Chapter 4
THE DREAM....
The walls of Nickie's cell were dank. They also were red. The red color, he knew, was designed to drive the occupant mad. For this reason, Nickie had closed his eyes the minute the hue had ceased to remind him of the breasts of his dorogaya. He had kept his eyes closed most of the time since. He thought it must have been about a week. Footsteps came along the corridor and stopped at his door. A key turned in the lock.
"Nicolas Alexi Mravinsky?"
Nickie nodded.
"Come with me."
Nickie followed the guard into a warm office. The man behind the desk was fat and bald, and his uniform was adorned with medals. He peered at the prisoner through steel-rimmed glasses, his almost colorless blue eyes striking calculated terror into Nickie's heart.
"Nicolas Alexi Mravinsky?" he said, spitting the question out contemptuously. Again Nickie nodded.
"Traitor! You are a triator! You are in league with capitalistic American swine! Admit it! Ifs no use to lie!"
"I'm not" said Nickie, trembling. "I've never even met an American!"
"Well, then, what have you to say for yourself? Your record is scandalous, comrade!" He turned through some papers on his desk. "Take last March.
Do you realize that during the month of March not one American defected!" His voice rose and he brought down his fist. "Not one! Comrade! If you cannot make an American defect in March, how do you expect to make him do it in, say, June, when the birds are singing and the flowers are all in bloom?"
Nickie shrugged. "What can I say, comrade? I have done my best for the fatherland."
His interrogator sighed. "It is true," he said. "The propaganda you write is beautiful. The way you write of peaceful, joyful labor, of the largest turbines in the history of the world, of the wonderful efficacity of the mudbaths of our Caucasian spas. I cannot understand how it is that our message keeps bouncing off the American public."
He shoved a blank sheet of paper at Nickie. "Sign at the bottom," he commanded.
"But why?"
"It's your confession," the officer explained. "Never mind that the paper is blank. We will gladly compose your confession for you in case you should fail your new mission."
Nickie went limp with relief as he shakily signed the paper. So he was not to be shot at once! He was to have another chance!
"Comrade," he promised, "I will give the new assignment my all!"
"Good. Actually it is not exactly a new assignment It is simply a new approach to the old one," his superior explained. "You said that you had never met an American. I believe you. Therefore I am going to give you a new task." He paused dramatically. "You are going to America."
"America!"
The officer watched Nickie's face closely. Any betrayal of joy on his features would have disqualified him at once, would have sent him to the firing squad. But Nickie was too astonished to show any emotion but incredulity.
"You are to observe Americans," the officer went on. "You will see them with their hair down. As they relax and play. That way it will be easier for you to find out what motivates them. That will be your task. You are to find out what is wrong with our propaganda, and when you return you will write new propaganda and there will be many defectors. A fine plan, is it not?"
"Remarkable," said Nickie.
"And your cover identity is equally clever," said the officer. "It is one that will ingratiate you with Americans. They will long to make your acquaintance-to shake your hand-to drink with you. That way it will be most easy for you to observe them."
"I am to pose as a great scientist then? Or a doctor?"
"Certainly not. You are going to be a millionaire. A playboy millionaire. You are going to Miami Beach, which is a great playground of the filthy American rich."
"But comrade," said Nickie, "I don't know anything about being a millionaire."
"That will be taken care of, too," said the officer. "You will be sent at once to spy school. You will learn what to wear-what to say-what to order to eat. You will even have an opportunity usually available only to top KGB intelligence officers. You will have a course in the seduction of women and, when you have finished it, there will never be a woman who leaves your embrace unsatisfied."
"Now-as to details. Our resident spies in the United States-the residentura-will arrange everything for you. They will rent for you the penthouse suite of the Tropic Sands Hotel and stock it with clothing and other articles. Everything you need will be there, right down to toothpaste and the proper sort of literature for the man you are to be. They will supply in advance maps of the suite and hotel, which you will memorize."
"You will, of course, not be so foolish as to contact these agents directly. We always go to great lengths to avoid danger to one of the residentura. They are invaluable to our purposes, and we sometimes invest as much as ten years in establishing one of them."
"You will learn to contact these people, by dubok, which is our term for dead drop, the leaving of a message in a secret place so that there is no personal contact.
"In this case we have selected a palm tree. You will memorize its exact location later. You will find the messages in a beer can buried at its base."
"You are like Cinderella; your coach will turn into a pumpkin at the end of your assignment. Sooner, if you make a serious mistake. If you make a mistake, the Executive Action Division of the KGB will take care of you at once."
"The Executive Action Division, comrade?" Nickie said.
"Yes. It consists of nothing but trained assassins and is in charge of all such matters as are necessary. Do you understand your assignment?"
"Yes, comrade," said Nickie.