Free Spy Who Read Latin: And Other Stories by Edward D. Hoch Page B

In recent weeks attempts have been made to smuggle these papers out of Russia.”
    “A difficult job. I understand they’d fill a large filing cabinet.”
    “That is correct.”
    “Where do you fit in?”
    “Here,” he answered simply. He opened an attaché case on the bench by his side and removed a stiff leather-covered folder. “My znachki collection!”
    The Russian opened the folder to reveal a felt surface bedecked with dozens of colorful souvenir lapel pins and covered with a protective sheet of plastic. The collecting of such pins, Rand knew, was a popular hobby in the Soviet Union. Virtually every organization in the country minted the little emblems, which were bought and traded with relish.
    “A good hobby for a retired man,” Rand observed. “In England we still collect stamps.”
    “This is the lapel pin of the Rostov Bureau of Travel,” Taz said, reaching beneath the plastic sheet to remove it and hand it to Rand. “It’s very rare. I had to trade five others for it.”
    The small metal disc looked something like a military decoration. Rand turned it over and studied the back. A tiny black dot was affixed to the very center of the metal. At a casual glance it might have been part of the workmanship.
    “Microdot,” Rand said in a neutral tone. “On the backs of them all, I suppose.”
    Taz grinned. “No one questions an old man’s hobby. Actually, it is a trick I learned from the Americans. As early as their Civil War, the Rebels were carrying minutely photographed dispatches hidden inside metal buttons. An amazing accomplishment for the early days of photography!”
    Suddenly the thing fell together for Rand. “Are you telling me these microdots contain Kolia Komarov’s manuscripts and notes?”
    Taz merely spread his hands in a gesture that might have meant anything. “I have contacted you because I feel you could arrange a meeting with Komarov. They say he is guarded by agents of British Intelligence.”
    “I wouldn’t know about that,” Rand answered, a bit stiffly.
    “Could I see him?”
    Rand studied the lapel pin in his hand. “How do I know this is what you say it is?”
    “I’ve not said what it is, but you are free to take that one and examine it.”
    “Thank you.”
    Taz put a hand on his shoulder. “My old friendly enemy Rand! We have been through so much together.”
    Rand dropped the lapel pin into his pocket. “When will I see you?”
    “I will be here at the same time tomorrow.” He patted the folder. “With my znachki .”
    By the following morning Rand had an enlargement of the microdot along with a visitor from the security division of Intelligence. His name was Michael Gentres and he was a calm man who moved very slowly.
    “You’re Rand, I suppose. Here’s the print you wanted.”
    Rand glanced at the enlarged pages of typewritten Russian text. “What is it, Major?”
    “Part of Kolia Komarov’s novel in progress. He saw it this morning and confirmed its authenticity,” Gentres replied.
    “I see.”
    “Is there more where this came from?”
    “Apparently.” Rand shrugged.
    “What’s the price?”
    “I don’t really know,” Rand admitted. “My contact is willing to deliver the rest, but only to Komarov personally.”
    “That might be difficult to arrange. He’s staying at a safe house and we want it to remain that way.”
    “Could I see him?”
    “I suppose so. You have a double-X security clearance.”
    Gentres drove Rand to a little house near the edge of the city, taking care to see they weren’t followed. It was a quiet street of elderly retired people, in an older section of Geneva, and there was little to distinguish Komarov’s house from others on the street.
    The man who answered the door was obviously armed and probably in the pay of British Intelligence, which had taken a special, if clandestine, interest in the Russian author’s safety. Gentres spoke a brief quotation from Keats—obviously the day’s password—and they were