Short Fiction · Revolution (5/5)

And there was Russia, the country of his birth. Beyond the underground movement, beyond the Soviet regime, beyond the Romanov Czars. Mother Russia. The land of his parents, his grandparents, the land of his roots.

And, of course, there was the United States and the West. The West which had received him in his hour of stress in his flight from Mother Russia. Mother Russia, ha! What kind of a mother had she been to the Koslovs? To his grandfather, his father, his mother and brother? Where would he, Paul, be today had he as a child not been sent fleeing to the West?

And his life work. What of that? Since the age of nineteen, when a normal teenager would have been in school, preparing himself for life. Since nineteen he had been a member of the anti-Soviet team.

A star, too! Paul Koslov, the troubleshooter, the always reliable, cold, ruthless. Paul Koslov on whom you could always depend to carry the ball.

Anti-Soviet, or anti-Russian?

Why kid himself about his background. It meant nothing. He was an American. He had only the faintest of memories of his family or of the country. Only because people told him so did he know he was a Russian. He was as American as it is possible to get.

What had he told such Westerners, born and bred, as Lord Carrol and Derek Stevens? If he wasn’t a member of the team, there just wasn’t a team.

But then, of course, there was Ana.

Yes, Ana. But what, actually, was there in the future for them? Now that he considered it, could he really picture her sitting in the drug store on Montez Street, Grass Valley, having a banana split?

Ana was Russian. As patriotic a Russian as it was possible to be. As much a dedicated member of the Russian team as it was possible to be. And as a team member, she, like Paul, knew the chances that were involved. You didn’t get to be a star by sitting on the bench. She hadn’t hesitated, in the clutch, to sacrifice her favorite brother.

Paul Koslov propped the Tracy, the wristwatch-like radio before him, placing its back to a book. He made it operative, began to repeat, “Paul calling. Paul calling.”

A thin, far away voice said finally, “OK Paul. I’m receiving.”

Paul Koslov took a deep breath and said, “All right, this is it. In just a few days we’re all set to kick off. Understand?”

“I understand, Paul.”

“Is it possible that anybody else can be receiving this?”

“Absolutely impossible.”

“All right, then this is it. The boys here are going to start their revolution going by knocking off not only Number One, but also Two, Three, Four, Six and Seven of the hierarchy. Number Five is one of theirs.”

The thin voice said, “You know I don’t want details. They’re up to you.”

Paul grimaced. “This is why I called. You’ve got to make⁠—or someone’s got to make⁠—one hell of an important decision in the next couple of days. It’s not up to me. For once I’m not to be brushed off with that ‘don’t bother me with details,’ routine.”

“Decision? What decision? You said everything was all ready to go, didn’t you?”

“Look,” Paul Koslov said, “remember when you gave me this assignment. When you told me about the Germans sending Lenin up to Petrograd in hopes he’d start a revolution and the British sending Somerset Maugham to try and prevent it?”

“Yes, yes, man. What’s that got to do with it?” Even over the long distance, the Chief’s voice sounded puzzled.

“Supposedly the Germans were successful, and Maugham failed. But looking back at it a generation later, did the Germans win out by helping bring off the Bolshevik revolution? The Soviets destroyed them for all time as a first-rate power at Stalingrad, twenty-five years afterwards.”

The voice from Washington was impatient. “What’s your point, Paul?”

“My point is this. When you gave me this assignment, you told me I was in the position of the German who engineered bringing Lenin up to Petrograd to start the Bolsheviks rolling. Are you sure that the opposite isn’t true? Are you sure it isn’t Maugham’s job I should have? Let me tell you, Chief, these boys I’m working with now are sharp, they’ve got more on the ball than these Commie bureaucrats running the country have a dozen times over.

“Chief, this is the decision that has to be made in the next couple of days. Just who do we want eliminated? Are you sure you don’t want me to tip off the K.G.B. to this whole conspiracy?”