"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. In his office, Petchareff removed the cigar from his mouth as Pashkov came in. "Medvedev get my orders?" "He's preparing a new super-patriotic writer to replace Boris Knackenpast," Pashkov reported. "When you give the word, he will call _Izvestia_ and tell them Boris is dead." Petchareff glanced at his calendar. "We have two other state funerals this week. You made it plain, I hope, we want no repetition of Knackenpast's peace nonsense?" "No more Gandhi or Schweitzer influences. The new literature," Pashkov promised, raising a chubby finger, "will be a pearl necklace of government slogans." Nadezhda buzzed the intercom. "The man from the Bolshoi Theater is here, Comrade." "Send him in." A small man hurried into the room. He had a narrow face and the mustache of a mouse and a mousy nose, but his eyes were big rabbit eyes. He bowed twice quickly, placed a package on the desk with trembling forepaws and bowed twice again. Petchareff tore open the package. "You got the real thing? No bad imitation?" "Exactly, exactly," the mouse piped. "No difference, Comrade." He held his paws as in prayer and his pointed mouth quivered. Petchareff held up the hospital gown. On the back of the gown was printed in indelible ink: stockholm national hospital courtesy of Coca-Cola Petchareff tossed the gown to Pashkov. "This is what Colonel James is wearing," he said, dismissing the mouse, who bowed twice and scurried out. "Try and split the allies," 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?" "I thought Zubov was a zoological warfare expert. What is he doing with a kidnaping team?" "His team is more agile. On your way." In the front office, Pashkov stopped to kiss Nadezhda Brunhildova goodby. "I may not return from this dangerous mission. Give me a tender kiss." Nadezhda was a big girl with hefty arms, captain of her local broom brigade. "Monster!" She seized him by the collar. "Is Anastina dangerous?" "Darling!" "Bitter sweetness!" she howled, dropping him. "Go, love. Make me miserable."