Day After Tomorrow

II

Ilya Simonov was an excellent driver. He drove with the same care and efficiency that he expended upon all of his activities. Now he tooled his Zil aircushion convertible along.the edge of Red Square, paralleling the giantic eyesore which was the GUM department store, and opposite the red marble tomb of Lenin. He turned right just before St. Basil’s Cathedral and took the Moskvoretski bridge over the Moscow River.

He merged into the largely automated traffic of Pyatnikskaya and at Dobryninskaya Square blended west into the traffic that led to Gorki Park. He sped along the edge of the park on Kaluga until he came to tine Czarist baroque palace which was the headquarters of the ministry of which he had been a member for almost all his adult life.

Theoretically, there was no parking before the ministry. However, he pulled up to the curb and the two guards, staring directly ahead, snapped to the saluts. Ilya Simonov flicked them a return with the swagger stick he carried. It was an anachronism.

Not since the days before the revolution had a Russian officer carried a swagger stick. It was, in a way, his trademark. A good many persons, on both sides of the Iron Curtain knew Colonel Simonov on sight, although they had never seen him before, by the swagger stick.

He was tall for a Cossack, slightly slanted of eye, due to his Siberian heritage, black of hair, and obviously iron of body. He had an air of intensity and dedication about him, and, instinctively, there were few who dared thwart him.

The building was an anachronism as well. It had once belonged to the Yusopov family, the last prince of which had earned immortality by finishing off the mad monk, Rasputin. Simonov knew it well and strode along the corridors ignoring the antiquities, the marble statues, pre-World War One paintings, and marble benches. No one had ever bothered to remove them since the days when Grand Dukes strode the halls.

There were armed guards spotted, here, there, at all crucial turnings, at all doors. They wore the uniform of the KGB, the Committee of State Security.

Ilya Simonov began to stride past a group of three of the guards, two captains and a lieutenant. Suddenly he snapped to a halt. They came to attention, a ramrod attention.

He looked them up and down, his face empty except for bleak eyes, and said to the one in the middle, “What is your name, lieutenant?”

The other clicked heels. “Captain Nicolia Ilyichev, Comrade Colonel.”

“Never contradict me, sergeant,” Simonov said. “When did you shave last?”

The other paled slightly. “This morning, Comrade Colonel.”

“Never lie to me, corporal,” Simonov said, his voice as empty as his face. “What was it, vodka or a woman, that kept you from getting to your post I properly presentable?”

Nicolai Ilyichev looked at him with sick blankness.

“Comrade Colonel,” he said desperately. “I carry the Soviet Hero’s Combat Award. It is a great privilege to be assigned to the Security Guard of the Minister.”

“All members of the Minister’s Security Guard carry the Hero’s Combat Award,” Simonov snapped. “Do not try to impress me, infantryman. If you are so sloppy that you come on duty in unpresentable condition, what would happen if the emergency to which your life is dedicated manifested itself? Would you be in the physical shape to meet it? I am afraid that the Moscow climate does not agree with you, infantryman. Perhaps you are more suited to the Eastern Provinces.”

“Comrade Colonel…!”

But Ilya Simonov had strode on.

The former Captain Ilyichev bug-eyed after him. He turned to the lieutenant flanking him, desperately. “Perhaps he’ll forget.”

“Ilya Simonov never forgets,” the lieutenant said unhappily. “It’s no mistake that he’s the minister’s top hatchetman. He’s killed more people than malaria. He’s certainly a bad one to have down on you.”

“But what did I do? Why me?”

The other captain, who was just relaxing from the rigid attention to which he had been standing during the quick interrogation, said, “Nicolai, it wasn’t you, in particular. There are fifty-five officers and men assigned to the minister’s security guard. This sort of discipline will insure, for at least a couple of years, that no one will come on duty with the slightest of hangovers, or anything else that might dull the edge of perception. You’d better go pack, Nicolai. If I know the colonel, you’ll be on your way to some post above the Arctic Circle before the day is out.”

The captain took a deep breath. “He’ll have you reduced to private, but you’re a good man, Ilyichev, and you carry the Hero’s award, as I well know, since I am only here as a result of your conduct. Promotion is faster in Siberia than it is in Moscow. You’ll soon regain your rank.”

His words were meaningless to the other. Captain Nicolai Ilyichev had planned to be married the following week. He and his bride to be had been consumating their marriage a bit prematurely the night before. The colonel had been correct. He hadn’t shaved.

Ilya Simonov continued down the corridor. He came to a halt at the reception desk before the ornate door of the Minister’s office. Another captain sat before it. The Soviet agent didn’t know him. The other took in the swagger stick.

Simonov said, “I have no appointment but the Minister is probably expecting me.”

“Yes, Comrade Colonel Simonov,” the other nodded respectfully. He flicked a switch and spoke into an inter-office communicator screen.

He flicked another switch and the door behind him automatically opened. Ilya Simonov marched on through.

Minister Kliment Blagonravov was at the huge desk at the far end of the room. There was a smaller desk to one side which accommodated an aide. The Minister snapped his fingers at the aide, who immediately came to his feet and left the room.

“Sit down, Ilya,” Blagonravov said. “I was expecting you. Don’t you ever take a day or two off after completing an assignment?”

“Sometimes,” Simonov said, finding a chair and turning back to his ultimate superior.

Blagonravov was a heavy man, heavy of face, heavy-set and his head was completely shaven in the manner no longer much affected by Russian ministers and ranking army officers. He was one of those who sweat if the weather is even mildly warm. As usual, his tunic was off, his collar loosened. After the dressing down his field man had given the untidy captain out in the corridor, he could hardly have approved the appearance of his superior. But he was, after all, the minister, and possibly the most powerful, and the most feared, minister in the Soviet Complex.

Blagonravov said, “A drink?”

Simonov shook his head. “A bit too early for me. Besides, I am afraid I celebrated a bit too much last night upon my return from Irkutsk. I dislike Siberia.”

His superior had swung in his swivel chair to a small bar behind him. He opened the refrigerator door and brought forth a liter of highly chilled vodka, pulled the cork with his teeth and took up a tall shot glass and filled it. He put the bottle on the top of the bar rather than returning it to the refrigerator.

He said, “Ah, yes. Vladimir gave you an assignment in the East while I was in Rumania. How did it go, Ilya?”

His top operative shrugged. “The usual. Took a couple of weeks in all.”

“What was it all about?”

“The men in the mines there were trying to start a union.”

The minister knocked back his vodka with a practiced stiff-wristed toss. “Union?” he said in surprise. “Surely they already have a union. Miners? Of course they have a union.”

“I do not mean the State union,” Simonov said, crossing his legs. “They were trying to establish a union independent of control by the State. They had various grievances, including a desire for better housing and medical care. They even had plans for a strike.”

His superior poured himself another drink. “What’s it coming to?” he growled. “You’d think we were in the West. What did you do?”

Ilya Simonov grunted his version of humor. “Well, I could hardly send the ringleaders to Siberia, in view of the fact that they were already there. So I arranged for a bit of an accident.”

Blagonravov pursed fat lips. “Was it necessary to be so drastic? Number One has suggested that we, ah, cool it a bit, as the Yankees say. Things are no longer as desperate as they were in the old days.”

“I thought it was necessary,” Simonov said. “A thing like that can get out of control, can spread like wildfire, can grow like a geometric progression. And if we allowed such action to the miners, who can say where else free unions might not spring up?

“Yes, yes, of course, Ilya,” his boss said. “You can always be counted upon to take the correct action.” He finished off his second vodka, then looked over at his favorite field man. He said, “How long has it been since you have been in the United States?”

Simonov thought back. “Perhaps as much as ten years.” He cleared his throat. “I am not exactly popular in America.”

The Chrezvychainaya Komissiya head chuckled heavily. “No, of course not. The last time we retrieved you only by making a swap with the C.I.A. Two of their arrested agents for you.” He chuckled again. “It was a bargain, especially since one of their two was a double agent that they didn’t get onto for almost three years. But at any rate, this will be a milk-run, as the Yankees call it. There should be no danger.”

Simonov contemplated his superior quizzically.

“Most likely,” Blagonravov said, “it could be handled by the attach es at the Embassy in Greater Washington. However, I trust you most explicitly, and want your experienced opinion.”

His field man waited for him to go on.

The minister leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtful. He said slowly, “There is the danger of a very fundamental change taking place in America.”

“A fundamental change, Kliment?” the operative said. He was the only man in the ministry who dared call the chief by his first name.

“Yes, a very basic change, if our meager information is correct.”

“Good!”

“No, bad. It is a change we do not wish to see, if I have any idea whatsoever about what is going on, and I sometimes wonder.”

His trouble shooter waited patiently.

“In the way of background,” the minister said, “let me go back a bit. The situation that prevails in the States these days had its roots back possibly in the last century. The tendency has been accelerating, and, frankly, it is to the advantage of the Soviet Complex to have it continue to accelerate.”

“Tendency?” Simonov scowled.

“Yes. Let me use an example. Some decades ago, a rather incompetent American lieutenant-colonel came under the observation of representatives of some of the largest American multi-national corporations—IBM, that sort of thing. Although not particularly intelligent, he evidently had a fantastic personality. They were far-seeing people and decided to groom our lieutenant-colonel for the presidency. At the time he was unknown. This was their first problem, to give him status. Bringing pressure to bear, they had him rapidly promoted until he became, first, commander of the American European theatre of operations, in the Hitler war, and then supreme commander of the Allied Expeditionary Force, although he had never been in combat in his life, had never commanded troops in action. But still more status was needed if he was to be considered for the presidency. When the war ended, he was made head of the occupation troops in Germany.

“But being the country’s top soldier was not quite enough, particularly when the presidency of General U.S. Grant was recalled. He resigned his rank and was made president of Columbia University. An indication of the man was found when the reporters interviewing him got through his aides. One asked what his background was in education that he should hold such a post. And he replied that he didn’t have any. That they would have to brief him on his duties. The next day or so the reporters got to him again and one asked him what his favorite newspapers were and he returned that he never read the newspapers. ‘If anything important happens, they tell me about it.’ He didn’t mention who they were.”

Blagonravov chuckled heavily before going on, he was a compulsive chuckler. “Still later in the week, the reporters managed to get him aside once more and one asked what his favorite type of books were and he replied 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.