Soviet Complex was not free of the worship of status symbols, though her system differed from that of the Americans.
Ilya Simonov was contemptuous of the man.
He shook hands and then looked suggestively at his guide.
Leonid Mikoyan said hurriedly, “Vyacheslav, if you’ll just leave us now…”
The younger man bowed out, closing the door softly behind him.
The ambassador hurriedly saw his caller to a chair. Ilya Simonov was inwardly amused. He realized that the other was somewhat afraid of him.
Undoubtedly, Moscow hadn’t mentioned, in the scrambler message, the purpose of his visit to Greater Washington. Even a scrambler beam could possibly be tapped. Mikoyan didn’t know why he was here and thought it might be something personal. Blagonravov’s top field man wasn’t sent on missions of small import.
To put the man at his ease, Simonov came directly to the point. And drew a blank.
Ambassador Leonid Mikoyan hadn’t the vaguest idea of what he was talking about.
“You do read the American papers and other publications, don’t you?” the operative said testily.
“Yes, yes of course. But I have not heard of this organization of which you speak.” His tone of voice was almost apologetic. Ilya Simonov made a mental note to have the ambassador looked into. He appeared and sounded as though he had something on his mind.
He thought about it for a moment, then said, “How many KGB men do you have assigned here?”
“Three, all military attaches.”
“Have I been assigned an office?”
“Unless I am mistaken, it is part of your suite.”
Ilya Simonov stood. He said, “Would you be so kind as to ask them to report to me there?”
“Of course,” the ambassador said. He seemed relieved to see his awesome caller departing. “Will my wife and I have the pleasure of your company at dinner tonight?”
“I doubt it,” Simonov said. “I’ve got to plow into this immediately. I have old friends here in Greater Washington in the C.I.A. and the F.B.I., among other organizations, and it’s just a matter of time before they stumble on the fact of my presence. I have no doubt but that this embassy is either bugged or that we have American agents on our staff—or both. Some opinion to the contrary, they are not necessarily incompetent.”
The ambassador did his best to hide the fact that his invitation being refused did not completely displease him.
Up in his suite, behind his desk, Ilya Simonov ran his eyes over the three Committee of State Security men. He knew none of them but that didn’t surprise him. He hadn’t operated in the United States for a decade, and there were tens of thousands of KGB men on this level. They knew him, however. Or, at least, they knew of him. And they, like the ambassador, were slightly queasy in his presence.
He didn’t offer them seats.
He told them the same story as he had the ambassador and received in return the same blankness.
He glowered at them. “Do you mean to tell me that you, three trained KGB men, are assigned to this country and don’t even know of subversive organizations here?”
One of them, his name was Mikhail Aristov, if Simonov recalled correctly, said anxiously, “There are a good many organizations in America that are considered subversive, Comrade Colonel. There is, of course, our Communist Party, which is not very strong in the United States, and the Mao Communist Party which is even smaller. There is the Socialist Labor Party, the oldest of the radical parties in this country, going back to before 1900. There are the Socialist Workers Party, who are Trotskests. There is Socialist Reconstruction. There is the Progressive Party. And there is the IWW, the Industrial Workers of the World, a union rather than a political organization. Then there is—”
Simonov held up a hand. “This is not a Marxist group that I am investigating.”
One of the three said, “Then it is a right wing organization? Something like the John Birch Society or the Ku Klux Klan?”
Ilya Simonov shook his head in irritation. “We don’t know. All we know about them is that they are trying to increase the efficiency of the Yankee socioeconomic system. And that, obviously, is not to our interest.”
He took them in and said slowly, “Now here are your instructions. Get out and locate some of these people, however you can. Find out the details of just what it is they want. Find out how they expect to obtain their goals. Find out the names of the top leaders, their theoreticians and so forth. You’ll have to be my legmen. I don’t dare leave the embassy grounds. I might be spotted. We can put off, for a time, undoubtedly, my having to go through the red tape of accreditation, but when this does come up, undoubtedly they will be upon me and refuse my presence in the country.”
After they had left, Ilya Simonov sat there for a long moment. Finally, he looked up a number and dialed it on the phone. The screen didn’t light up, but he had expected that.
A heavy Teutonic voice said, “Ah, Colonel Simonov, I had heard that you were in the country. Rather bold of you, wouldn’t you say?”
Simonov growled, “Don’t try to impress me with your efficiency, Herr Distelmayer. You know very well that you didn’t know I was here in America.”
The German chuckled without humor. “You entered by supersonic from England. You have a diplomatic passport under the name Alex, rather than Ilya. You are supposedly a new military attache for your embassy.”
Ilya Simonov didn’t like it. If Distelmayer’s organization had already cracked his cover, there was no reason why the Americans couldn’t as well, and he needed time.
He said, “And why am I really here?”
For once, the German spy master’s voice was puzzled. “That I don’t know, my friend. Tell me, why?”
Ilya Simonov said, obviously reluctantly, “Ordinarily, we don’t like to use your services, Hans Distelmayer, but on this occasion I am afraid time might be of the essence, and you have a large organization.”
“Yours to command,” the other said jovially.
Ilya Simonov told him the purpose of his visit, mentioning the fact that neither the ambassador nor his three KGB men had ever heard of the organization in which Minister Blagonravov was interested.
“Where did Blagonravov hear about it?” the German spy master said interestedly.
“I don’t know. The Minister has a good many irons in the fire.”
When Simonov had finished the German held silence for a moment, then said, “Interesting situation. That is, your government’s involvement. Very well, I shall have a report for you shortly. If you have been apprehended by then, or have flown the country by that time, where shall I send it?”
“Directly to the Ministry in Moscow.”
“Very well. And payment, Colonel?”
“The usual. In gold, from Moscow, to your offices in Basel, Switzerland, immediately upon the receipt of your bill. But speed is important, Distelmayer.”
“It usually is,” the other chuckled.
X
Steve Hackett rubbed the end of his pug nose irritably. He looked up and down the street, before going into the underground. He couldn’t see anyone he knew, so down he went into the public transit system. Like Larry Woolford, he knew it wasn’t the thing to do in this status-conscious town, but he had left his car with Ruth that morning, her own being in the garage.
He took the subway to Alexandria and stared morosely out the window, though there was nothing to see in the tunnel. Steve Hackett was very unhappy.
He had done everything he could think of to do, and had assigned half a dozen others to assist him.
They had checked out every stoolpigeon within a fifty mile radius, men who had fingered pushers for them before. The world of the counterfeiter is small and its inhabitants even more prone to be susceptible to official pressure than other criminal elements. You caught a lower echelon pusher, made a deal with him to escape prosecution, freed him and then for the rest of all time you could twist his arm when you needed information. It was
