"Hardly," said the Secretary, snapping up the hasps on the suitcase and opening it upon the table. "This," he said, lifting something from under tissue-paper padding, "is Agent X-45." The President's gaze was returned by two shiny black eyes, set on either side of a little brown muzzle with a gentle, stitched-on smile. Agent X-45 was clad in flight helmet, miniature jacket and tiny boots, with a baggy pair of brown canvas trousers belted at the waist with a bandolier holding a dozen small wooden bullets, and dangling a patent-leather holster containing a plastic water pistol. And he wore a small parachute and harness. "But that's a teddy bear!" cried the President. "Precisely," Professor Blake said. <tb> "I think I'll sit down," said the President, and did so, visibly looking like a man who believes he is surrounded by lunatics. "And look here!" said the Secretary, slipping his hand within Teddy's jacket and withdrawing a small oilskin pouch. "It's rather rudimentary, but the Cyrillic lettering is genuine, and our ambassador assures us the layout is correct." The President took the pouch, unfolded it and drew out a small sheet of paper, covered with the inscrutable letterings, and numerous rectangles and curving red lines. "I give up," he said. "What is it?" "A map of the Kremlin," said the Secretary, his eyes dancing. "That big red 'X' is the location of the Politburo Council Chamber." "Perhaps," the President said weakly, "you could explain...?" "Mister President," said Professor Blake, "I am the new Chief of Propaganda for the government." The President nodded, poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher and drained it. "Yes, yes?" he said. "Naturally, I have spent my career studying the psychology of a Certain Power...." The President groaned. "Please, gentlemen, let's name names! It need never go outside this room. _My_ lips are sealed!" The professor and the Secretary exchanged a look, a raising of eyebrows, then a shrug of surrender. "Very well," said Blake. "Russia--" "There," said the President. "That's more like it." Blake cleared his throat and went on. "We know the weak spot in the Russian armor is the mentality of the average Communist official," he explained, while the Secretary, who had heard this all before, fiddled with the straps of Teddy's parachute and hummed softly to himself. "They have a distrust complex. Everything and everybody is under 24-hour-a-day suspicion." "Yes, so I hear," said the President. "What do you suppose would happen to an agent that was caught by the Russians?" asked Blake. "I'd rather not even think about that." "Not the sadistic details, sir. I mean the general train of events, from the time of capture onward."