the file beneath his heavyfingers. "Never fear, before the week is out these fifty persons will beeither in prison or in their graves."
With a fluid motion, Ilya Simonov produced a small caliber gun, a specialmodel designed for security agents. An unusual snout proclaimed its quietvirtues as guns go.
"No, Kliment," Ilya Simonov said.
"Are you mad!"
"No, Kliment, but I must have those reports." Ilya Simonov came to hisfeet and reached for them.
With a roar of rage, Kliment Blagonravov slammed open a drawer and dove abeefy paw into it. With shocking speed for so heavy a man, he scooped up aheavy military revolver.
And Colonel Ilya Simonov shot him neatly and accurately in the head. Thesilenced gun made no more sound than a pop.
Blagonravov, his dying eyes registering unbelieving shock, fell back intohis heavy swivel chair.
* * * * *
Simonov worked quickly. He gathered up his reports, checked quickly tosee they were all there. Struck a match, lit one of the reports anddropped it into the large ashtray on the desk. One by one he lit them alland when all were consumed, stirred the ashes until they were completelypulverized.
He poured himself another vodka, downed it, stiff wristed, then withoutturning to look at the dead man again, made his way to the door.
He slipped out and said to the lieutenant, "The Minister says that he isunder no circumstances to be disturbed for the next hour."
The lieutenant frowned at him. "But he has an appointment."
Colonel Ilya Simonov shrugged. "Those were his instructions. Not to bebothered under any circumstances."
"But it was an appointment with Number One!"
That was bad. And unforeseen. Ilya Simonov said, "It's probably beencanceled. All I'm saying is that Minister Blagonravov instructs you not tobother him under any circumstances for the next hour."
He left the other and strode down the corridor, keeping himself from tooobvious, a quickened pace.
At the entrance to the Ministry, he shot his glance up and down thestreet. He was in the clutch now, and knew it. He had few illusions.
Not a cab in sight. He began to cross the road toward the park. In amatter of moments there, he'd be lost in the trees and shrubbery. He hadrather vague plans. Actually, he was playing things as they came. Therewas a close friend in whose apartment he could hide, a man who owed himhis life. He could disguise himself. Possibly buy or borrow a car. If hecould get back to Prague, he was safe. Perhaps he and Catherina coulddefect to the West.
Somebody was screaming something from a window in the Ministry.
Ilya Simonov quickened his pace. He was nearly across the street now. Hethought, foolishly, _Whoever that is shouting is so excited he sounds morelike a woman than a man._
Another voice took up the shout. It was the plainclothes man. Feet beganpounding.
There were two more shouts. The guards. But he was across now. The shrubswere only a foot away.
The shattering blackness hit him in the back of the head. It was overimmediately.
Afterwards, the plainclothes man and the two guards stood over him. Menbegan pouring from the Ministry in their direction.
Colonel Ilya Simonov was a meaningless, bloody heap on the edge of thepark's grass.
The guard who had shot said, "He killed the Minister. He must have beencrazy to think he could get away with it. What did he want?"
"Well, we'll never know now," the plainclothesman grunted.
THE END
* * * * *
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