and the fact that he was prone toa good time had relieved their fears of a martinet sent down from thecentral offices. They were beginning to relax in his presence.
In fact, they relaxed to the point where one of the girls didn't evenbother to hide the book she was reading during a period where there was alull in activity. It was Pasternak's "Doctor Zhivago."
He frowned remembering vaguely the controversy over the book a couple ofdecades earlier. Ilya Simonov said, "Pasternak. Do they print his workshere in Czechoslovakia?"
The girl shrugged and looked at the back of the cover. "German publisher,"she said idly. "Printed in Frankfurt."
He kept his voice from registering either surprise or disapproval. "Youmean such books are imported? By whom?"
"Oh, not imported by an official agency, but we Czechs are doing a gooddeal more travel than we used to. Business trips, tourist trips,vacations. And, of course, we bring back books you can't get here." Sheshrugged again. "Very common."
Simonov said blankly. "But the customs. The border police--"
She smiled in a manner that suggested he lacked sophistication. "Theynever bother any more. They're human, too."
Ilya Simonov wandered off. He was astonished at the extent to whichcontrols were slipping in a satellite country. There seemed practically nodiscipline, in the old sense, at all. He began to see one reason why hissuperior had sent him here to Prague. For years, most of his work had beeneither in Moscow or in the newly opened industrial areas in Siberia. Hehad lost touch with developments in this part of the Soviet Complex.
It came to him that this sort of thing could work like a geometricprogression. Give a man a bit of rope one day, and he expects, and takes,twice as much the next, and twice that the next. And as with individuals,so with whole populations.
This was going to have to be stopped soon, or Party control woulddisappear. Ilya Simonov felt an edge of uncertainty. Nikita Khrushchevshould never have made those first motions of liberalization followingStalin's death. Not if they eventually culminated in this sort of thing.
He and Catherina drove to her meeting place that evening after dinner.
She explained as they went that the group was quite informal, usuallymeeting at the homes of group members who had fairly large places in thecountry. She didn't seem to know how it had originally begun. The meetingshad been going on for a year of more before she arrived in Prague. A Czechfriend had taken her along one night, and she'd been attending ever since.There were other, similar groups, in town.
"But what's the purpose of the organization?" Simonov asked her.
She was driving her little aircushion Moskvich. They crossed over theVltava River by the Cechuv Bridge and turned right. On the hill above themloomed the fantastically large statue of Stalin which had been raisedimmediately following the Second War. She grimaced at it, muttered, "Iwonder if he was insane from the first."
He hadn't understood her change of subject. "How do you mean?" he said.
"Stalin. I wonder how early it was in his career that he went insane."
This was the second time in the past few days that Ilya Simonov had runinto this matter of the former dictator's mental condition. He said now,"I've heard the opinion before. Where did you pick it up?"
"Oh, it's quite commonly believed in the Western countries."
"But, have you ever been, ah, West?"
"Oh, from time to time! Berlin, Vienna, Geneva. Even Paris twice, onvacation, you know, and to various conferences. But that's not what Imean. In the western magazines and newspapers. You can get them here inPrague now. But to get back to your question. There is no particularpurpose of the organization."
She turned the car left on Budenska and sped up into the Holesovicesection of town.
* * * * *
The nonchalance of it all was what stopped Ilya Simonov. Here was a Partymember calmly discussing whether or not the greatest Russian of them all,after Lenin, had been mad. The implications were, of course, that many ofthe purges, certainly the latter ones, were the result of the whims of amental case, that the Soviet Complex had for long years been ruled by aman as unbalanced as Czar Peter the Great.
They pulled up before a rather large house that would have been called adacha back in Moscow. Evidently, Ilya Simonov decided, whoever wassponsoring this night's get together, was a man of prominence. He grimacedinwardly. A lot of high placed heads were going to roll before he wasthrough.
It turned out that the host was Leos Dvorak, the internationally famedcinema director and quite an idol of Ilya Simonov in his earlier days whenhe'd found more time for entertainment. It was a shock to meet the manunder these circumstances.
Catherina Panova was obviously quite popular among this gathering. Theirhost gave her an affectionate squeeze in way of greeting, then shook handswith Simonov when Catherina introduced him.
"Newly from Moscow, eh?" the film director said, squinting at the securityagent. He had a sharp glance, almost, it seemed to Simonov, as though hedetected the real nature of the newcomer. "It's been several years sinceI've been to Moscow. Are things loosening up there?"
"Loosening up?" Simonov said.
Leos Dvorak laughed and said to Catherina, "Probably not. I've always beenof the opinion that the Party's influence would shrivel away first at itsextremities. Membership would fall off abroad, in the neutral countriesand in Common Europe and the Americas. Then in the so-called satellitecountries. Last of all in Russia herself. But, very last, Moscow--thedullest, stodgiest, most backward intellectually, capital city in theworld." The director laughed again and turned away to greet a new guest.
This was open treason. Ilya Simonov had been lucky. Within the first fewdays of being in the Czech capital he'd contacted one of the groups whichhe'd been sent to unmask.
Now he said mildly to Catherina Panova, "He seems rather outspoken."
She chuckled. "Leos is quite strongly opinionated. His theory is that themore successful the Party is in attaining the goals it set half a centuryago, the less necessary it becomes. He's of the opinion that it willeventually atrophy, shrivel away to the point that all that will be neededwill be the slightest of pushes to end its domination."
Ilya Simonov said, "And the rest of the group here, do they agree?"
Catherina shrugged. "Some do, some don't. Some of them are of the opinionthat it will take another blood bath. That the party will attempt to hangonto its power and will have to be destroyed."
Simonov said evenly, "And you? What do you think?"
She frowned, prettily. "I'm not sure. I suppose I'm still in the processof forming an opinion."
Their host was calling them together and leading the way to the gardenwhere chairs had been set up. There seemed to be about twenty-five personspresent in all. Ilya Simonov had been introduced to no more than half ofthem. His memory was good and already he was composing a report to KlimentBlagonravov, listing those names he recalled. Some were Czechs, somecitizens of other satellite countries, several, including Catherina, wereactually Russians.
The American, a newspaperman named Dickson, had an open-faced freshness,hardly plausible in an agent from the West trying to subvert Partyleadership. Ilya Simonov couldn't quite figure him out.
Dickson was introduced by Leos Dvorak who informed his guests that theAmerican had been reluctant but had finally agreed to give them hisopinion on the press on both sides of what had once been called the IronCurtain.
Dickson grinned boyishly and said, "I'm not a public speaker, and, forthat matter, I haven't had time to put together a talk for you. I thinkwhat I'll do is read a little clipping I've got here--sort of a text--andthen, well, throw the meeting open to questions. I'll try to answeranything you have to ask."
He brought forth a piece of paper. "This is from the British writer,Huxley. I think it's pretty good." He cleared his voice and began to read.
_Mass communication ... is simply a force and like any other force, it canbe used either well or ill. Used one way, the pre
ss, the radio and thecinema are indispensible to the survival of democracy. Used in anotherway, they are among the most powerful weapons in the dictator's armory. Inthe field of mass communications as in almost every other field ofenterprise, technological progress has hurt the Little Man and helped theBig Man. As lately as fifty years ago, every democratic country couldboast of a great number of small journals and local newspapers. Thousandsof country editors expressed thousands of independent opinions. Somewhereor other almost anybody could get almost anything printed. Today the pressis still legally free; but most of the little papers have disappeared. Thecost of wood pulp, of modern printing machinery and of syndicated news istoo high for the Little Man. In the