Free Who's on First by William F. Buckley Page B

REPLY ILYICH .” Bolgin picked up the office telephone and sent for the code clerk. “Bring in Saturday’s cables from Washington.”
    He leafed through them. At 1713 on Saturday, this cable had been received by the Paris chief of station, Sverdlov: “ AGENT BLACKFORD OAKES DEPARTED 1000 EDT PANAM FLIGHT #104 DESTINATION PARIS :” He did some quick calculation. The transatlantic flight, eastbound, would take ten or eleven hours. Oakes would therefore have arrived in Paris sometime after midnight. He picked up the telephone: “Sverdlov.” He was put through instantly: “Bolgin. Come, please.”
    The chief of station, a stocky, light-skinned man wearing an ill-fitting brown suit and gray vest, came to attention in front of Bolgin’s desk—Bolgin had the rank of colonel. “Relax.” Bolgin waved him toward the chair adjacent, under the picture of Lenin. He passed the cable over to him.
    â€œNo, Colonel, we didn’t pick him up. We have only that one picture of Oakes, you know. You’re the only person in the European theater who has ever seen him, since we lost Erika. The plane was chock-full. We managed to get a look at the manifest, but there was no Oakes listed. So we don’t even know what name he’s traveling under. And he hasn’t been near the U.S. Embassy, which of course isn’t surprising.”
    â€œHave you begun a hotel search?”
    â€œNo, sir. I knew you were coming in, so I thought I’d wait and see whether you wanted to do a search. I am aware, Colonel, of your instructions not to overuse our hotel contacts.”
    Boris Bolgin tapped his fingers on the desk while he reflected. He pointed to the cable that had just come in. “Moscow wants to know: Did we pick him up? What, my dear Sverdlov, do you wish me to reply? ‘ No .’—or ‘ Not yet ’?”
    â€œI understand, sir. You wish the full dragnet?”
    â€œLet me see the picture you have.”
    Sverdlov reached for the telephone, and presently a stout woman arrived with a folder.
    Bolgin looked at it. “Sometimes I cannot understand our Washington office. For three years we have asked for a more up-to-date picture of Oakes. They follow him around even to airports, but they don’t bother to get more pictures. It is lucky for them I am not in charge of the Washington office. Still … this is only … five years old. I don’t suppose that handsome fox has grown a beard”—he tugged at his own goatee. He depressed a button and a stenographer came in. “This is to Washington, Seryogin. ‘ RE OAKES CONTACT ORLY UNMADE. PROCEEDING WITH SEARCH. ADVISE IF HE DEPARTED USING ANY DISGUISE .’” And to Sverdlov: “They won’t wake Seryogin up for that, so we won’t get an answer until after lunch. Hold up the search until then, so we’ll know what we’re looking for.” Sverdlov rose to go. As he reached the door, Bolgin, while scanning the next cable, said, “By the way, Sverdlov, are you related to the Sverdlov who ordered the execution of the Czar?”
    Sverdlov drew his shoulders back. “I have the honor, Colonel, to be his grandson.”
    â€œWell, well. Yes. Well, that was a very efficient operation. Yes. Eleven people were there, and we got them all using only seventy-seven bullets.”
    Sverdlov watched his superior closely, attempting to frame an appropriate reply. He decided to be cautious.
    â€œAs you say, Colonel.”
    That young man will go far, thought Bolgin, waving his finger in dismissal as he returned to the cables.

9
    Sitting in the driver’s seat of the French taxicab, Blackford Oakes rehearsed yet again what he had gone over so many times with Rufus and Trust. It might very well not work, in which case the alternative plan, concededly less expeditious, would be put into operation the next day. So much depended on whether Soviet-trained Russians could