Zorin said, "I understand that your Russian is fluent so if you have no objections well speak my language.
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My English is atrocious."
"No objections," Mike said. He had a mouse-being-played-with feeling, although Zorin was more like a moth-eaten bear than a cat.
Zorin picked up a paper from the desk before him, put on a pair of reading -glasses, and read. "Michael J. Edwards, Academician degree in political economy in your early twenties." He looked up at Mike, over the top of his steel-rimmed glasses. "Congratulations. Quite an accomplishment, so I understand."
"Thanks," Mike said.
Zorin went back to his report. "Spent some years teaching political economy as a professor in the University of New Mexico. Resigned and took position as tourist agent in Spain. Eventually began an association with a Mr. Frank Jones, notoriously ah, hatchetman, I believe the Western term is, for the anti-Soviet Complex organization the Bureau of International Investigation, for the time working under the anti-Soviet Complex organization NATO. Returned to America for a series of secretive meetings with top Western officials such as the President and Lawrence Bigelow. Emerged in approximately a year as a high official of the…" Zorin squinted at his paper again "… the Old Time Religion Church. A religious organization of which we can find no previous record. Six months ago, arrived in Moscow and with a large staff began a strenuous and highly expensive program to spread the new faith."
Zorin looked up at Mike, and leaned back in his swivel chair.
Mike Edwards said nothing. He had passed the point of despair where anything made any difference.
He only wished that they'd had as little as one more month to work. By then nothing would have stopped them.
Zorin said, "Frankly, from the first we couldn't understand what in the world you had in mind."
Mike said, "From the first!"
Kirichenko, who up until this time hadn't opened his mouth, doing nothing more than remaining on his chair and jittering nervously, said, "Did you think us fools? We of the Party have had the better part of a century's experience in international intrigue."
That was a good question, Mike decided.
Zorin quieted his colleague with a tired sweep of his hand. He said, "We were, frankly, intrigued. We must thank you for an interesting puzzle to solve."
Mike reached hopefully for a straw. There is no puzzle. My organization is simply evangelizing its faith."
"Of course," Zorin said, not even bothering to use a sarcastic note. He picked up another paper. "We saw light as Soviet exports fell off and, unsurprisingly, those of the United States and Common Market all began to grow."
Mike forgot about the straw. They had him all right. He supposed that Frank Jones and the others were even now being corralled. He wondered how stringent the measures taken against the Russkies who had joined up would be. People like Vovo and Ana. He felt a twinge of fear for Catherina. Catherina! They had planned to be married shortly. Even though in this day and age, few couples bothered to go through the formalities any more.
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Zorin tossed the paper back to his desk. He looked at Mike again, appraisingly.
He said, "You did an excellent job, Mr. Edwards. It is my despair that we of the Soviet Complex have so few young men, any more, who care about doing an excellent job. They are more fond of having an excellent time.'
Mike shrugged. He wondered momentarily if it'd be worth the try to jump the desk and try to use a little karate on Number One. Would the pure pleasure of getting in just one or two blows be worth the extra working over they'd undoubtedly give him?
Zorin said interestedly, "Do you think it will work?"
Mike brought his attention back to reality. "Do I think what will work?"
Number One was impatient. "Your idea of teaching moderation with the long distance view of minimizing Soviet Complex tourism and eventually reviving Western trade as our own falls off?"
Mike snorted in self-deprecation. Why kid around any longer? They knew the whole story. "I originally hoped that it would. Now, obviously, you've caught me."
That's not what I asked you," Zorin said, only slightly impatient. "Do you think it will work?"
Mike stared at him.
Zorin spelled it out. Thus far, Mr. Edwards, we have taken no steps to prevent your organization from continuing its efforts." He looked over at his Minister of Internal Security. "In fact. Comrade Kirichenko, here, is in favor of my joining the Old Time Religion Church to set an example."
It took several moments for that to be assimilated. Mike said finally, "Look, have you got a drink around here?"
Zorin chuckled as he brought a bottle from the desk. "My dear Bishop Edwards, remember?
Moderation?" He brought out three large shot glasses, poured the yellowish liquid into them.
"Moskovskaya Starka vodka," he said. "The best, flavored with forest herbs."
Mike knocked the drink, stiff-wristed, back over his palate.
The two Russkies joined him, solemnly. Zorin poured three more. This should really be served ice cold,"
he said.
Mike said, "Look, could we start somewhere nearer to the beginning?"
Number One scowled at him. "Frankly, I'm not sure where the beginning is. Maybe with Lenin. Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov's main task was to bring the Bolsheviks to power. He succeeded. Stalin's main task was to pacify the country under Party rule and to lay the foundations for industrialization. He succeeded. The jobs of Khrushchev and Brezhnev were to overtake the West in production. They succeeded. My job has been to automate and computerize Soviet Complex production to the point of outstripping the West.
I have succeeded." Zorin looked at Mike, an expression on his heavy face. "But I am not sure that it all of my task. You are a scholar of political economy, Mr. Edwards. What would you say?"
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Mike was gaining courage by the minute. He said, "Well, according to your boy, Karl Marx, once the revolution was successful, the State was going to wither away. Instead, ever since Lenin's time, you've been strengthening it."
Zorin said, interestedly, "Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Edwards, that handing over power isn't the simplest thing in the world? We of the Central Committee admittedly govern the Soviet State today. To whom would we hand over our power?"
Mike was momentarily stopped. "Well," he said, "to the people. Let them democratically elect their own officials."
Number One was scowling again. "Revolutions don't come from the top down, Mr. Edwards. They come from the bottom up. And they have in the past through the efforts of a frustrated majority, often a starving one, been pushed by economic necessity to overthrow their ruling class. Where is the starving majority in the Soviet Complex today? A few decades ago the Yugoslavian Djilas railed against the New Class that was growing in the Soviet countries. But as time passed more and more of our people graduated into that class. Now they're all members."
Mike said frowning, "You mean you wish you could step down, and can't.
Kirichenko said nervously, "When men in power let go the reins, things have a way of getting out of hand. None of us looks forward to the possibility of some hotheads lining us up against the nearest wall or hanging us by the heels from a handy lamppost"
Zorin said unhappily, "Actually, there is no one to hand our power. No one is interested in taking it. No one could care less." He sighed deeply. "I come back to my earlier question, Mr. Edwards. Do you think it will work?"
"You mean the new religion?" Mike couldn't quite get the others' lack of antagonism. "Well, so far it has, and it's growing fast."
Zorin said, "Maybe it's the answer. I don't know."
"Answer to what?" Mike said, all but snappishly. He'd come a long way in confidence since entering this office twenty minutes before.