have an economic system that allows
such nonsense as large scale unemployment of trained employees,
planned obsolescence, union featherbedding, and an overwhelming
majority of those who are employed wasting their labor on
unproductive employment."
Tracy said, "Then if I understand you correctly, Freer Enterprises was
deliberately organized for the purpose of undermining the economy so
that it will collapse and have to be reorganized on a different basis."
"That is exactly correct," Moncure said defiantly. "I am devoting my
whole fortune to this cause. And there is nothing in American law that
prevents me from following through with my plans."
"You're right there," Tracy said wryly. "There's nothing in American
law that prevents you. However, you see, I have no connection
whatsoever with the American government." He slipped the gun from
its holster.
* * * * *
Frank Tracy made his way wearily into LaVerne's domain. She looked
up from the desk. "Everything go all right, Mr. Tracy?"
"I suppose so. Tell Comrade Zotov that I'm back from Chicago,
please."
She clicked switches, said something into an inner-office
communicator, then looked up again. "He'll see you immediately, Mr.
Tracy."
Pavel Zotov looked up from his endless paperwork and wheezed the
sigh of a fat man. He correctly interpreted the expression of his field
operative. "Pour us a couple of drinks, Frank, or would you rather have
it Frol, today?"
His best field man grunted as he walked over to the bar. "Vodka, eh?
Chort vesmiot how tired one can become of this everlasting bourbon."
He reached into the refrigerator compartment and brought forth a bottle
of iced Stolichnaya. He poured two three-ounce charges and brought
them back to his bureau chief's desk.
They toasted silently, knocked back the colorless spirit. Pavel Zotov
said, "Well, Frol?"
The man usually called Frank Tracy said, "The worst case yet. This one
had quite a clear picture of the true situation. He saw the
necessity--given their viewpoint, of course--of getting out of the
fantastic rut their economy has fallen into." He ran his hand over his
mouth in a gesture of weariness. "Chief, do you have any idea of how
long it would take us to catch up to them, if we ever did, if they really
turned this economy on full blast, as an alternative to their present
foul-up?"
"That's why we're here," the Chief said heavily. "What did you do?"
The man sometimes called Tracy told him.
Zotov winced. "I thought I ordered you--"
"You did," the man called Tracy told him curtly, "but what alternative
was there? The fire will completely destroy the records. I have the
names and addresses of all the others connected with Freer Enterprises.
We'll have to arrange car accidents, that sort of thing."
The fat man's lips worked. "We can't get by with this indefinitely, Frol.
With such blatant tactics, sooner or later their C.I.A. or F.B.I. is going
to get wind of us."
Tracy came to his feet angrily. "What alternative have we? We've been
sent over here to do a job. We're doing it. If we're caught, who knows
better than we that we're expendable? If you don't mind, I'm going on
home."
As he left the office, through the secret door that led through the
innocuous looking garage, the man they called Frank Tracy was
inwardly thinking, "Zotov might be my superior, and a top man in the
party, but he's too soft for this job. Perhaps I'd better send a report back
to Moscow on him."
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Subversive, by Dallas McCord
Reynolds
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