FIRST OF THREE [TWO] ARTICLES ON LIPPERT, N.T.S. CASE

• Document Type: CREST
• Collection: General CIA Records
• Document Number (FOIA) /ESDN (CREST): CIA-RDP88-01314R000300600055-7
• Release Decision: RIPPUB
• Original Classification: K
• Document Page Count: 15
• Document Creation Date: December 16, 2016
• Document Release Date: October 13, 2004
• Sequence Number: 55
• Publication Date: March 8, 1970
• Content Type: MAGAZINE

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FIRST OF -ARTICLES ON LIPPERT, N.T.S. CASE
[Article by Aleksey Golub and Boris Daneliyas "Matilda's Signet-Ring";
Moscow, Kroko il, Russian, 8 March 1970, pp 6-83
Two jaguars in one trap
One night, a telephone rang at midnight in a certain Moscow
apartment.
C'Jaguar-l01?" a man's voice asked after the telephone was picked
up. "This is Jaguar-102. Reminders The comet takes off promptly at nine.
Cobra has prepared everything. The Amason can depart unimpeded. . .
"Roger!" Jaguar-101 answered. "Take-off promptly at nine!"
We would not know anything about this nighttime conversation if
it were not for one circumstance. The fact is that one of us was using
the code name Jaguar-101, and the other was using the code name Jaguar-102.
We began.resortin, to secret language and code names immediately
after one of the foreign intelligence services entered our names in its
card file. we do not yet know precisely which intelligence service it
was -- the British Intelligence Service, the West German Security Service,
or the American CIA. But inasmuch as that fact itself did not cause any
doubt, we hurried to use secret methods.
We were brought into this adventurous odyssey by a young trainee
on our magazine, Zhenya Lipatov. Zhenya was a fanatical stamp collector.
He possessed very rare issues from the Communications Department of exotic
Guadeloupe and a complete set of postal miniatures from sovereign Botswana.
He knew by heart the pedigree of the chairman of the international
association, Lucien Berthelot, and engaged in rsonal correspondence with
a French philatelist, Monsieur Levin [Levigne?J.
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Letters from Mousier Levin arrived every week. =times, as a sign
of consideration, the Parisian would enclose in the envelope a small present
-- two or three pieces of chewing gum.
?It's very beneficial stuff!" Zhenya, flaunting his international
contacts, would say as he popped the chewing gum into his mouth. "It
makes the oral cavity aromatic. . . It develops the facial muscles,
and prevents premature wrinkles!,"
The collaboration between the two collectors was fruitful and,
with the passage of time, could have enriched world philately. But once
Zhenya discovered in his mail box a letter not from Paris, but from
Frankurt-am-Main. The address on the envelope was written in an unfamiliar
handwriting.
The letter read as follows:
(From]
Alexsandr Lippert
West Deutschland
Frankfurt a/M.-I
Postlagerkarte 2o/
Dear Colleague,
I received your addxe_qg from Levin in France. He
has received many offers concerning the exchanging
of stamps and therefore gave me your address.
I am not a philatelist (which fact probably grieves
you), but I can send you several new items that are pro-
duced in our country.
My personal interests are modern Russian literature
and poetry.
If you are interested in anything other than stamps,
I would. be very eager to help you.
We will probably find common interests on which we
could conduct correspondence. I like to correspond in
Russian because I learned that language from my mother
and am interested in life in Russia.
I hope to receive a reply from you soon.
Best regards, and sincerely,
A. Lippert
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The possessor of the full set of postal miniatures of sovereign
Botswana was seized by a deep indignation: correspondence between representa-
tives of two countries had been unceremoniously expanded to include a third
power.
"Colleague! What does he mean, calling me 'colleague'?" the trainee
asked, flying into a rage. "He himself says that he doesn't have any__
interest in philately! I don't want to know any Lipperts, and they can all
go to hell! t'
"You don't have to get mad," we said. _!"You've looked at this incident
from one point of view. Now look at it from another. The man is offering
his hand to you and waiting for you to shake it. And what are you going
to do about it?"
"Well, I'm leaving! I have to take some exam," the trainee snapped.
"His hobby is literature, and mine is stamps! Well, if you're so anxious
to teach Russian literature to this Lippert, write to him yourselves t"
The melancholy cry of the amateur of Russian literature that carried
all the way from the banks of the Main touched our sensitive souls. We
'wanted to help a fellow human being in whom-the voice of blood had started
to speak. But we also were taking the risk of finding ourselves in the same
position as Herr Lippert himself, who had intruded into other people's
correspondence.
It was the same Zhenya who easily resolved all these doubts.
"You can write to him in my name,, he said. "Just make believe you're
my secretaries. Here's my signature stamp!"
Seized by a gush of nobility, we began to compose the first letter
to the West German city of Frankfurt-amain.
Insomnia ciie
Herr Lippert introduced himself as a traveling salesman for a West
German trade firm. is was 46 years old, married, and a loving father of a
two-year-old blonde girl.
The salesman's style was unsophisticated and had a winning simplicity.
"Dear Yevvgeniy,t" he wrote, "If you don't mind, I should like-
to-address you by your first name. And you can call me simply Alex. . f
"Well, he sure is straight-forward!" one of us said, touched to the
heart.
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,,Year indeed! That Frankfurter really has a true Russian soul!"
the other exclaimed.
The letters from Frankfurt came in a steady stream. The traveling
salesman was tying together friendly contacts with a strong seaman's knot.
The correspondence began to develop into approximately the following
dialogue.
,'Why don't we exchange our ideas frankly?" Heer Lippert suggested.
""I've read Isakovskiy's poetry. I like it. As for Anna Karenina,
frankly speaking, it's not worth the effort expended on it.,,
"Really, now!" we protested warmly. "After all, that's Tolstoy
you're talking about 1"
"Well, you might be right,"" Lippert eagerly agreed. "But man is a
creature that thinks. And it's very bad when he tries to think the way
that official criticism wants him to think, rather than the way that his
conscience suggests. In my opinion, it wasn't worthwhile to write such
a thick book just about suicide! And, generally speaking, please send
me only what I ask for, rather than everything lying around on the shelves
in the bookstores!"
e could have argued with the traveling salesman. But we decided
not to do so, so that Herr Lippert would not think that we were forcing
him to think the way that suited official criticism. Perhaps Herr Lippert
had his own program for becoming acquainted with our country. And that
is the way it turned out.
"I wouldn't be averse to reading a few of your newspapers," the
traveling salesman wrote.
But in this instance also, Herr Lippert did not wish to travel the
well-trodden path. He preferred to begin his acquaintance with our country
not with solid Moscow publications, but with small-format rayon newspapers.
"Especially," he wrote in justifying his request,'binoe I -b German
from Russia and he is very interested in knowing what is occurring in
the places that he knows . ""
Than Herr Lippert refined his request: the newspaper could be not
only from the indicated rayon, but also from any other. Or even from
several at one time. The more, the better.
Can't you just imagine the scene? A respectable German burgher
seated at home, surrounded by the members of his household. He puts his
horn rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose and reads aloud to all of
them. They all sit with bated breath. A report concerning the labor
success of animal huabandrymen in some village in Ryazanskaya Oblast
or woodcutters in a distant timber farm in Udmurt ASSR touches them all
to the heart. The burgher's wife, emotionally moved, wipes away a tear. The
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oldest son, Willy, aged 12, solemnly tells his parents that he's made up
his minds. he's going to be a tractor operator!
Incidentally, Herr Lippert by no means refused any of the more
solid. publications either. To his letter he appended a list of books that
he would like to have in his home library. For the most part, they dealt
with the establishment of the economic regions in the J SR# linear
programming, and electronics.
At the same time he asked to receive telephone books -- both city
ones, and intradepartmental ones.
"Telephone books -- that's to cure insomnia!" one of us guessed,
immediately. "When impressionable people are having a tough time falling
to sleep, it is recommended that they also read a few pages of price lists
and even accounting reports. . ."
Herr Lippert confirmed that guess. According to him, the intense
rat-race of the twentieth century and the great loads placed upon the
nervous system had a very detrimental effect. Therefore he always tossed
and turned before being able to fall asleep.
It was not difficult to send a telephone book to Frankfurt. But
our correspondent didn't wart just one telephone book -- he kept mentioning
them in the plural! We estimated by eye how a package like that would look.
Telephone books from ministries, main administrations, and depart-
ments? Vtvm public-service enterprises and taxi-cab pools ! The telephone
book for the General Staff, the Rocket Forces Headquarters, and the
Soviet Strategic Air Command!
That wouldn't have. been a package, but a whole shipment container!
A container full of insc to i zie!
The problem of an equivalent replacement arose by itself. Suddenly
t dawned on one of us, and, striking himself on the forehead, he said,
"I got it! Tablets! Let's send him ordinary inssomrlia tablets! Like,
Xy--Tol i t,
Inasmuch as that recommendation did not bring about any objections,
we immediately sent Tanya out to the drugstore to got the sleeping pills.
But despite our expectations, the medically approved sleeping pills
acted as a stimulant on Herr Lippert.
"in the future I shall probably have to give you more Inoffensive
and ideologically restrained instructions," Herr Lippert reprimanded us,
In his reply to our friendly gesture with the sleeping pills. "Let us
hope that by our stubbornness and our striving for better mutual under-
standing we shall overcome obstacles and stagnation. . ."
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It was obvious that the rat-race and excessive loads upon the
nervous system had had a detrimental effect upon Herr Lippert's mind.
He ended his somewhat confused message with a request that he be
immediately furnished the technical data pertaining to our radio receiver.
Although that request was a strange one, it was completely feasible.
Soon another letter came from Frankfurt-Wam-Main. It consisted of
just a single sheet of paper a schedule showing the broadcasts of
foreign radio stations transmitting in Russian.
At the established hour we tuned our receiver to the assigned
frequency.
"This is the voice of Free Radio speaking1 were the words that
came out of the speaker, words spoken by a distant foreigner. "May's
broadcast includes. . . The visit of the U. S. Secretary of State to the
countries of the Near Fit. . . Sugar riot in Voronezh. . . A few
intimate details in the life of Brigitte Bardot. . .;r
After rushing through the "latest news"' as though they were a
tome-twister, the announcer introduced to the radio listeners the
political commentator Roman Redlich.
11. . . Man is a being that thinks," the commentator said,
slurring all his sibilants, "and it is very frightening when an attempt
is made to force him to think in a manner that is desirable for official
criticism. This is attest, d to once again by the tragedy that broke out
recently in Voronezh. When a truck carrying sugar approached the central
grocery store, a crowd of a thousand people. . .11
Our mouths dropped open in astonishment. The commentator was
offering to his audience the very same sage aphorisms that were expounded
in letters written by the Frankfurt traveling salesman who, incidentally,
spiced them up with absurd fables.
Who is he, anyway? Alex Lippert or Roman Redlich? Or could it simply
be that Alex Lippert has more than one name? And more than one face?
That's a real straight forward person for you!
Tea-drinking with a sequel
We began to try to figure out who Alex Lippert was serving anyway-
But it turned out that we were trying to figure out something that was
already known. Because the traveling salesman himself had not made any
secret of this. We were convinced of that by events that happened soon
thereafter.
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One ay soon, the mail brought us a mysterious letter from an.unknown
'trey Lipitskiy.
"Hi, Yevgeniy!" the stranger wrote. "How are you getting along?
It's been so long since I got any letters from you that I can't remember
the date that I got your last letter. But that's not why I'm writing.
The most important thing is that you're healthy. . . My daughter is
growing up, and I have to devn?o-e lot of time to her, both taking her
for walks and helping her with her school work. It's necessary to prepare
.her gradually for starting school. I'm beginning to teach her English*
Already she understands this sentence: 'The letter heat with an iron!'
You're studying English too, aren't you? So you'll be able to understand
this and to evaluate her success in studying a foreign language.
"As for the phonograph records, there's nothing new yet. I hope
that you haven't lost your desire to become a 'knight of the pen.'
"Fondest regards,
Andrey. "
"It's gibberish!" one of us said.
"Utter nonsense!" the other objected.
Turning the letter this way and that, we stared at one another and
than began to repeat, with various inflections, the mysterious English
sentence that had been included in the letters "The letter heat with an
iron!"
Then we decided to freshen our brains by drinking a glass of
strong tea. After filling up the glasses with boiling water, one of us
hurriedly placed the hot tea kettle right on top of the mysterious letter.
Suddenly the action of the hot tea kettle caused dirty yellow letters
to appear an the letter between the lines that were written in violet ink.
The letter had a second, concealed text, that had been written in
secret ink. At the bottom of the letter was the distinct signature,
"Your friend Alex Lippert.,,
"lit the letter with an iron!'" one of us said, Tin English], when
the answer to the riddle dawned on him.
"An iron t " the other one yelled. "It means we're supposed to `iron
the letter!"
had everything in our office -- teletype machines, tape recorders,
and typewriters. We had a television set, fans, and an electric sun lamp.
The only thing we didn't have was an iron.
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,, iron? What kind of an iron?" the manager of the editorial
office asked in surprinki.
"A,n ordinary electric one!"
?Really, now, this is too much!" she said sternly.
The one who saved us was senior messenger Mariya Kirilovna.
"Hey, Tanya,,' the senior messenger told the junior one in a
peremptory tone, ?run over to my place and get my iron! It might be
old, but it sure heats up good!?
Armed with Narriya Kirillovna's iron, we placed the letter on the
window sill and began to iron it. A noxious Tnz3f of smoke came out of
the letter.
"Hay, fellows,' watch what you're doing! " Mariya Kiri l ovna said
in alarm. "you'll ruin my window silll Give me that iron!"
The senior messenger sprinkled the letter with water and spat on
the iron. Then she self-confidently ran it over the letter a few times,
and the secret inner thoughts of Herr Lippert came into view like freckles
when they are struck by the first rays of the spring sun.
This is what Alex wanted to communicate in seoreoyi
"Dear Yevgeniy,
The person writing this letter is your pen pal Aleksandr.
I am resorting to this means in our correspondence to be
able, in the most secure manner, to share my, ideas frankly
with you, to answer the questions that interest you, and at
the same time to provide you with the opportunity and means
for the expression of your own frank ideas, judgmentev and
wishes, which you would not be able to do in normal corres-
pondence.
I must inform you that I am a member of the Russian
Revolutionary organization, the R', which has as its primary
task the annihilation of communist dictatorship in the Mother-
land means of a national-liberation revolution. That task
is very important and very difficult. You, with your familiarity
with intellectual circles, could render a great service to our
pause.
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In order for our correspondence to continue successfully,
I recommend that you use secret writing. Write the open text
of your letter with some innocent content and. sign it with a
fictitious name. My replies to your letters will also use secret
writing. In order to read my letters, it will be necessary to
hut than with a hot iron. I'll sign my letters in open text with
the name 'Audrey.'
I hope that you'll answer my letter using secret writing
and. will tell me your opinion about the questions touched upon.
Do you listen to the radio?
Best regards,
Aleksandr."
Now about that? It turns out that our correspondent was a
revolutionary, and practically a participant of the fights on the barricades.
True, it was a bit difficult to imagine him in that role, since the
true face of the organization of which he was a member is rather well known.
The so-called National LaborA1I ncjNTS) in whose name Alex Lippert was
acting is a handful of decrepit White Russian emigres and all types of
war criminals who'fled to the West and turned up in the service of foreign
intelligence services.
At the present time it is an ordinary branch of American intelligence,
stationed in Frankfurt-am Main. Its code name is "Shuba" [Fur Coat].
The leaders of that branch have corresponding code names: "Shaba-l,"
"Shaba-2,t& "Shaba-3,? . . .
Generally speaking, though, it is very easy to see, protruding
from under the NTS'a sheepskin coat, the bared fangs of the American wolf.
At one time, at the dawn of hazy youth, that -- if. you'll pardon
the expression! -- organization learned a few sentences in Polish and
started a flirtation with intelligence officers in bourgeois Poland. Then
they succeeded in tempting a certain titled Japanese. Then they really
began to branch out. . . The organization hobnobbed with the Italians,
had deaalingrith the Germans, and even received support payments from
the British. . .
in a word, they had to suffer a lot before they met up with their
American uncle from the CIA.
The frequent change of bosses, obviously, could not fail to leave
its imprint. Therefore now, when the members of that "labor allianc,"
gather, the conversation among thbm sounds something like this:
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"Anata sigareta kundasal"(siol, one begins.
"You're always mooching cigarettes, you son of a bitch! [translation
Polish expression),"another one answers.
"Dona unit zigaretal" [sic], a third one whines.
{"You can all go to hell!" the one with the cigarettes shouts.
"Okay!" they all exclaim in chorus and take their seats.
And it is this polyglot group that is trying to eebliah an agent
network in our country. Most often, one can rest assured, nothing develops
from that venture. However, the "uncle from America" has no intention of
engaging in philanthropy. He wants to know what he is paying out money for.
In order to give a report to him, it is necessary to be a little
tricky. To concoct sensational stories out of critical comments in rayon
newspapers, to extract addresses and names from telephone books, to
establish correspondence under the guise of being collectors of postal
miniatures and avid numismatists. . .
It is necessary to operate while trusting to onets luck that
suddenly someone will snap at the bait.
In this instance we were the ones who became the object of that
"processing."
"Ah, so-o-o-o!" one of us said in surprise. "Okay!"
."Ah, so that's it!" the other exclaimed. "Behr gut!"
Harr Lippert had poked his nose into all the holes, without
even thinking that someone might squeeze it. The reckless handling of
his own nose was worthy of surprise. The fleshy appendage that decorated
the physiognoyy of Agent 375-240 -- or is he Agent 240-375? -- rose like
it lighthouse before us, tempting us. It would be so easy to grab onto
it. We could not fail to take advantage of that opportunity.
. . The very same day, messenger Tanya mailed the reply addressed
to Frankfurt-am-Main.
73ig day in Soasenheim
We had assumed that all our correspondence with Frankfurt-am--Main
had been of a nature that did not oblige us in any way. However, as it
became known subsequently, when all our letters arrived there they were the
object of fixed attention and careful study.
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During the first stage they were thoroughly analyzed by a specialist
who attempted to find in the text, or reading between the lines, any
hope-giving hinds. Then the letters were given to a certain Greek, who
claimed to be a Hindu astrologer and graphologist. With the aid of
astrological secrets, the Greek carried out a graphological analysis,
determining the future prospects of working with the addressee.
It is not known who it was that gave the favorable finding --
the specialist looking for hints, or the Greek astrologer -- but one way
or another the agent who hid behind the code name of Alex Lippert decided
that it was time to stop the game of hide and seek.
After sending us the fetter with the secret text, he now was
impatiently awaiting the results of the act that was undertaken. Every
day his man would check the post box at the Central Post Office in
Frankfurt where the secret mail intended for "Shaba'" was sent.
Finally the day came when the "Shubaf" mail man discovered the long-
awaited letter in the post box. After hurriedly putting the envelope into
a flat metal portfolio-safe, he started walking swiftly toward the bus stop.
The route traveled by the mail man. led to a suburb of Frankfurt,
called Soasenheim. There, in a secluded spot, behind a high fence,
stood several unpretentious buildings. ' Insile the solid gate thezti was
a sentry box with a German shepherd dog 'ea Des forth in front ftd of it.
This was the headquarters of "Shaba."
At the moment when the messenger with the portable safe had
passed the control point and was approaching the guarded territory,
practically a revolutionary uprising was taking place there. The signal
for this event had been a telephone call from a certain Natal'ya Ivanovna
Kungurtseva (Trubitsina) from the Frankfurt center of American intelligence,
which officially called itself the "Association of American Friends of
Russian cm.11
"A few things arrived here for you," Kungurtseva had reported.
"Send some people and a truck. . .11
And now that truck was standing in the middle of the courtyard.
Standing to his full height on top of it was one of the active "revolution-
aries," whose name is Matyukov and whose nickname is Kurkul' [colloquial
term for rich Ukrainian farmer]. The others, crowding closely on all
sides of the truok, were listening to him eagerly.
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"Fellow revolutionaries!" Kurkul' proclaimed fromhis elevated
position. ,our organizations has just received from America a shipment
of canned meat, cheese, lard, and a few articles of clothing! . .11
In the life of the inhabitants of Sossenheim, a shipment from across
the ocean is not such a frequent event. Therefore, when they were being
divided there would, as a rule, arise undesirable incidents that threatened
to split the revolutionary forces into several irreconcilable campi. As
it result, the ideologist of the organization, White Russian emigre Poremskiy
developed a special "molecular theory." According to that theory, all the
inhabitants of the headquarters were divided into groups consisting of
three or four persons -- "molecules." Each "molecule" was headed by a
senior man, who, in the German style, was christened "Puehrer."
The cheese, canned food, and jackets were divided among the "molecules"
in equal portions, according to the principle of solidarity, as a result of
which the inhabitants of Sossenheim began to call themselves Solidarists.
Inspired by his success, the ideologist decided to carry it farther.
He decided to transfer the experience of Sossenheim to entire countries and
peoples and now cherished the idea of creating a Solidarist state with
"molecules"" and "fuehrers. ""
"All fuehrers, form a column of onesd" Kurkul' announced. "All
others, dismissed!"
After receiving their alloted share, the "fuehrera" took their
1"molecules" off to the side and began to divide the products. One can
of meat for every two persons, one container of cheese for every three.
Overcoats, jackets, and trousers were tried on for size and then issued
on an individual basis. They were not new overcoats, and were fart from
fresh jackets and trousers, but they were still completely serviceable.
True, a few of the articles of clothing had small holes here and there,
but they could be darned easily, so that the articles remained almost
respectable.
The transatlantic presents melted before one's eyes. The perturbed
messenger, who had temporarily forgotten his duties, dashed up to the
truck and, pushing the "fuehrers" aside, tried to work his way forward.
"What do you think you're doing, trying to buck the line!" Kurkuli
roared. "Where+s your revolutionary awareness? You're still a Solidarity!
The fuehrers are standing here calmly, and you're pushing and shoving!"
With an aggrieved look, the mail man waved the portfolio and ducked
into the barracks where the office was located._ The "open sector" was
located on the left of the corridor, and the "secret sector" on the right.
Straight ahead along the corridor was the "operations sector."
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According to the procedure that had been established, all the
secret mail was immediately handed over to one of the heads of the
organization -- "Shuba-1.1' The person with that code name was a certain
Romanov -- a fat, flabby, balding man with round feminine hips that would
have enhanced any dignified "grande dame." He had the high-sounding title
of the head of the "secret sector," and unlike the others, occupied a
separate room with barred windows.
After opening the letter, "Shuba-l" sent it to the laboratory to
be developed. The laboratory had all the latest equipment. In addition
to a fancy new iron, it also had a multipurpose ironing board on which
it was possible to iron not only letters, but also the hand-me-down
-trousers from across the ocean.
The secret writing that appeared was a pleasant surprise.
Two other people rushed into Romanovee office: an elderly fop with a
gloomy expression and a flabby face -- this was Poremskiy, 11Shuba-20$ and a skinny person with a flattened face with high cheekbones -- this
was pkolovich, "Shuba-3."
All three "fur coats" deserved one another. Their service record
was just as twisting and slippery as the path of the organization itself.
A regular agent of the Intelligence Service, pkolovioh, who
subsequently deserted to the Hitleritea, during the Second World war headed
a group of provocateurs and saboteurs in Smolensk and Orsha.
Psoremakiy, who had begun his ohreer as a clerk in the Paris criminal
police department, collaborated with the French fascists and helped the
Hitlerites immensely in his role as Gestapo informer.
And now both of them, like Romanov, were working for Uncle Sam and
were part of the Solidarist upper crust.
The secret-writing message that had come from Moscow itself was,
for all three, a no less joyous occasion th6h the truck with the American
rations had been for the rest of the personnel at "Shuba." Until now,
all the attempts undertaken in this direction had not lead anywhere. And
now, suddenly, this lucky breaks
"z got to tell our American friends the good news!" Romanov said,
around.
In order for the report to look substantial, it was necessary to
get a report also from the associate who had assured the success of the
operation.
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"Woltld you please ask madame Ara to come to my office?" Romanov
said, poking his head out of the door.
The lady who answered the summons had a figure the luxuriance of
which could not be concealed even by a tightly drawn corset. The lady,
who made an obvious effort to look younger, was considered to be an
unsurpassed specialist in the handling of young people's minds, in
which endeavor she was greatly aided by the experience of her own stormy
.youth.
This was Ariadna Shirinkina. It was she who was philatelist
Levin, traveling salesman Alex Lippert, and the Andrey Lipinskiy who did
not mention his occupation.
Shirinkina'a report was rather scanty and insipid, but Romanov
hurriedly reached for the telephone. After dialing a number known only
to him -- the number of a small business firm engaged in the sale of
second-hand furniture -- he asked to speak to Herr Kraft.
"Kraft speaking! a displeased base voice growled into the
receiver.
"Shaba-1" asked to have a meeting set up.
After it was arranged, he said, "Okay, Herr Kraft!" and, smiling
servilely, said, "Sank you, sank you! [thank you].,'
After ending the conversation, Romanov told those present that
there would be a meeting with Mister Smith that evening in the Rex Hotel.
"With Smith?" Okolovich asked in surprise. "But you were talking
to Kraft!"
"Yea,, yea," Romanov said, with an exasperated wave of his hand.
"I was talking to Kraft! But he's Smith! He's also. . In general,
though, the real name of our American friend Burke isn't known to anyone.
I don't think he knows it himself. . ."
Desiring to convince their American friends that the life of the
heads of "Shaba" was constantly in danger, they decided to take bodyguards
with them to the hotel. Romanov, Poremskiy, and Okolovich set off to
the rendezvous in a black Mercedes. They were followed by an old rattling
Volkswagen carrying three characters wearing variously colored jackets
that had been obtained from the transoceanic shipment that had just been
unpacked.
The only ones who were allowed to enter the hotel unhindered were
the passengers in the Mercedes. The doorman disdainfully slammed the door
in the face of the bodyguards who, in this overseas get-ups, appeared to
be completely elegant. But the doorman had to maintain the hotel's
irreproachable reputation.
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The leaders of "Shaba" stayed until about midnight at the secret
rendezvous with Mister Smith, who was staying in an expensive three-room
suite in the hotel. As they left, wide-hipped Romanov was in front, mincingly,
looking the American obsequiously in the eyes and showing him something
as they walked. Slightly in back were "Shaba-2" and "Shaba-3."
The American, who wanted to speak face to face with Romanov, got
into the black Mercedes. Poremskiy and Okolovich, who were given to
understand that their presence at this discussion was not desired,
wore disappointed expressions as they squeezed into the Volkswagen.
"Well, you'll see," Okolovich said, with his eyes* flashing greedily.
"He'll pump out a big wad of money from that American. You can rest
assured that that behind won't give up what he thinks is his! Remember
Operation Seminarist!"
All these leaders had, intaddition to their agent code names,
nicknames. Romanov'a nickname was "the behind."
putting out a cloud of smoke, the overloaded Volkswagen rattled
(town Bruder-Gfrimmstrasse.
And that was the end of a big day at Soesenheim.
(To be concluded)
5075
CSOt 1855-D
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