"Surely you must realize that the Commissar is one of the busiest men
in Transbalkania, Comrade." There was mocking sneer in the tone. "His
time is not at the disposal of every citizen."
The newcomer looked at the petty authority thoughtfully. "Do you so
address everyone that enters this office?" he asked mildly.
The other stared at him flabbergasted. He suddenly banged upon a
button on the desk.
When the security guard responded to the summons, he gestured curtly
with his head at the newcomer. "Throw this fool out, Petar," he
rapped.
Josip Pekic shook his head, almost sadly. "No," he said. "Throw _this_
man out." He pointed at the secretary-receptionist.
The guard called Petar blinked at each of them in turn.
Josip brought forth his wallet, fidgeted a moment with the contents,
then flashed his credentials. "State expediter," he said nervously.
"Under direct authority of Comrade Zoran Jankez." He looked at the
suddenly terrified receptionist. "I don't know what alternative work
we can find to fit your talents. However, if I ever again hear of you
holding down a position in which you meet the public, I will ... will,
ah, see you imprisoned."
The other scurried from the room before Josip thought of more to say.
Josip Pekic looked at the guard for a long moment. He said finally,
unhappy still, "What are you needed for around here?"
"Why yes, Comrade. I am the security guard."
Petar, obviously no brain at the best, was taken aback.
"You didn't answer my question." Josip's hands were jittering so he
jammed them into his pockets.
Petar had to think back to remember the wording of the question in
question. Finally he came up triumphantly with, "Yes, Comrade. I guard
Comrade Broz and the others from assassins. I am armed." He proudly
displayed the Mikoyan Noiseless which he had holstered under his left
shoulder.
Josip said, "Go back to your superior and inform him that I say you
are superfluous on this assignment. No longer are commissars
automatically to be guarded. Only under special circumstances. If ...
well, if our people dislike individual commissars sufficiently to wish
to assassinate them, maybe they need assassination."
Petar stared at him.
"Oh, get out," Josip said, with attempted sharpness. But then, "What
door leads to Comrade Broz's office?"
Petar pointed, then got out. At least he knew how to obey orders,
Josip decided. What was there about the police mentality? Were they
like that before they became police, and the job sought them out? Or
did the job make them all that way?
He pushed his way through the indicated door. The office beyond held
but one inhabitant who stood, hands clasped behind his back, while he
stared in obvious satisfaction at a wall of charts, maps and graphs.
The average young man looked at some of the lettering on the charts
and shook his head. He said, his voice hesitant, "Commissar Broz?"
The other turned, frowning, not recognizing his caller and surprised
to find him here without announcement. He said, "Yes, young man?"
Josip presented his credentials again.
Broz had heard of him. He hurried forth a chair, became expansive in
manner. A cigar? A drink? A great pleasure to meet the Comrade
Expediter. He had heard a great deal about the new experiment
initiated by Comrade Jankez and ably assisted by Aleksander Kardelj.
Happily, an expediter was not needed in the Transbalkanian Steel
Complex. It was expanding in such wise as to be the astonishment of
the world, both East and West.
"Yes," Josip began glumly, "but--"
Broz was back on his feet and to his wall of charts and graphs. "See
here," he beamed expansively. "This curve is steel production. See how
it zooms? A veritable Sputnik, eh? Our statistics show that we are
rapidly surpassing even the most foremost of the Western powers."
Josip Pekic said, almost apologetically in view of the other's
enthusiasm. "That's what I came to discuss with you, Comrade. You see,
I've been sitting around, ah, in the local wineshops, talking it over
with the younger engineers and the men on the job."