3.

The fly kept banging against the screen and John Spaight watched it angrily but he didn’t stir from his chair. Dust motes hung in the July heat. “You did a hell of a job down here.”

Alex said, “You’re putting that in the past tense.”

“I told you—they’ve cut orders on you.” Spaight dropped his palm flat on the document on his desk. “I’ve got to ask you something Alex. We’ve never talked about it before. You spent eight or nine weeks in Spain training soldiers for Franco. Then you just bugged out without a by-your-leave. Why?”

Spaight was a friend but it looked as if he was trying to bait Alex and until he knew why he wasn’t going to fall into a trap. “A lot of us on both sides were misguided by our own zeal. Sooner or later you began to realize the Fascists were as bad as the Communists.”

“If not worse.”

“They weren’t any worse. Better equipped. I couldn’t see any other difference.”

“The point is, Alex, you got fed up and you just bugged out.”

He began to see it. “I was a mercenary there. Not a Spanish citizen. If that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Take it easy, Alex. There’s a point to all this. Let me put it this way—suppose we find ourselves allied with Russia against Nazi Germany. If we get into this war that’s exactly what may happen. Where does that put you, Alex? What do you do then, hating those Red Russians the way you do? You stick it out and follow orders? Or do you bug out again?”

Alex brooded at him. “John I’m a volunteer. I came down here to train soldiers, not to support political alliances. I’m not a spy, I’m a soldier—I do my job and that’s all I do. If you’re not satisfied with my work then you’d better ask for my resignation.”

“I wish it was that cut and dried.” Spaight lifted the typed page from the desk and handed it to him.

CJCS LETTER ORDER # 1431: 28 JULY 41.

FROM: CJCS, WDC.

TO: ALEXSANDER I. DANILOV, COL. AUS. 0479863.

VIA: CG FT BLISS TNG CMD.

SUBJECT: RELIEF FROM COMMAND, TRANSFER & REASSIGNMENT.

1. Subject officer is rlvd cmd of 2nd Tng Bn, 1st Spl Tng Rgt, 2 Div 4 Army, Ft Bliss Tex, Effective Immediately.

2. Subject officer is detached from 2 Div 4 Army.

3. Subject officer is reassigned Independent Duty JCS Command, WDC.

4. Subject officer will report to office of G-2 CJCS, WDC (A-X-32-B-21, Ft McNair) not later than 1000 hrs 23 July 41 for further reassignment.

5. Transportation by Ind TDY.

By order of CJCS,

G. D. Buckner, Colonel AUS

For G. C. Marshall, General USA, CJCS.

Alex folded the order along its original creases and slid it into his pocket.

Spaight said, “They’re sending in a Canadian to relieve you—veteran of Dunkirk. To teach us how to lose gracefully I suppose.”

“They’ll do all right,” Alex said in a distracted voice.

“Alex, they’re taking you out of here. Marshall’s G-2—that’s the cloak and dagger end. Frankly I’m not sure it’s the right place for you. I’m not sure you belong in this army at all under the circumstances. It was all right as long as you were down here—it gave you a chance to heal up, it gave me the best training officer I’ve ever had. But Washington, the Intelligence branch—that’s something else again.”

“They didn’t consult you about this?”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it. I tried a phone call to Washington this morning but all I got was a runaround. But I’d have to be an ass if I didn’t figure you for one of their Russian desks in the Intelligence office.”

“And you want to know if I can be trusted there.”

“Alex, it’s a hell of a thing to have to—”

“If I can’t do the job with absolute loyalty I’ll resign.”

Spaight gave him a long scrutiny and then the smile-tracks creased around his tired eyes. “Good enough.”

He cleaned out his office desk and had the driver ferry him to the BOQ.

The wall phone was buzzing when he went by it and he lifted the earpiece off its bracket. “BOQ. Colonel Danilov.”

“Oh—Colonel. Base Central. Just tried to get you over to your office. They’s a long-distance call for you. You supposed to call Operator Three in Ann Arbor, Michigan.”

“All right. Can you make the call for me?”

“Yes sir. One moment please.”

When the connection went through it was poor. He had to shout through a hiss of static.

“Please hold on, Colonel.”

Then a man’s voice, a little quavery with age, in hard Kharkov Russian:

“Is that you, Alexsander Ilyavitch?”

Alex’s face changed. “Yes General.”