The 100-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared

in the icy water. But soon Allan was helped to climb down into the warmth.
    ‘Well, now you can see how sensible it is not to start your day by guessing what might happen,’ said Allan. ‘After all, how long would I have had to go on guessing before I guessed this?’
    At this point, the friendly man thought that he didn’t have to be so secretive any longer. He told Allan that his name was Yury Borisovich Popov and that he worked for the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, that he was a physicist, not a politician or a military man, and that he had been sent to Stockholm to persuade Mr Karlsson to follow him to Moscow. Yury Borisovich was chosen for this mission because of Mr Karlsson’s possible reluctance which could perhaps be overcome by Yury Borisovitch’s background as a physicist, meaning that Mr Karlsson and Yury Borisovich both spoke the same language, so to speak.
    ‘But I am not a physicist,’ Allan said.
    ‘That may be the case, but my sources tell me that you know something that I would like to know.’
    ‘I do? Whatever could that be?’
    ‘The bomb, Mr Karlsson. The bomb.’
     
    Yury Borisovich and Allan Emmanuel immediately took a liking to each other. To agree to follow him without knowing where he was going or why – that impressed Yury Borisovich and indicated that there was something devil-may-care about Allan that Yury himself lacked. And as for Allan, well, he appreciated the fact that for once he could talk with somebody who didn’t try to fill him with politics or religion.
    Besides, it soon transpired that both Yury Borisovich and Allan Emmanuel shared a boundless enthusiasm for vodka. The previous evening Yury Borisovich had had the opportunity to taste the Swedish variety while he had been keeping an eye on Allan Emmanuel in the dining room at the Grand Hotel. At first, Yury Borisovich thought that it was too dry, without the Russian sweetness, but after a couple of glasses he got used to it. And another two glasses later, he let a ‘not bad at all!’ pass his lips.
    ‘But this is of course better,’ said Yury Borisovich and held up a whole litre of Stolichnaya. He and Allan Emmanuel sat and had the officers’ mess to themselves. ‘And now we shall each take a glass!’
    ‘Sounds good,’ said Allan. ‘The sea air tires you out.’
    After the very first glass, Allan insisted on a change in the way the two men addressed each other. To say Yury Borisovich to Yury Borisovich every time he needed to attract Yury Borisovich’s attention just wasn’t practical in the long term. And he didn’t want to be called Allan Emmanuel, because he hadn’t used his middle name since he was baptised by the priest in Yxhult.
    ‘So from now on, you are Yury and I am Allan,’ said Allan. ‘Otherwise I’m getting off this boat now.’
    ‘Don’t do that, dear Allan, we are at a depth of two hundred metres,’ said Yury. ‘Fill your glass again instead.’
     
    Yury Borisovich Popov was a passionate socialist and wanted nothing more than to keep working in the name of Soviet socialism. Comrade Stalin was a stern man but Yury knew that if you served the system loyally and well then you had nothing to fear. Allan said that he didn’t have any plans to serve any system, but that of course he could give Yury one or two tips if they had got stuck in working out the atom bomb problem. But first of all Allan wanted to taste another glass of the vodka whose name was unpronounceable even when you were sober. And another thing: Yury would have to promise that he would continue not to talk politics.
    Yury thanked Allan heartily for his promise to help, and said straight off that Marshal Beria, Yury’s boss, intended to give the Swedish expert a one-off payment of 100,000 American dollars, on condition that Allan’s help led to the production of a bomb.
    ‘We’ll figure it out,’ said Allan.
     
    The contents of the bottle shrank steadily while Allan and Yury talked about everything on heaven and earth (except politics and religion). They also touched upon the atom bomb problems and although the topic really belonged to the days to come, Allan decided to give him a couple of simple tips and then a couple more.
    ‘Hmmm,’ said senior physicist Yury Borisovich Popov. ‘I think I understand…’
    ‘Well, I don’t,’ said Allan. ‘Explain the thing with opera again. Isn’t it just a lot of shouting?’
    Yury smiled, took a large gulp of vodka, stood up – and started to sing. In