"I want no familiarities from you, colonel!"
"Yes, sir." Ilya Simonov went on doggedly. "Man never achieves complete
freedom. It's a goal never reached, but one continually striven for. The
moment as small a group as two or three gather together, all of them must
give up some of the individual's freedom. When man associates with
millions of his fellow men, he gives up a good many freedoms for the sake
of the community. But always he works to retain as much liberty as
possible, and to gain more. It's the nature of our species, I suppose."
"You sound as though you've become corrupted by Western ideas," the
security head muttered dangerously.
Simonov shook his head. "No. The same thing applies over there. Even in
countries such as Sweden and Switzerland, where institutions are as free
as anywhere in the world, the people are continually striving for more.
Governments and socio-economic systems seem continually to whittle away at
individual liberty. But always man fights back and tries to achieve new
heights for himself.
"In the name of developing our country, the Party all but eliminated
freedom in the Soviet Complex, but now the goals have been reached and the
people will no longer put up with us, sir."
"_Us!_" Kliment Blagonravov growled bitterly. "You are hardly to be
considered in the Party's ranks any longer, Simonov. Why in the world did
you ever return here?" He sneered fatly. "Your best bet would have been
to escape over the border into the West."
Simonov looked at the file on the other's desk. "I wanted to regain those
reports I made in the early days of my assignment. I've listed in them
some fifty names, names of men and women who are now my friends."
The fat lips worked in and out. "It must be that woman. You've become soft
in the head, Simonov." Blagonravov tapped the file beneath his heavy
fingers. "Never fear, before the week is out these fifty persons will be
either in prison or in their graves."
With a fluid motion, Ilya Simonov produced a small caliber gun, a special
model designed for security agents. An unusual snout proclaimed its quiet
virtues as guns go.
"No, Kliment," Ilya Simonov said.
"Are you mad!"
"No, Kliment, but I must have those reports." Ilya Simonov came to his
feet and reached for them.
With a roar of rage, Kliment Blagonravov slammed open a drawer and dove a
beefy paw into it. With shocking speed for so heavy a man, he scooped up a
heavy military revolver.
And Colonel Ilya Simonov shot him neatly and accurately in the head. The
silenced gun made no more sound than a pop.
Blagonravov, his dying eyes registering unbelieving shock, fell back into
his heavy swivel chair.
* * * * *
Simonov worked quickly. He gathered up his reports, checked quickly to
see they were all there. Struck a match, lit one of the reports and
dropped it into the large ashtray on the desk. One by one he lit them all
and when all were consumed, stirred the ashes until they were completely
pulverized.
He poured himself another vodka, downed it, stiff wristed, then without
turning to look at the dead man again, made his way to the door.
He slipped out and said to the lieutenant, "The Minister says that he is
under no circumstances to be disturbed for the next hour."