available statements of Russian paint companies. Quite a lot of them do not state any turnover at all. That, of course, may mean nothing more than they don't want to tell their competitors how they are doing, but they want to be on somebody's list for free advertising."

  "You're suggesting they were not exactly truthful?"

  "It wouldn't surprise me if they have a set of books just for visitors," Burrowes said with a shrug. "It would be possible to find out if they are telling lies, but from the point of view of a foreign investor, it doesn't matter because telling lies is hardly better than no turnover."

  "So, that's one company we ignore."

  "I agree completely." Burrowes was pleased. That was a natural conversation, it would be expected by anyone doing surveillance, but it gave nothing away. "As a matter of interest," Burrowes continued, "I suspect that was chosen to give us a chance to see the countryside around Moscow."

  "Well, if you find out who it was, thank him. I enjoyed the scenery, if not the time spent at the factory."

  "I'll do that." Svetlana could end up with an admirer, Burrowes thought.

  The following day was much easier. The factory was out to the south east of Moscow, and took no more than twenty-five minutes to get there. It was a modern-looking place, but the manager seemed a little less than enthused to have to show the company's books to foreigners. Burrowes wondered why they had been permitted to come if they were so reluctant to show anything, but later the Embassy man informed him that the Russian government had ordered compliance, in the hope that something would arise to get around the sanctions the Americans were imposing. Accordingly, again Jason and the translator sat down, and this time spent most of the day going through the books and asking questions.

  Burrowes felt compelled to ask about the product range, and to ask where they got their pigments. He had no interest in the answer; he merely had to ask some questions so that it looked as if he were part of a potential purchasing group. There was a reasonably long answer, which could be almost summarised as, "nearly everywhere". Burrowes smiled and tried to look interested, then he continued by asking exactly what sort of pigments they used. This produced a further list, with various comments about their nature. Burrowes thought for a moment and then tried, "What sort of metal based pigments?"

  The manager looked a bit suspiciously at him, "Why the interest in them?"

  Burrowes had prepared for this sort of question. "Some metal-based pigments emit electrons when strong sunlight falls on them, and this can lead to degradation of the coating. I was –"

  "Ah, you actually know something," the manager said, and his level of suspicion fell away. "We test all our coatings extensively in a weatherometer. I assure you, they last as well as any other paints on the market."

  "Well, that's good to hear," Burrowes said with a nod of appreciation. Strictly speaking, it was not. That was not something he had anticipated, but when he stopped to think about it, it was obvious. Now it was clear he needed some other approach, and this was his last "dry run". Tomorrow was the company in question.

  That evening, over dinner, Burrowes asked Jason what he thought of the day.

  "It's actually a nice well-run company," Jason said. "It's nicely profitable, it re-invests a good fraction of its income in research and development, and it has a lot of separate purchasers for its products, so it is not critically dependent on any particular sales outlet. Not only that, but the stock price is remarkably cheap."

  "Well then," Burrowes said with a grin, "that will make an interesting part of your report to Mr Goldfinch. Given his basic greed, that should fork him."

  "Indeed it should. What about tomorrow?"

  "Well, what about it? We still have to turn up. Even if you have one likely catch, there's no harm in looking at the other one."

  "I thought that, well, you might want –"

  "I just want you to do the same again," Burrowes said. He did not want Jason speculating. He hoped his tone would remind Jason that their conversation was probably being overheard.

  "Of course," Jason said, finally realising that there were some things that should not be discussed.

  The third visit did not go quite as expected. The wind had swung around to the north and temperatures were a lot cooler than they had experienced in Russia so far. They each wondered about whether there could be a late snowfall, but their embassy translator assured them that was very unlikely. Burrowes, on looking at the very heavy clouds, was less certain.

  The factory was on the north of Moscow, and was in an oldish style building that looked in good condition. The grounds had an extensive parking lot, but also small gardens with flowers, and an effort had been made to ensure it looked attractive. They walked into the reception area, and the translator asked for the contact name he had. They were instructed to sit and wait.

  The waiting time seemed rather long, but eventually a man emerged from an elevator and walked towards them. He was not smiling, and instead looked to be rather worried. Two other uniformed men had also emerged from the elevator, and were standing in the background.

  "I'm sorry," the manager said in stuttering English, "but no meeting."

  "What? This has been arranged and –" The Embassy man seemed annoyed.

  "The company is not for sale." The manager looked embarrassed, and his eyes shifted around, as if he were expecting something to happen.

  "Why not? Why waste our time?"

  "I am very sorry," the Russian said to the embassy representative, "but you turned up and what you said made sense, but yesterday we thought we had better check because we are making a highly classified paint for the Russian Air Force and the message came back quite firmly. You are to be turned away on arrival. I am sorry, but the military have said no." This was said in an almost clockwork voice. He was not sorry; it was as if he were acknowledging that this was not fair, but he was not going to change his mind. The military had said no, and no it would be.

  "The military paint could be given to another manufacturer," the Embassy man said. "We had no idea there was a complication like that and –"

  "The answer is no. No further discussion will be considered. You will please leave now."

  "But I –"

  "Let's go," Burrowes said firmly, but also somewhat nervously, because he had seen one of the uniforms reach for a holstered gun. Beside that, he had about as much as he could expect from such a visit. The Russians were hardly likely to give him a sample, even had the military not descended on them. "There's no point in arguing." He took Jason's hand and pulled him towards the door. The Embassy man saw them make towards the door, and decided that since he was only there to translate, there was little point in staying.

  "So now what?" the Embassy man said, as they drove away. "Do you want to try somewhere else, without an appointment. There's a another company not that far away and –"

  "I'm for sight-seeing," Burrowes said. Then he decided to improvise further. "It's obvious that the Russians were happy enough that we went to that first place because it was dreadful, but I suspect they started to think about whether they wanted Americans in Russia after our second visit. They would regard that company as an asset. Also . . ."

  "Also?" the Embassy man said with a tone of arrogant amusement.

  "Also, we have a tail," Burrowes said. "Those guys, who I suspect were FSB, followed us out, and they're behind us now. Frankly, I don't think they like us very much."

  "That's not good," the Embassy man frowned.

  "What do you mean?" Jason asked, with a nervous edge in his voice.

  "There was another one of those diplomatic incidents yesterday. The Russians got their noses out of joint beca
use of one of our military incidents in the Middle East, coupled with the army doing more extensive exercises near the Estonian border and –"

  "We get the picture," Burrowes said. "Definitely sight-seeing."

  "Anywhere in mind?"

  "Somewhere harmless," Burrowes said. "St Basil's is as good as anything."

  "Then you can get a look at the outside of the Lubyanka as well," the Embassy man said with a laugh. "Just hope you don't see the inside."

  "Indeed," Burrowes agreed.

  * * *

  Since they had decided to leave Russia the following day, they decided to have their last dinner in Russia at a restaurant that had outside tables and a view of the Moskva river. It was not yet very warm, but the wind had died down and it meant they could talk without being overheard, or so they hoped.

  They had just chosen a seat and a waiter approached, then he took one look at something and turned away. Burrowes looked at where the waiter had looked, and saw three rather large muscly men bearing down on their table. Burrowes decided there was little point in running, particularly as other than jumping in the river, those men were covering the exit.

  They sat down, and one pulled out a gun and began examining it. They said nothing, probably because they spoke no English. When Jason looked as if he was going to get up, a hand grabbed him and pulled him back into the chair.

  "Just sit and be calm," Burrowes advised. "If they wanted to hurt us, they would have done so already. My guess is, someone wants to talk to us."

  The man with the gun pointed at Burrowes and pointed at one of the others, and said something in Russian. The man put both hands on the table.

  "They want us to put our hands on the table, in full view," Burrowes said, and immediately obliged. Jason followed.

  A rather flashily dressed and rather small man appeared at the doorway. Burrowes had noticed through the glass that when he had walked across the inner dining room, everyone gave him a lot of room. He came over to the table.

  "I hear you want to buy a Russian paint company."