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

people had worked on the Manhattan Project, and naturally more than one of them was loyal to the socialist revolution. But nobody had managed to obtain the innermost secret of the atom bomb.
    But they had found out something that was almost as useful:a Swede had solved the puzzle, and they knew his name!
    It didn’t take more than twelve hours to find out that Allan Karlsson was staying at the Grand Hotel in Stockholm, and that he spent his days just pottering about after the head of the Swedish atomic weapons programme had told him that they didn’t require his services.
    ‘The question is, who holds the world record in stupidity,’ Marshal Beria said to himself. ‘The boss of the Swedish atomic weapons programme or Herbert Einstein’s mum…’
     
    This time, Marshal Beria chose a new tactic. Allan Karlsson would be persuaded to contribute his knowledge in exchange for a considerable number of American dollars. And the person who would take care of the persuading was a scientist like Allan Karlsson himself, not an awkward and clumsy agent. The agent in question ended up (to be on the safe side) behind the wheel as the private chauffeur of Yury Borisovich Popov, a sympathetic and competent physicist from the innermost circle of Marshal Beria’s atomic weapons group.
    And everything had gone according to plan. Yury Borisovich was on his way back to Moscow with Allan Karlsson – and Karlsson seemed sympathetic to the whole idea.
     
    Marshal Beria’s Moscow office was inside the walls of the Kremlin, at the wish of Comrade Stalin. The marshal himself greeted Allan Karlsson and Yury Borisovich in the lobby.
    ‘You are heartily welcome, Mr Karlsson,’ said Marshal Beria and shook his hand.
    ‘Thank you, Mr Marshal,’ said Allan.
    Marshal Beria wasn’t the type to sit and chat about nothing. Life was too short for that (and besides he was socially incompetent). So he said to Allan:
    ‘Have I understood the reports correctly, Mr Karlsson, in that you are willing to assist the socialist Soviet republicin nuclear matters in exchange for a hundred thousand dollars?’
    Allan replied that he hadn’t given the money much thought, but that he would like to give Yury Borisovich a hand if there was something he needed help with and there did seem to be. But it would be nice if Mr Marshal could wait until the next day, because he had travelled an awful lot lately.
    Marshal Beria answered that he understood that the journey had been somewhat exhausting for Mr Karlsson, and told him that they would soon be having dinner with Comrade Stalin, after which Mr Karlsson would be able to rest in the very finest guest suite the Kremlin had to offer.
     
    Comrade Stalin was not stingy when it came to food. There was salmon roe and herring and salted cucumbers and meat salad and grilled vegetables and borsht and pelmeni and blini and lamb cutlets and pierogi with ice cream. There was wine of various colours and of course vodka. And even more vodka.
    Around the table sat Comrade Stalin himself, Allan Karlsson from Yxhult, nuclear physicist Yury Borisovich Popov, the boss of the Soviet state’s security Marshal Lavrenty Pavlovich Beria and a little, almost invisible young man without a name and without anything to either eat or drink. He was the interpreter, and they pretended he wasn’t there.
    Stalin was in brilliant spirits right from the beginning. Lavrenty Pavlovich always delivered! OK, he had put his foot in it with Einstein, that had reached Stalin’s ear, but it was history now. And besides, Einstein (the real one) only had his brain; Karlsson had exact and detailed knowledge!
    And it didn’t hurt that Karlsson seemed to be such a nice guy. He had told Stalin about his background, albeit extremely briefly. His father had fought for socialism in Sweden and then journeyed to Russia for the same purpose. Admirable indeed!His son had for his part fought in the Spanish Civil War and Stalin was not going to be so insensitive as to ask on which side. After that he had travelled to America (he had to flee, Stalin assumed) and by chance had found himself in the service of the Allies… and that could be forgiven, Stalin himself had in a manner of speaking done the same thing in the latter part of the war.
    Only a few minutes into the main course, Stalin had learned how to sing the Swedish toast ‘ Helan går, sjung hopp faderallan lallan lej ’ whenever it was time to raise their glasses. Allan in turn praised Stalin’s