Free Program for a Puppet by Roland Perry

computer warehouse activities on the Czech border. The professor was certain it was Graham. They had his camera. It was being checked for ownership.
    Letovsky requested that Anatoli Bromovitch, deputy chiefof KGB’s Department Four, the functions of which included assassinations outside the U.S.S.R., be immediately dispatched to Vienna.
    At 2:00 P.M . Letovsky found Bromovitch among the tourists in the gardens of Schonbrunn Palace, sitting on a bench throwing parts of his sandwiches to the pigeons. It was an uncomfortable meeting for both. They were opposites in appearance, manner and attitude.
    Letovsky was a leading member of the Soviet elite, mainly because he had married the foreign minister’s daughter. He regarded himself as an international sophisticate. The professor enjoyed dealing with powerful Westerners and secretly admired the trappings of Western life-style.
    Bromovitch, a short, slightly plump man who always wore ill-fitting gray suits, hated Western “decadence.”
    Just one factor linked them: a dedication to Soviet world dominance.
    Letovsky sat on the bench next to Bromovitch, but refused to look at him. He hated that benign face and especially those deceptively pleasant light blue eyes. They were inhuman scanners that held your gaze and never left you as they searched for a hint of weakness or deceit.
    â€œHow was your flight?” Letovsky asked quietly.
    â€œTerrible,” Bromovitch grumbled. “I hate Aeroflot. No lunch. Not even vodka.”
    â€œI am sorry. You have been briefed?”
    â€œNo. Is it
Mokroye Delo?
” Bromovitch was referring to the KGB term for blood being spilled.
    â€œIt is.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œThat is up to you.”
    â€œYou have no preference how?”
    â€œOf course not. As long as it is neat.”
    Letovsky was relieved to be washing his hands of a sordid problem. Building sophisticated computer networks was his business. Never murder.
    After his narrow escape, badly shaken and sore, Graham slept in his hired car just outside Vienna rather than return to hishotel, which he feared could be checked. The previous night’s harrowing experience had left him with one aim: to get out of Vienna quickly.
    His flight was scheduled for 6:00 P.M . and he had left himself enough time to collect his gear from the hotel and drive to the airport. At 3:00 P.M . he telephoned his hotel from a public booth, ten minutes away.
    â€œAh, Mr. Graham,” said Frau Schiller, the manageress, relieved to hear the Australian’s voice. “You did not stay in your room last night and you did not return this morning. I nearly called the police!”
    Graham tried to sound at ease. “I’m very sorry, Frau Schiller,” he said. “I stayed the night with friends outside Vienna. I shall be in to the hotel to pay you and collect my luggage in an hour. Have there been any messages?”
    â€œNo, but it was strange, Mr. Graham. Three men came in, not half an hour ago. They said they were friends of yours, but would not leave a message.”
    Graham froze. “Is that all?”
    â€œThey wanted to know if you had checked out. I told them you would be flying back to London on the six o’clock flight. Was that correct?”
    â€œYes, of course, Frau Schiller. Thank you.”
    â€œI hope I have not spoiled things,” she said softly.
    â€œWhy?” Graham asked sharply.
    â€œThese men said they would probably meet you at the airport. They told me not to bother telling you. They wanted to surprise you.” There was a long pause. “Mr. Graham, are you there?”
    â€œAh, yes, Frau Schiller,” Graham replied slowly as he gathered his wits. “If they call again, please don’t tell them I’ve been in touch or that I’m coming back to collect my things. I want to surprise them also.”
    â€œThey are your friends then?”
    â€œI think so. Could you describe