"E.Voiskunsky, I.Lukodyanov. The Crew Of The Mekong (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора

jammed to the rafters as he, Vova, emerged on the stage in a green robe, or
maybe a black robe.
He'd have to borrow his neighbour's scuba gear and do some diving.
There was no silt in that place. Just sand. He was sure he would find the
knife.
Bugrov pushed his cap to the back of his head and winked at his
reflection in the trolleybus window.


CHAPTER SIX


IN WHICH NIKOLAI OPRATIN TAKES THE BULL BY THE HORNS


Nikolai Opratin saw Benedictov as soon as he opened the door into the
laboratory. Corpulent and dishevelled, the biophysicist stood beside a table
around which ran a thick copper coil. He was unfastening the harness in
which a brown and white dog hung. When he set the dog on the floor it shook
itself and began to sniff angrily at the experimenter's feet.
"Good morning," Opratin said.
"What do you want?" Benedictov asked coldly.
"Your advice about fish."
Benedictov turned away. "Ask someone else."
"I'm sorry about that argument we had on board the ship," Opratin said
softly. "I'm ready to take back my words."
The biophysicist was silent. Then he nodded in the direction of the
glass partition at the end of the laboratory. "Come this way," he said
jerkily.
They sat down opposite each other at a table covered with papers and
blocks of paraffin cut into cubes.
"The problem we're working on is the level of the Caspian, that is, how
to raise it," Opratin explained. "We plan a series of experiments in the
course of which ionized water will appear in the sea. My question is: how
will this affect the fish?"
Benedictov gave a cough but said nothing.
"Our Institute will of course get in touch officially with yours,"
Opratin went on, his gaze fixed on Benedictov's face. "But I'd like to know,
ahead of time-"
"What are your ionization figures?" Benedictov asked, moving closer a
spirit lamp on which stood a nickel-plated tray.
The conversation faltered. Benedictov answered questions in unwilling
monosyllables. He coughed and squirmed in his chair. His bloodshot eyes were
evasive.
Suddenly he rose, murmured an excuse, and left the room. Opratin let
his eyes roam over the table. He noticed an empty glass ampoule. As he read
the Latin inscription on it his thin lips twisted in an ironic smile.
Benedictov returned looking a completely different man, fresh-faced,
cheerful, with sparkling eyes.
"Please continue," he said on his way to his desk.