"Russia's patron saint till you amateurs took over. I have business with your boss. I mean Andrei Broncov. Not that it matters, but who conceived the idea of deposing Satan? Talk, _mujik_, and tell the truth. All of it." "Blame Broncov, not me," Volonsky pleaded. "It was his scheme to kill off several thousand loyal party comrades. They got a choice: Be tortured to death, or die quickly and work for a revolution in Hell as soon as they arrived. Naturally--" "I've heard enough, rat." Nick spat contemptuously, and a puff of gray smoke spread rapidly over walls, ceiling and floor. "That will hold you," he jeered, and opened the door. Aping the Minister's important waddle, he walked over to the great press. Editor Blochensk stared with fear-bulged eyes. "Anything--anything wrong, Your Excellency comrade?" he asked shakily. "Nothing I can't fix." "Oh!" The editor clutched his throat. "Thank--uh--uh--" "Never mind, I know Who you mean." Muttering words in Hell's silent language, Nick walked completely around the press. "It's perfect, Blochy. Don't let the content worry you. It's part of The PLAN. Roll out your papers and deliver them fast. Don't question anything. Orders from--you know." Only minutes ahead of the new Volonsky, Cletus had entered the lobby of the Droshky Hotel on Red Square. The cherubic scout had obeyed orders and made himself bellhop size, large size. He didn't exactly resemble the one in the cigarette ad but he had the kid's twinkle in his dark eyes. And he had already latched onto a luscious blonde; or, more likely, Nick concluded, the reverse. Having just registered as a Persian prince, Cletus again clanked down a large sack of gold pieces and a smaller one of jewels. "Put these diamonds and rubies into your best safe," he ordered in perfect Russian. The clerk's eyes began popping, so did the blonde's and those of a score of spectators, including four hard-faced MVD boys. "And I'll take care of you, Honey-Navi," the blonde said. "Ah, you just love me for my two billion dollars," the imp retorted, and winked at her. As did Nick, Cletus could plainly see the twist operated on the MVD payroll as well as in her own interests. "I'm selling out my fifty oil wells," he announced, "and I've come to town to see the head man, whoever he is today. I thought I'd let you dumb _mujiks_ bid for the wells before I practically give them to Super-San Oil company for a measly two hundred million dollars." "Of course, Prince Navi," the clerk said loudly. He nodded toward the four tough lads who, likewise, had not yet noticed the great Volonsky. Nick rapped on the counter with his six-carat diamond ring. "How about a little service here, comrade?" "One moment, comrade," the clerk said nervously. "What you mean, one moment?" Nick roared. "I haven't flown all the way from New York to have a two-bit clerk tell me to wait. I represent Super-San Oil and I'm here to meet a Persian Prince Navi."