Andrew Fetler

“ The colonel got out of bed and sat down on Pashkov's other side.
"Zubov will make your trip to Moscow comfortable. All right, Zubov."
Zubov focused his crossed eyes on Pashkov.
"Take him straight to Petchareff," Colonel James said to Zubov. "I'll report as soon as I know what these Swedes are up to."
Zubov seized Pashkov by the scruff of the neck and dragged him towards the window.
"Hold your claws, Zubov lad," Pashkov said. "You have got the wrong man, can't you see? That is Colonel James." ”

“ Mrs. Tilton went to get the berries. She had forgotten to serve cream with the coffee. The coffee had a bitter taste and a faint smell of iodine. But he was not used to natural coffee. And without cream. He took another sip and slowly stretched his stiff legs. In the window he saw lilac bushes in bloom.
"Picked this morning," Mrs. Tilton said, setting a bowl of strawberries before him.
"Oh, thank you." He sniffed at the berries. "They smell of earth," he said, smiling at her.
"You might like a walk after breakfast," Mrs. Tilton suggested. "Then you can have a restful nap at noon." ”

“ In the ambulance court, Zubov and Petya moved quickly to a Red Cross flier. Pashkov dropped the invoice he had lifted from the Cubans on the front seat of the stolen car, and followed.
A watchman emerged from his hut, looked idly up at the rising ambulance, and shuffled back to his morning coffee.
As Petya brought the flier to a hovering stop against Colonel James' window, Pashkov bounced into the room; Zubov drew his gun and jumped in after. ”

“ Pashkov muttered, reading the legend on the gown.
Petchareff blew cigar smoke in his face. "If Colonel James makes a monkey of you once more, you're through, Pashkov. You don't take your job seriously enough. You bungle this and I'll have you transferred to our Cultural Information Center in Chicago."
Pashkov winced.
"Now, you'll go to Stockholm and switch places with the American colonel and find out what they're up to. Zubov's kidnaping team is there already, at Hotel Reisen. Any questions?" ”

“ Here is a map of hospital and grounds. Here is a map of twenty-third floor. Here is a map of Colonel James' room. Here is hospital routine between midnight and dawn. With your pardon—"
Pashkov picked up the phone, dialed the Soviet embassy, and got the chargé d'affaires. "How is your underdeveloped countries fund?" he asked.
"Always depleted, always replenished."
"I don't want any Russian brands."
"Nothing but foreign," the chargé buzzed. "We got almost everything now through an American surplus outlet in Hamburg. Nationals get caught with American goods, Americans get blamed. ”

“ He tossed his bundle of clothing to the first ape. "Take my flier back to Moscow, Kolya lad. Give my clothes to Nadezhda Brunhildova, and tell Comrade Petchareff to expect Colonel James today."
Clutching the bundle, Kolya stuck his tongue out at Petya and bounded out of the room. They waited at the window until they saw Kolya take off in Pashkov's flier. Then they made their way down the service stairs to the alley, Pashkov dressed only in the hospital gown; got into the stolen Mercedes and drove to the National Hospital, all three leaning forward. ”

“ I'd very much like to try shelling peas for you."
"Why, of course. Pull up that chair, why don't you?"
Sitting down, he reached his trembling hands into the basket and came up with a handful of the green wonders. Mrs. Tilton moved the basket nearer him.
"After a while I'll go up to my room," he promised. "I feel a little tired already."
"Certainly."
He split a shell and slid his thumb under the peas. They rolled into his hand. He counted nine. He dropped them in the bowl, then put one in his mouth and chewed. It had a sweet taste.
"Thank you, Mrs. Tilton." ”

“ Pashkov told them to pick up the boxes of ammunition at the embassy and deliver them to the Cubans, and then to commandeer a private automobile.
"We have autos at the embassy pool," Zubov suggested.
"I want a vehicle off the street. Then report back here with your lads."
Petya gave Kolya a box on the ear.
"Boys, boys!" Zubov cracked the whip. "Out you go. A job for Gospodin Pashkov, lads. They don't get enough exercise," he grinned, backing out after them. "With your pardon, I'll thrash them later."
And they were gone. Pashkov turned to the hospital maps and studied them before taking a nap. ”

“ He could see past her into the kitchen—the corner of a large wood-burning stove and a row of brass pots. The floor was flagstoned and a hand pump stood over a sink.
"Do you really grow your own strawberries?" he asked. ”

“ What size hospital gown?"
"Short and fat," Pashkov said, and switched off.
Most countries wanted to break his neck, and his own Motherland did not always trust him. But he enjoyed his work—enjoyed it as much as his closest professional rival, Colonel James, U.S.A.
Pashkov landed on the roof of Intelligence in the northeast corner of the Kremlin, hitched up his pants and rode down. ”

“ Medvedev raised his hand threateningly. "Don't come howling to me if everybody guesses he is nothing but a robot."
Pashkov glanced back at the house. Since the publication of Dentist Amigovitch, this house had become known all over the world as Boris Knackenpast's villa. Now the house was guarded by a company of soldiers to keep visitors out. From an open window Pashkov heard the clicking of a typewriter.
"It's when they're not like robots that everybody suspects them," he said, climbing into his flier. "Petchareff will send you word when to announce his 'death'." ”

“ She put a big breakfast tray on Pashkov's lap. "Cloudy, damp, and windy. London stock market caves in, race riots in South Africa, famine in India, earthquake in Japan, floods in the United States, general strike in France, new crisis in Berlin. I ask you, what more can an idealist want?" ”

“ Make me miserable."
Pashkov spent an hour at Central Intelligence. Nothing unusual going on in Stockholm: an industrial exhibit, the Swedish Academy in session, a sociology seminar on prison reform, a forty-man trade mission from India.
An addendum to the Stockholm file listed two Cuban agents operating from Fralsningsarmen's Economy Lodgings. They were buying small arms and ammunition. He thought a moment, impressed the Cubans' address on his memory, and went to his flier.
He did not fly to Hotel Reisen at once. Zubov's kidnaping team could wait. ”

“ He rode down three floors, found room 615, and stopped as he heard voices within.
"... dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis, siete. By seven o'clock tonight, okay, Gringo?"
"What do you expect for seven thousand bucks—service? Look, boys, I'm just a honest businessman. ”