THE COOL WAR
by ANDREW FETLER
Illustrated by NODEL
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Science Fiction June 1963.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Here's what happens when two Master
Spies tangle ... and stay that way!
"Nothing, nothing to get upset about," Pashkov said soothingly, takinghis friend's arm as they came out of the villa forty miles from Moscow.Pashkov looked like a roly-poly zoo attendant leading a tame bear."Erase his memory, give him a new name and feed him more patriotism.Very simple."
Medvedev raised his hand threateningly. "Don't come howling to me ifeverybody guesses he is nothing but a robot."
Pashkov glanced back at the house. Since the publication of DentistAmigovitch, this house had become known all over the world as BorisKnackenpast's villa. Now the house was guarded by a company ofsoldiers to keep visitors out. From an open window Pashkov heard theclicking of a typewriter.
"It's when they're not like robots that everybody suspects them," hesaid, climbing into his flier. "Petchareff will send you word when toannounce his 'death'."
"A question, brother."
"No questions."
"Who smuggled the manuscript out of Russia?"
Pashkov frowned convincingly. "Comrade Petchareff has suspected evenme."
He took off for Moscow, poking his flier up through the clouds andflying close to them, as was his habit. Then he switched on the radioand got Petchareff's secretary. "Nadezhda?"
"I know what you're up to, Seven One Three," Nadezhda Brunhildova said."Don't try to fool me, you confidence man. You are coming in?"
"In ten minutes. What have I done now?"
"You were supposed to make funeral arrangements for Knackenpast, sowhat are you doing in Stockholm?"
"Stockholm?"
"You're lying and I'll kill you. Don't you think I know about Anastina,that she-nurse in the Stockholm National Hospital?"
"Darling, why so cruel? Anastina is one of our contacts. Besides, she'scross-eyed and buck-toothed."
"Beast!" She switched him to Petchareff.
"What's been keeping you, Pashkov?"
"Consoling Medvedev. Am I supposed to be in Stockholm?"
"Never mind, get here at once. What size hospital gown do you wear?"
"Hospital gown?"
"Stockholm embassy says you're in the National Hospital there. In ahospital gown. I got through to Anastina. She says it's Colonel Jamesagain. He looks like you now."
Pashkov grunted.
"I'll never understand," said Petchareff, "why all top secret agentshave to look like bankers. Anastina says Colonel James was operated onby a Monsieur Fanti. What do you know about him?"
"He's a theatrical surgeon."
"You're not playing one of your jokes, Pashkov?"
"Hardly."
"You'd better be in my office in ten minutes. What size hospital gown?"
"Short and fat," Pashkov said, and switched off.
Most countries wanted to break his neck, and his own Motherland did notalways trust him. But he enjoyed his work—enjoyed it as much as hisclosest professional rival, Colonel James, U.S.A.
Pashkov landed on the roof of Intelligence in the northeast corner ofthe Kremlin, hitched up his pants and rode down.
In his office, Petchareff removed the cigar from his mouth as Pashkovcame in. "Medvedev get my orders?"
"He's preparing a new super-patriotic writer to replace BorisKnackenpas