“Who?” Joe growled. “And why?”
“It’s that Lieutenant Colonel Kossuth one, sir. I told him Doc Haer said you couldn’t be bothered, but he don’t seem to take no for an answer.”
Kossuth, Joe Mauser knew, was assigned to the West-world Embassy military attaché department on a full time basis. It occurred to him that the Hungarian would be privy to the inner workings of the Party as they applied to Joseph Mauser and his associates.
“Show him in,” he told Max.
“But the Doc—”
“Show him in, Max.”
Lieutenant Colonel Bela Kossuth was solicitous. He clicked heels, bowed from the waist, inquired of Joe’s well being.
Joe wasn’t feeling up to military amenities after his framed-up near demise of the day before. He growled, “I’d think you’d be wishing I occupied Captain Rákóczi’s place, rather than offering me sympathy.”
The Hungarian’s eyebrows went up, and uninvited he took the chair next to the bed. “But why?”
“You were the man’s second.”
Kossuth was expansive. “When asked to act, I could hardly refuse a brother officer. Besides, my superiors suggested that I take the part. As you probably have ascertained, major, there is considerable doubt the desirability of you remaining in Budapest.”
Joe was astonished. “You mean to sit there and deliberately admit the duel was a planned attempt to eliminate me?”
The colonel coolly looked about the room. “Why not, major? There is no one here to witness our conversation.”
“And you admit that your precious Party, the ruling organ of this Proletarian Paradise of yours, actually orders what amounts of assassination?”
Kossuth examined his finger nails with studied nonchalance. “Why not admit it? The party will do literally anything to maintain itself in its position, major. Certainly, the death of a junior officer of the West-world means nothing to them.”
“But aren’t you a Party member yourself?”
“Of course. One must be, if one is to operate as freely as circumstance allows in this best of all possible worlds, this paradise of ours.”
Joe sank back on his pillow. He couldn’t get used to the idea of this man, whom he had always thought of as the arch-stereotype Sov-world officer, speaking in this manner.
Kossuth crossed his legs comfortably. “See, here, major, you are all but naive in your understanding of our society. Let me, ah, brief you, on the history of this part of the world, and the organization which governs it. Have you studied Marx and Engels?”
“No,” Joe said. “I’ve read a few short extracts, and a few criticisms, or criticisms of criticisms of short extracts. That sort of thing.”
* * * *
Kossuth nodded seriously. “That’s all practically anybody does any more, even in the Sov-world where we give lip service to them. The point I was about to make is that the supposed founders of our society had nothing even remotely approaching this in mind when they did their research. It evidently never occurred to either that the first attempts to achieve the—” the Hungarian’s voice went dry—“glorious revolution, would take place in such ultra-backward countries as Russia and China. The revolution of which they wrote presupposedly a highly industrialized, technical economy. Neither Russia nor, later China had this. The, ah, excesses that occurred in both countries, in the mid-Twentieth Century, were the result of efforts to rectify this. You follow me? The Party, in power as a result of the confusion following in one case the First World War, and in the second case, the Second World War, tried to lift the nations into the industrial world by the bootstraps.”
The colonel cleared his throat. “Let us say that some elements resisted the sacrifices the Party demanded—the peasants, for instance.”
Joe said, dryly himself, “If I am correctly informed on Sov-world history, you do not exaggerate.”
“Exactly. Let us admit it. Stalin, in particular, but others too, both before and following him, were ruthless in their determination to achieve industrialization and raise the Sov-world to the level of the most advanced countries.”
Joe said, “This isn’t exactly news to me, colonel.”
“Of course not. Bear with me, I was but making background. To accomplish these things, the Party had to, and did, become a strong, ruthless, even merciless organization, with all power safely—from its viewpoint, of course—in its hands. And, in spite of all handicaps and setbacks, eventually succeeded in the task it had set itself. That is the achieving of an industrialized nation.”
The Hungarian pursed his lips. “But then comes the rub. Have you ever heard, Major Mauser, of a ruling class, caste, clique, call it what you will, which stepped down from power freely and willingly, handing over the reins of government to some other element?”
Joe vaguely remembered hearing similar words from some other source in the not too distant past, but by now he was fully taken up by the astonishing Sov officer. He shook his head, encouraging the other to continue.
* * * *
Kossuth nodded. “They tell me that in ancient Greece and Rome, tyrants or dictators would assume full powers for a period long enough to meet some emergency, and would then relinquish such power. I do not know. I would think it doubtful. But whether or not such was done in ancient Greece, it has been a rare practice indeed, since.
“A ruling caste, like a socio-economic system itself, when taken as a whole, instinctively perpetuates its life, as though a living organism. It cannot understand, will not admit, that it is ever time to die.”
The Hungarian waggled a finger at Joe. “At first, when there was insufficient even of the basics such as food, clothing and shelter, Party members soon learned to take care of their own, explaining this deviation from the original Party austerity, by various means. Nepotism reared its head, as always, almost from the very beginning. Party members wished their children to become Party members and saw to it that they secured the best of education, and the best of jobs. And…how do you Americans put it…the practice of you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, became the rule. Soon we had a self-perpetuating hierarchy, jealous of its position, and jealous of the attempts of outsiders to break into the sanctified organization. Marx and Engels wrote that following the revolution the State would wither away.” The colonel laughed acidly. “Instead, in the Sov-world it continually strengthened itself. A New Class, as the Yugoslavian Milovan Djilas called it, had been born.”
The Hungarian seemed to switch subjects slightly. “And a new development manifested itself. At first, Russia alone was of the Sov-world but as she became increasingly powerful, she exported her revolution, taking over in such advanced countries as, let us say, Czechoslovakia and East Germany. Here, supposedly, would have been the conditions under which the original ideas of Marx and his collaborator would have flourished, but the Party moved in its heavy bureaucracy and prevented any such development.”
Bela Kossuth laughed gently. “Ah, ha, but this led to one of the ironies of fate, my friend. Because as the Sov-world expanded its borders it assimilated peoples of far more, ah, sharpness, shall we say? than our somewhat dour Russkies. In time, bit by bit, inch by inch, intrigue by intrigue—”
“I know,” Joe said. “The capital of the Sov-world is now not Moscow, but Budapest.”
“Correct!” the Hungarian beamed. “At the very first, we Hungarians tried to fight them. When we found we couldn’t prevail, we joined them—to their eventual sorrow. However, the central problem has not been erased. We have finally achieved, here in the Sov-world, to the point where we have the abundant life. The affluent society. But we have also reached stagnation. The Party, like a living organism, refuses to die. Cannot even admit that its death is desirable.”
He held his hands out, palms upward, as though at an impossible impasse.
Joe said, suddenly, “What’s all this got to do with me, Colonel Kossuth?”
The Hungarian pretended surprise. “Why, nothing at all, Major Mauser. I wa
s but making conversation. Small talk.”
Joe didn’t get it. “Well, why come here at all? Max said you were rather insistent about seeing me, in spite of doctor’s orders.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” The Sov officer came to his feet again and clicked his heels. “My superiors have requested that I deliver this into your own hands, as well as copies to the West-world Ambassador, to General Armstrong and Dr. Haer.” He handed a document to Joe.
Joe turned it over in hand, blankly. It was in Hungarian. He looked up at the other.
Lieutenant Colonel Bela Kossuth said formally, “The government of the Sov-world has found Major Joseph Mauser, Dr. Nadine Haer, and General George Armstrong, persona non grata. As soon as your health permits, Major, it is requested that you leave Budapest and all the lands of the Sov-world, never to return.”
He clicked his heels, bowed again, and started for the door. Just as he reached it, he turned and said one last thing to Joe Mauser.
XXII
In spite of Nadine Haer’s protests, Joseph Mauser insisted that they abide by the Sov government’s expulsion order on the following day. A special plane took them to London, and they there caught the regular shuttle to Greater Washington. At least, Joe, Nadine and Max did, General Armstrong remained on in London.
The flight itself was largely uneventful, Joe having retreated into his thoughts. He had a great deal to think about. Not only in regard to the immediate collapse of his mission, but both of the past and future, as well.
Max, looking out the plane’s window as they took off, bore an air of nostalgia. “Look there,” he pointed. “You can see that big statue of the Magyar warriors, there in front of the Szepmuveszeti Museum, like.” He sighed. “I had a date with a Croat girl, to meet her there tomorrow night. I was making good time with Carla. She thought it was romantic, me being from the West, and all.”
“Max, my friend,” Joe growled. “Save us the lurid details of your romances.”
But his voice hadn’t really borne irritation. Max went on, “You know, you kind of get used to these people. They aren’t much different, like, than us. Take fracases, for instances. They don’t have them like we do, but they got their Telly teams out there in Siberia, with the lads that go chasing the rebels and all. And they got their duels they cover on Telly. But I was thinking, why don’t they get modern and have real fracases, like us? And then we could have, like, international meets, and they’d send a division, and we’d send one, and have it out. Zen! That’d be really something to watch.”
Joe winced.
Nadine said, “Max, it took the human race ten thousand years to put even a temporary halt to the international war, now you want to bring it back for the sake of a sadistic Telly show.”
“Yeah, but gee—”
Joe Mauser said, “Max, go on back to the bar and have yourself a drink. I want to talk to Nadine.”
When the little man was gone, Joe said, in a conversational tone, “We can be married tomorrow, right after we’ve reported to Phil Holland and the others.”
Her eyes widened, “Well, really! Don’t you think you might ask me about it?”
He shook his head. “No, we’ve covered all the preliminaries. The trouble with me has been that I’ve continued to look up at you. I suppose the caste system is too deeply ingrained in me. But now…you’re my woman. Period. I suppose you’ve actually been wondering why I’ve been such a slow clod.”
“Do you think you’re looking down at me now?” She countered indignantly.
“No. Just evenly. We’ll be married as soon as possible.”
Her voice went strangely demure. “Yes, Joe,” she said.
They drove immediately from the airport to the office of Philip Holland, stopping only long enough for Joe to make a phone call.
They retraced the route over which Nadine had taken him that day that seemed so long ago, but actually wasn’t. Through the long corridors, and eventually to the small office with the receptionist.
Miss Mikhail said, brightly, “Dr. Haer, Major Mauser, Mr. Holland is expecting you. Go right in.”
Just before pressing through the door, Nadine put her hand on Joe’s arm and looked into his face ruefully. “Darling, you’ve had so much hard luck in your time, I’m sorry this first assignment for the organization had to be a failure.”
Joe wet his lips, carefully, “Why’d you think it was?” he said, opening the door.
Nadine could only stare as he ushered her into Phil Holland’s presence.
* * * *
That crisp, efficient operator made much the same motions he had the first time Joe had met him here. Holding a chair for Nadine, shaking hands briskly with Joe and motioning to another chair for him. While they were getting settled, Frank Hodgson sauntered in, seemingly as lackadaisical and disinterested as ever. After a minimum of exchanged pleasantries, he subsided onto the couch and fished for pipe and tobacco.
Holland took in Joe’s arm, still immobilized in a sling, and the other signs of his wounds. He said crisply, “I thought that we had removed you permanently from the field of combat, Joe.”
Joe said sourly, “Some of the Sovs thought otherwise.”
Holland said, an element of irritation in his voice, “It is hard to understand how you could have revealed yourself so quickly.”
Joe pursed his lips and looked at Nadine. He said, “I think I’ve figured that out. It’s practically impossible for Nadine to dissimulate. And I’ve never seen her and her brother together but that they weren’t arguing.”
Nadine was frowning at him. “What has Balt to do with it?”
Joe said, “I have a sneaking suspicion that in the heat of one of your arguments with your brother, the Baron, you revealed your, and my, mission and its real purpose.”
Nadine’s right hand went to her mouth.
Joe finished with, “And the Baron, after all, is a member of the Nathan Hale Society. I have no doubts that the organization has some connections with their equal number in the Sov-world.”
Holland grunted. “Very possible. However, it’s done now. The thing is, what is your opinion Joe, and yours, Nadine, on the advisability of sending other operatives on the same mission?”
Joe shook his head. “Unnecessary.”
Frank Hodgson paused in lighting his pipe, to peer through the smoke.
Joe said, “In fact, it was unnecessary to send Nadine and me.”
Holland’s voice was testy. “I assure you, Joe, the particular assignment was quite important. We simply cannot afford to move, here in the West, until we know what the Sov-world will do. Your task was a delicate one, obviously. You simply couldn’t go to their government and ask. There are strong elements in not only the Upper caste, but even the middle and Lower ones, here in this country, who would spring to the defense of present West-world society if they thought an attempt was being made to alter its structure. If the Sov government reported that it had been approached by elements of a revolutionary group, the fat would be in the fire.”
Joe nodded. “I realize all that.”
“You were expected to worm your way into their circles, to feel them out. To contact their own underground, if one exists. To ferret out definite information on how they would react if we began definite changes in the status quo here.”
Joe continued to nod.
Holland was increasingly irritated. “Then why, good heavens, do you say your mission was unnecessary?”
“Because they had already sent a mission over here to contact us,” Joe told him, evenly.
Had he suddenly got up from his chair, walked up the wall, across the ceiling, then down the other wall, they could not have stared at him the more.
The telly-mike on Phil Holland’s desk squeaked something, and he took time enough to snap, “No. I told you, Miss Mikhail, I was not to be disturbed by anyone.”
But Joe said, “If that’s Colonel Lajos Arpád, I suggest you have him in. I took the liberty of phoning him and asking that he meet us he
re.”
Frank Hodgson was the first to recover. “Arpád! That spy! I’ve just about gathered enough dope on him to have him declared persona non grata and ship him back to Budapest.”
“As I was shipped back to Greater Washington,” Joe said dryly. “Colonel Arpád and I seem to duplicate each other’s activities in almost everything.”
Phil Holland said crisply into the communicator, “Ask the colonel to come in, Miss Mikhail.”
* * * *
Ever the correct Sov-world officer, Colonel Arpád came to attention immediately upon entering the room, clicked heels, bowed from the waist. Except for Joe Mauser, none of them had met him, but he evidently knew all, greeting them by name.
The men had come to their feet. Joe said, “Meet Colonel Lajos Arpád, high in the ranks of the Sov-world Party, and at present on secret mission from the Sov-world underground revolutionary organization.” Joe ended up wryly. “His mission being to determine what action the West-world might take if the secret group which has determined to make basic changes in the Sov-world socio-economic system was to take action.”
It was the Hungarian who stared now. His eyes bored into Joe’s face. “I do not, of course, admit that, Major Mauser. But where in the world did you receive that strange opinion?”
Joe sat down again. The blood he had lost still bothered him, and he tired easily.
He said, “From Colonel Kossuth, in Budapest. Another high ranking member of your group.” Joe’s eyes went back to Holland and Hodgson. Quick minded these two might be, but they were being asked to assimilate some shocking information.
Joe brought it all out. “I don’t know why it didn’t occur to any of us that the problems of the West-world and those of the Sov-world, at long last have become similar, almost identical. Both, following different paths, have achieved the affluent society, so called. But in doing it, both managed to inflict upon themselves a caste system that perpetuated itself, eventually to the detriment of progress. In the past, revolutions used to be accomplished by the masses, pushed beyond the point of endurance. A starving lower class, trying to change the rules of society so as to realize a better life. But now, in neither West nor in the Sov-world are there any starving. The majority of Lowers and Proletarians are well clothed, fed and housed, and bemused by fracases and trank pills, or their equivalent over there.”
The Mack Reynolds Megapack Page 97