ha! What kind of a mother had she been to the
Koslovs? To his grandfather, his father, his mother and brother? Where
would he, Paul, be today had he as a child not been sent fleeing to the
West?

And his life work. What of that? Since the age of nineteen, when a
normal teenager would have been in school, preparing himself for life.
Since nineteen he had been a member of the anti-Soviet team.

A star, too! Paul Koslov, the trouble-shooter, the always reliable,
cold, ruthless. Paul Koslov on whom you could always depend to carry the
ball.

Anti-Soviet, or anti-Russian?

Why kid himself about his background. It meant nothing. He was an
American. He had only the faintest of memories of his family or of the
country. Only because people told him so did he know he was a Russian.
He was as American as it is possible to get.

What had he told such Westerners, born and bred, as Lord Carrol and
Derek Stevens? _If he wasn't a member of the team, there just wasn't a
team._

But then, of course, there was Ana.

Yes, Ana. But what, actually, was there in the future for them? Now that
he considered it, could he really picture her sitting in the drug store
on Montez Street, Grass Valley, having a banana split?

Ana was Russian. As patriotic a Russian as it was possible to be. As
much a dedicated member of the Russian team as it was possible to be.
And as a team member, she, like Paul, knew the chances that were
involved. You didn't get to be a star by sitting on the bench. She
hadn't hesitated, in the clutch, to sacrifice her favorite brother.

* * * * *

Paul Koslov propped the Tracy, the wristwatch-like radio before him,
placing its back to a book. He made it operative, began to repeat,
"Paul calling. Paul calling."

A thin, far away voice said finally, "O.K. Paul. I'm receiving."

Paul Koslov took a deep breath and said, "All right, this is it. In just
a few days we're all set to kick off. Understand?"

"I understand, Paul."

"Is it possible that anybody else can be receiving this?"

"Absolutely impossible."

"All right, then this is it. The boys here are going to start their
revolution going by knocking off not only Number One, but also Two,
Three, Four, Six and Seven of the hierarchy. Number Five is one of
theirs."

The thin voice said, "You know I don't want details. They're up to you."

Paul grimaced. "This is why I called. You've got to make--or someone's
got to make--one h