‘So you would like to work in the Soviet Union, Mister Grant?’
It was half an hour later and the MGB colonel was bored with the interview. He thought that he had extracted from this rather unpleasant British soldier every military detail that could possibly be of interest. A few polite phrases to repay the man for the rich haul of secrets his dispatch bags had yielded, and then the man could go down to the cells and in due course be shipped off to Vorkuta or some other labour camp.
‘Yes, I would like to work for you.’
‘And what work could you do, Mister Grant? We have plenty of unskilled labour. We do not need truck-drivers and,’ the colonel smiled fleetingly, ‘if there is any boxing to be done we have plenty of men who can box. Two possible Olympic champions amongst them, incidentally.
