that he hadn’t read a book in fourteen years. You begin to realize our hero’s capabilities. At any rate—after his sponsors began shielding him from the newspaper people—he took leave of absence from his Columbia University post and became supreme commander of the Allied powers in Europe, and was given credit for the organizing of NATO, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization. By now his status was considered adequate and they ran him for President of the United States and he easily won. He remained in the postion for eight years, spending most of his time playing golf. He was probably one of the most inadequate presidents the United States has ever had, and, as all know, they’ve had some unbelievably inadequate presidents.”
Ilya Simonov shifted in his chair. “I fail to see your point, Kliment.”
The other nodded. “The point is, that it is to the advantage of the Soviet Complex that the Americans continue to elect to their highest offices men whose sole claim to such office is their holding of status symbols. It is to our advantage to have their corporations headed by such men, their institutions of learning, their laboratories, their hospitals.”
“I fail to see what all this has got to do with my going to Greater Washington.”
The minister poured himself still another vodka and bolted it back as he had the others.
He squinted at his field man and said, “There seems to be some sort of underground among the Americans who seek to change this, Ilya. We do not want it changed. Your task is to find out more about the group and to come up with some plan to frustrate them.”
“You mean that I, a Party member from youth, am to attempt to undermine a revolutionary organization?”
“That is correct, Ilya.”
“I’ll have that drink,” Ilya Simonov said grimly.
III
Larry Woolford’s office wasn’t much bigger than a cubicle. He sat down at the desk and banged a drawer or two open and closed. He liked to work, liked the department, but theoretically he still had several days of vacation and hated to get back into routine.
He flicked on the phone finally and asked for an outline. He punched three different numbers before getting his subject. The phone screen remained blank, although Larry knew the other could see him.
“Hans?” he said. “Lawrence Woolford here.”
The Teutonic accent was heavy, the voice bluff. “Ah, Larry! You need some assistance to make your vacation? Perhaps a sinister, exotic young lady, complete with a long cigarette holder and a knowledge of some of the most fantastic positions recently discovered in China?”
Larry Woolford growled, “How’d you know I was on vacation?”
The other laughed. “You know better than to ask that, my friend. I am in the business of knowing things.”
Larry said, “The vacation is over, Hans. I need some information.”
The voice was more guarded now. “I owe you a favor or two.”
“Don’t you though,” Larry said sarcastically. “Look, Hans, what’s new in the Russkie camp?”
The heartiness was gone. “How do you mean, my friend?”
“Is there anything big stirring? Is there anyone new in this country from the Soviet Complex?”
“Well, now…” the other’s voice drifted away.
Larry Woolf ord said impatiently, “Look, Hans, let’s don’t waste time going round and around. You run a clearing agency for, ah, information. You’re strictly a businessman, nonpartisan, so to speak. Hell, you’d better be. Fine, thus far our department has tolerated you. Perhaps we’ll continue to. Perhaps the reason is that we figure we get more out of your existence than we lose. The Russkies evidently figure the same way, the proof being that you’re still alive and have branches in the capitals of every power on Earth.”
“All right, all right,” the German said. “Let me think for a moment. Can you give me any idea of what you’re looking for?” There was an undernote of interest in his voice now.
“No. I just want to know if you’ve heard anything new anti-my-side from the other side. Or if you know of any fresh personnel recently from there.”
“Frankly, I haven’t. If you could give me a hint.”
“I can’t,” Larry said. “Look, Hans, like you say, you owe me a favor or two. If something comes up, let me know. Then I’ll owe you one.”
The voice was jovial again. “It’s a bargain, my friend.”
After Woolford had hung up, he scowled at the phone. He wondered if Hans Distelmayer was lying. The German commanded the largest professional spy ring in the world. It was possible, but difficult, for anything in the way of espionage-counter-espionage to develop without his having an inkling. Well, at least he had planted a bug in the other’s ear, perhaps he would come up with something.
The phone rang back. It was Steve Hackett of Secret Service on the screen.
Hackett said, “Woolford, you coming over? I understand you’ve been assigned to get in our hair on this job.”
“Huh,” Larry grunted. “The way I hear it, your whole department has given up, so I’m assigned to help you out of your usual fumble-fingered confusion.”
Hackett snorted. “At any rate, can you drop over? I’m to work in liaison with you.”
“Coming,” Larry said. He flicked off the phone, got to his feet and headed for the door. If they could crack this thing the first day, he’d take up that vacation where it had been interrupted and possibly be able to wangle a few more days out of the Boss to boot.
At this time of day, parking would have been a problem, in spite of automated traffic in the streets. Looking up and down in a quick check to see if anyone he knew was around to see him, he ducked down into the underground. It was a slight drop in status for someone on his level to take the subway. He took a line that delivered him to the high-rise that housed Secret Service.
The Counterfeit Division of the Secret Service occupied an impressive section of the governmental building. Larry Woolford flashed his credentials here and there, explained to guards and receptionists here and there, and finally wound up in Steve Hackett’s office, which was all but a duplicate of his own in size and decor.
Steve Hackett himself was a fairly accurate carbon copy of Woolford, barring facial resemblance alone. He wore Harris tweed, instead of Donegal. Larry Woolford made a note of that. Possibly herringbone was coming back in. He winced at the thought of a major change in his wardrobe; it’d cost a fortune. However, you couldn’t get the reputation for being out of style.
They had worked on a few cases before when Steve Hackett had been assigned to the presidential bodyguard, and although they weren’t good friends, they cooperated well.
Steve came to his feet and shook hands. “Thought you were going to be down in Florida bass fishing this month. You like your work so well you can’t stay away, or is it a matter of trying to impress your chief?”
Larry growled, “Fine thing, fine thing. Secret Service bogs down and they’ve got to call me in to clean up the mess.”
Steve motioned him to a chair and immediately went serious. “Do you know anything about pushing queer, Woolford?”
“That means passing counterfeit money, doesn’t it? All I know is what’s in the Tri-Di crime shows.”
“Oh, great. I can see you’re going to be one hell of a lot of help. Have you gotten anywhere at all on the possibility that the stuff might be coming in from abroad?”
“Nothing positive,” Larry said. “Are you people accomplishing anything?”
“We’re just getting underway. There’s something awfully off-trail about this deal, Woolford. It doesn’t fit into routine.”
Larry said, “I wouldn’t think so if the stuff is so good not even a bank teller can tell the difference.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about now, although that curls our hair too. Let me give you a rundown on standard counterfeiting.” The Secret Service man pushed back in his swivel chair, lit a cigarette and propped his feet onto the edge of a partly open desk drawer. “Briefly, it goes like this. Some smart lad gets himself a set of
