Revolution
Page 2
the job this time."
"Maugham's job?" Paul didn't get it.
"No, the other one. I don't know who the German was who engineeredsending Lenin up to Petrograd, but that's the equivalent of your job."He seemed to go off on another bent. "Did you read Djilas' 'The NewClass' about a decade ago?"
"Most of it, as I recall. One of Tito's top men who turned against theCommies and did quite a job of exposing the so-called classlesssociety."
"That's right. I've always been surprised that so few people bothered towonder how Djilas was able to smuggle his book out of one of Tito'sstrongest prisons and get it to publishers in the West."
"Never thought of it," Paul agreed. "How could he?"
"Because," the Chief said, knocking the ash from his pipe and replacingit in the rack, "there was and is a very strong underground in all theCommunist countries. Not only Yugoslavia, but the Soviet Union as well."
Paul stirred impatiently. "Once again, what's all this got to do withme?"
"They're the ones you're going to work with. The anti-Sovietunderground. You've got unlimited leeway. Unlimited support to theextent we can get it to you. Unlimited funds for whatever you find youneed them for. Your job is to help the underground start a new RussianRevolution."
* * * * *
Paul Koslov, his face still bandaged following plastic surgery, spent acouple of hours in the Rube Goldberg department inspecting the latestgadgets of his trade.
Derek Stevens said, "The Chief sent down a memo to introduce you to thisnew item. We call it a Tracy."
Paul frowned at the wristwatch, fingered it a moment, held it to hisear. It ticked and the second hand moved. "Tracy?" he said.
Stevens said, "After Dick Tracy. Remember, a few years ago? His wristtwo-way radio."
"But this is really a watch," Paul said.
"Sure. Keeps fairly good time, too. However, that's camouflage. It'salso a two-way radio. Tight beam from wherever you are to the Chief."
Paul pursed his lips. "The transistor boys are really doing it upbrown." He handed the watch back to Derek Stevens. "Show me how itworks, Derek."
They spent fifteen minutes on the communications device, then DerekStevens said, "Here's another item the Chief thought you might want tosee:"
It was a compact, short-muzzled hand gun. Paul handled it with the easeof long practice. "The grip's clumsy. What's its advantage? I don'tparticularly like an automatic."
Derek Stevens motioned with his head. "Come into the firing range,Koslov, and we'll give you a demonstration."
Paul shot him a glance from the side of his eyes, then nodded. "Leadon."
In the range, Stevens had a man-size silhouette put up. He stood to oneside and said, "O.K., let her go."
Paul stood easily, left hand in pants pocket, brought the gun up andtightened on the trigger. He frowned and pressed again.
He scowled at Derek Stevens. "It's not loaded."
Stevens grunted amusement. "Look at the target. First time you got itright over the heart."
"I'll be ...," Paul began. He looked down at the weapon in surprise."Noiseless and recoilless. What caliber is it, Derek, and what's themuzzle velocity?"
"We call it the .38 Noiseless," Stevens said. "It has the punch of that.44 Magnum you're presently carrying."
With a fluid motion Paul Koslov produced the .44 Magnum from the holsterunder his left shoulder and tossed it to one side. "That's the last timeI tote that cannon," he said. He balanced the new gun in his hand inadmiration. "Have the front sight taken off for me, Derek, and the forepart of the trigger guard. I need a quick draw gun." He added absently,"How did you know I carried a .44?"
Stevens said, "You're rather famous, Koslov. The Colonel Lawrence of theCold War. The journalists are kept from getting very much about you, butwhat they do learn they spread around."
Paul Koslov said flatly, "Why don't you like me, Stevens? In this game Idon't appreciate people on our team who don't like me. It's dangerous."
Derek Stevens flushed. "I didn't say I didn't like you."
"You didn't have to."
"It's nothing personal," Stevens said.
Paul Koslov looked at him.
Stevens said, "I don't approve of Americans committing politicalassassinations."
Paul Koslov grinned wolfishly and without humor. "You'll have a hardtime proving that even our cloak and dagger department has everauthorized assassination, Stevens. By the way, I'm not an American."
Derek Stevens was not the type of man whose jaw dropped, but he blinked."Then what are you?"
"A Russian," Paul snapped. "And look, Stevens, we're busy now, but whenyou've got some time to do a little thinking, consider the ethics ofwarfare."
Stevens was flushed again at the tone. "Ethics of warfare?"
"There aren't any," Paul Koslov snapped. "There hasn't been chivalry inwar for a long time, and there probably never will be again. Neitherside can afford it. And I'm talking about cold war as well as hot." Hescowled at the other. "Or did you labor under the illusion that only theCommies had tough operators on their side?"
* * * * *
Paul Koslov crossed the Atlantic in a supersonic TU-180 operated byEuropa Airways. That in itself galled him. It was bad enough that theCommies had stolen a march on the West with the first jet liner to gointo mass production, the TU-104 back in 1957. By the time the UnitedStates brought out its first really practical trans-Atlantic jets in1959 the Russians had come up with the TU-114 which its designer, oldAndrei Tupolev named the largest, most efficient and economicalaircraft flying.
In civil aircraft they had got ahead and stayed ahead. Subsidized beyondanything the West could or at least would manage, the air lines of theworld couldn't afford to operate the slower, smaller and more expensiveWestern models. One by one, first the neutrals such as India, and theneven members of the Western bloc began equipping their air lines withRussian craft.
Paul grunted his disgust at the memory of the strong measures that hadto be taken by the government to prevent even some of the American linesfrom buying Soviet craft at the unbelievably low prices they offeredthem.
* * * * *
In London he presented a card on which he had added a numbered code inpencil. Handed it over a desk to the British intelligence major.
"I believe I'm expected," Paul said.
The major looked at him, then down at the card. "Just a moment, Mr.Smith. I'll see if his lordship is available. Won't you take a chair?"He left the room.
Paul Koslov strolled over to the window and looked out on the movinglines of pedestrians below. He had first been in London some thirtyyears ago. So far as he could remember, there were no noticeable changeswith the exception of automobile design. He wondered vaguely how long ittook to make a noticeable change in the London street scene.
The major re-entered the room with a new expression of respect on hisface. "His lordship will see you immediately, Mr. Smith."
"Thanks," Paul said. He entered the inner office.
Lord Carrol was attired in civilian clothes which somehow failed todisguise a military quality in his appearance. He indicated a chair nextto his desk. "We've been instructed to give you every assistance Mr. ...Smith. Frankly, I can't imagine of just what this could consist."
Paul said, as he adjusted himself in the chair, "I'm going into theSoviet Union on an important assignment. I'll need as large a team at mydisposal as we can manage. You have agents in Russia, of course?" Helifted his eyebrows.
His lordship cleared his throat and his voice went even stiffer. "Allmajor military nations have a certain number of espionage operatives ineach other's countries. No matter how peaceful the times, this isstandard procedure."
"And these are hardly peaceful times," Paul said dryly. "I'll want acomplete list of your Soviet based agents and the necessary informationon how to contact them."
Lord Carrol stared at him. Finally sputtered, "Man, _why_? You're n
oteven a British national. This is--"
Paul, held up a hand. "We're co-operating with the Russian underground.Co-operating isn't quite strong enough a word. We're going to _push_them into activity if we can."
The British intelligence head looked down at the card before him. "Mr.Smith," he read. He looked up. "John Smith, I assume."
Paul said, still dryly, "Is there any other?"
Lord