Dead Meat

What's that for?' Chazov asked suspiciously.

Potassium iodide? It stops the build-up of radioactive iodine 131 in the thyroid gland,' said Grushko. That's the most sensitive human organ where radiation is concerned. Just standing next to this meat is hazardous.'

Chazov frowned and then felt at his throat.

God forbid that anyone should actually eat any,' added Nikolai.

Chazov's hand descended to his stomach. He rubbed it uncomfortably and then gulped.

I don't feel too good,' he said, eyeing the meat in his fridge with suspicion. Look, I'm getting out of here.'

Nikolai stood in his way.

Not so fast,' he said.

Grushko smiled and pointed the radiometer at Chazov's throat suggestively. He looked at the dial and shook his head grimly.

What is it?' said Chazov. What's it say? Please, you've got to let me have some of those tablets.'

Grushko held the bottle of orange pills in front of Chazov's eyes.

These?' he said. They're very expensive. And I don't know that there's enough for you.'

Chazov snatched desperately at the pills and found his hand held in Nikolai's big paw.

Well, maybe,' said Grushko, but not until you've told us where all your meat comes from.'

All right, all right.' Chazov sighed exhaustedly. His name is Volodimir Khmara. He comes in about once a week and sells me as much meat as I want. Mutton, pork, but mostly beef. A hundred roubles a kilo. All of it top-grade too. Or at least I thought it was.' He rolled his eyes at Grushko. Now will you give me those pills?'

And where does he get it, this Volodimir Khmara?'

There's a consignment, from southern Byelorussia, a couple of times a month. Khmara's part of a Cossack mob from Kiev. About three months ago they hijacked a whole load of EC food-aid and they've been selling it here and in Moscow.'

Grushko's eyes met Nikolai's. I've got this horrible idea about how they're bringing it into Petersburg,' he said.

Me too,' said Nikolai.

Now give me some tablets,' groaned Chazov. Please.'

After you've made a statement down at the Big House,' said Grushko. He handed Nikolai the bottle. And while you're at it, you can make a statement about those Georgians too. That should tidy things up nicely.'

Nikolai glanced at the bottle, pocketed it and then leaned towards Grushko.

What are they?' he murmured.

Indigestion tablets,' said Grushko. Tanya gets them from the hospital for me.' He shrugged dismissively. Well, there's not much demand for them. Not these days. Not unless you're a cop.'

He grinned amiably.

Take care of Chazov, will you?

Where are you going?'

I think I'll pay another little visit to Anglo-Soyuzatom Transit.'

21

Grushko's journey to Anglo-Soyuzatom Transit took him south-west through Leninsky Region and along Gaza Prospekt, past Petersburg's 8th Cold Store. Grushko had often driven by it and seen lorries from the Uryupin meat-processing plant unloading tons of meat under the close supervision of the local militia: without this security, much of the meat would simply have disappeared. The State Meat Board was the only wholesale meat consumer in the country, supplying all the state meat markets and, seeing the Uryupin truck, it occurred to Grushko that while he had Dr Sobchak's radiometer it would be a good idea if he checked the meat in one of the city's main cold stores for signs of radioactive contamination. The manager of the 8th Cold Store, Oleg Pryakhin, was quite used to the ingenious methods used by people trying to get their hands on the meat in his refrigerators, not to mention the many threats and bribes he had been offered. His predecessor had once sabotaged the cold-store generator in order to sell a consignment of spoiled' smoked sausage on the local black market. So he listened to Grushko's strange request without much surprise, although he had his doubts. At the same time he saw no particular harm in letting him use the radiometer, if that was what it was. But then it was not as if he would be allowing the grey-haired Colonel of Internal Affairs to remove any meat from the premises. And if there was something wrong with it then he would pass the problem on to the food and light-industry department in the Petersburg People's Inspectorate and let them sort it out.

But he was a little surprised, even disappointed when, having waved his little machine over a one-ton delivery of Doctor's Salami, the colonel told him that there was nothing at all the matter with it.

Grushko drove along the road he had taken to Dr Sobchak's dacha near Lomonosov. This was turning into quite a day. But at least now he was getting somewhere. And he was almost looking forward to seeing the look on Gidaspov's face when he told him about the use to which the Mafia was putting his expensive foreign trucks.

When he arrived at ASA, Gidaspov looked pained to see him again. Well, Grushko was used to that.

I did say I'd call,' said Gidaspov, when the convoy got back. They're still en route.'

I wonder if I might take a closer look at Tolya's truck, sir,' he said.

Gidaspov led him out to where the huge vehicle was parked on the dacha's tennis courts.

Here she is,' he said proudly. Originally built for the British army, it's an eight-tonne wheel chassis with an on-board crane to lift the barrels of waste into the container. The interior is part-refrigerated to help keep them cool. The armoured louvres on the windscreen are to prevent anyone taking a shot at the driver in the event of a terrorist attack.

Grushko climbed into the cab and sat in the driver's seat. It felt more like a limousine than a truck. He looked at all the instrumentation and nodded appreciatively. It was certainly an impressive-looking vehicle.

That's your fire-suppression system there,' said Gidaspov. And this controls the temperature inside the container.'

What about communications between the trucks?' Grushko asked. I don't see any short-wave radios.'

Er well. the British seem to be having a problem with them,' he said. You see, it would appear that all short-wave frequencies are owned by the state-security apparatus. We've been trying to get our own frequency for some time now.' He shrugged. But until we do, there are no radios. It's been several months.'

I know the feeling,' said Grushko. This was the bit he was looking forward to. What happens to the trucks once the waste is removed?'

Gidaspov pointed to another switch on the dashboard.

This operates a special decontamination process. The truck cleans its own interior automatically. Then, when the truck reaches the edge of the exclusion zone, the driver uses an onboard hose to spray the exterior with decontaminant as well.

And how efficient is that?'

The radiation levels are considered acceptable, I believe. But I'm afraid it's not my field. You'd have to speak to Chichikov to get the exact levels. He's the scientific controller here.'

Grushko smiled and showed him the radiometer.

Mind if I check it myself?'

Gidaspov frowned. Grushko was beginning to worry him.

No,' he said reluctantly. Why should I mind? We've got nothing to hide. But do you mind telling me '

All in good time, Mr Gidaspov. All in good time.' He pointed at the dashboard. We operate the container doors from in here, do we?'

Gidaspov nodded and flicked the switch. They stepped down from the cab and went round to the back of the truck. When the big doors were open Grushko climbed into the back and, with the radiometer switched on, he walked the length of the container and back again. Even after having been sprayed with decontaminant the truck's interior was registering 800 milli-roentgens, which was more than the meat in Dr Sobchak's laboratory. Grushko turned the machine off and jumped down beside Gidaspov.

And then they're just driven back here empty?'