metres away. They were so close to each other they were almost touching. There was one underneath and one on top. The belt stopped just at the point where they met. Alex was slumped helplessly on the belt. There was nothing he could do. He was moving towards the grindstones at a rate of about ten centimetres a second. It would take him a little over a minute to reach them. When he did finally get there, he would be crushed. That was the death that this man had arranged for him.
“Do you know how sugar was produced?” Conrad asked. “This place, where you are now, is a sugar mill. The machinery used to be steam-powered but now it is electric. The sugar cane was delivered here by the colonos-the farmers. It was shredded and then placed on a belt to be crushed. After that it was filtered. Water was allowed to evaporate. Then the remaining syrup was placed in cauldrons and heated so that it formed crystals.” Conrad paused to draw breath. “You, Alex, are at the beginning of that process. You are about to be fed into the crusher. I ask you to imagine the pain that lies ahead of you. Your toes will enter first. Then you will be sucked in one centimetre at a time. After your toes, your feet. Your legs and your knees. How much of you will pass through before you are allowed the comfort of death? Think about it! Whatever else it is, I can promise you that it will not be sweet.”
Conrad raised the box with the two buttons. “Tell me what I want to know and I will press the red button. It stops the machine.”
“You’re wrong!” Alex shouted. “You can’t do this!”
“I am doing this. And I am never wrong. Please, do not waste any more time. You have so little of it left…”
Alex lifted his head up again. The grindstones were getting closer with every second that passed. He could feel their vibration, transmitted down the conveyor belt.
“How much did the agents know?” Conrad demanded. “Why were they here?”
Alex slumped back. The pounding of the two stones enveloped him. He looked past Conrad at the other two men. Would they let him do this? But their faces were impassive. “Please…!” he shouted. Then stopped himself. There was no mercy in this man. He had seen that at once. He gritted his teeth, biting back his fear. He wanted to cry. He could actually feel the tears in his eyes. This wasn’t what he wanted. He had never asked to be a spy. Why should he be expected to die Like one?
“You have perhaps fifty seconds more,” Conrad said.
And that was when Alex made up his mind. There was no point in going silently to this bloody and unspeakable death. This wasn’t a World War Two film with him as the hero. He was a schoolboy and everyone- Blunt, Mrs Jones, the CIA-had lied to him and played tricks on him to get him here. Anyway, Conrad already knew who he was. He had called him by his real name. Conrad knew that Troy and Turner had been American spies. There was only one piece of information he could add. The CIA were looking for a nuclear bomb. And why shouldn’t he tell Conrad that? Maybe it would be enough to stop him using it.
“They were searching for a bomb!” he cried out. “A nuclear bomb. They know Sarov bought uranium from the Salesman. They came here with a Geiger counter. They were going to break into the villa and look for the bomb.”
“How did they know?”
“I don’t know…”
“Thirty seconds.”
The rumbling and pounding was louder than ever. Alex looked up and saw the stones less than three metres away. Air was rushing between them and flowing over him. He could feel the breeze cold on his skin. The fact that he wasn’t tied down, that his arms and legs were free, only made it all the worse. He couldn’t move! The drug had turned him into a piece of living meat on its way to the mincer. Perspiration flowed down the side of his face then followed the line of his jaw and curved behind his neck.
“It was Turner!” Alex yelled. “He found out from the Salesman. He was working undercover. They found out that he’d sold you the uranium and they came here looking for the bomb.”
“Did they know the purpose of the bomb?”
“No! I don’t know. They didn’t tell me. Now stop the machine and let me go.”
Conrad considered for a moment. The box was still in his hand.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
“What?” Alex screamed the single word. He could barely hear himself above the noise of the grindstones.
“You’ve been a bad boy,” Conrad said. “And bad boys have to be punished.”
“But you said-”
“I lied. Just like you. But of course I must kill you. You are of no further use…”
Alex went mad. He opened his mouth and screamed, trying to find the strength to separate himself from the conveyor belt. His brain knew what it wanted. His body refused to obey. It was useless. He jerked upwards. His feet were moving ever closer to the spinning stones. Conrad took a step back. He was going to watch as Alex was fed through the crusher. The two workers behind him would clear up when it was over.
“No!” Alex howled.
“Goodbye, Alex,” Conrad said.
And then-another voice. In another language. One that Alex didn’t understand.
Conrad said something. Alex could no longer hear. The man’s lips moved but any sound was snatched away by the roar of the machine.
Alex’s bare toes were being battered by the wind that was forced through the stones. They were five centimetres away from being crushed. Four centimetres, three centimetres, two centimetres…
There was a gunshot.
Sparks. The smell of smoke.
The grindstones were still spinning. But the conveyor belt had stopped. Alex’s feet were jutting over the end of the belt. He could almost feel the spinning stone racing past his toes.
Then the voice came again, speaking now in English.
“My dear Alex. I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
Alex tried to reply with the worst swear-word he knew. But it wouldn’t come. He couldn’t even breathe.
With a sense of gratitude, he passed out.
“You will have to forgive Conrad. He is an excellent assistant and useful in so many ways. But he can also be a little… over-enthusiastic.”
Alex had woken up in the most magnificent bedroom he had ever seen. He was lying on a four poster bed opposite a floor-to-ceiling mirror in an ornate gold frame. All the furniture in the room was antique and wouldn’t have been out of place in a museum. There was a painted chest at the foot of the bed, a massive wardrobe with elaborately carved doors, a chandelier with five curving arms. The shutters on the windows had been folded back to reveal a wrought iron balustrade looking out over a courtyard.
The man, who had introduced himself as General Alexei Sarov, was sitting on a chair next to the mirror, dressed in a dark suit. His legs were crossed. His back was completely straight. Alex examined the face with its grey hair and intelligent blue eyes. He recognized his voice from the sugar mill and knew-without knowing why- that it was the general who had saved him.
It was dark outside. Alex guessed it must be after midnight. Someone had dressed him in a white nightshirt that came down to his knees. He wondered how long he had been asleep. And how long the Russian had been waiting for him to wake up.
“Do you want something to eat?” That had been his first question.
“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”
“A drink then?”
“Some water…”
“I have some here.”
The water came in a silver jug, served in a gleaming crystal glass. General Sarov poured it himself, then handed it to Alex. Alex reached out, grateful that the drug Conrad had pumped into him had worn off while he was asleep and that he could move his arms again. He sipped. The water was ice-cold. That was when Sarov began
