Chattering his protests, Dugan went down into the dark. The steps wound around and around. When he was out of hearing of Wu, he moved more swiftly. Wu could not fire through that maze of steel. Whatever these people had down here, it was not a shooting-persons room, such as the Chinese Communists were reported to operate elsewhere in China.
A new smell reached out and touched his nostrils. Dugan stopped. It was an odor which had no place in this kind of building. It reminded him of industry, of power — power, that was it! The ozone of electrical machinery. The smell of a ship's wireless room. More confidently he hurried on down the steps. Two more turns, and he saw a doorway outlined in razor-sharp thin beams of light, top and bottom, where the door did not quite fit; and this light was blue-tinted.
Boldly he rapped on the door. It opened.
The pale quiet bland face of the "American" greeted him. Behind the American there was a maze of communications machinery, most of it Japanese. A fan sucked air out of the room into a ventilating shaft. There was another person behind the captain, but Dugan could not see him clearly.
"Proceed inward," said the American in a toneless Chinese voice.
Dugan obeyed, babbling in Russian, "Yefreitor Josif Nikodimovich Andreanov, Comrade General, seeking Red Army officers to whom to report—"
The other man rose — a giant of a Russian — and said, in easy Russian, "I am Starchii Sarzhant Byelov, comrade. What clothes are you wearing?"
"Stolen American clothes, comrade. I have escaped from the Fascist Americans in Mukden." As he spoke, Dugan sized up the big old Russian. Technical sergeant? Too bad. Perhaps he shouldn't have introduced himself as a private first class. The sarzhant would expect a yefreitor to know too damned many things about the Red Army. But Dugan-Andreanov had assumed the character of a souse and a liar. He could, quite consistently, demote himself at the first convenient opportunity.
Byelov held out a hamlike hand in greeting. So far, neither he nor the "American" had spoken to each other since Dugan had entered the room. "Sit down there," said Byelov, indicating a comfortable chair near the receiving unit.
Byelov reached across the table, picked up a characteristic Russian vodka bottle and a thin-walled Chinese drinking glass.
All this time the "American" stood quiet, with an air of inexplicable menace expressed by the blank forced non-national nature of his posture. Dugan leered cheerfully at him and at Byelov, drank down the glassful of vodka; he could feel the horsepower racing down his esophagus and landing with high compression in his stomach.
Again the "American" and the Red Army sergeant exchanged glances.
The captain spoke, in clear but colorless English: "Do you speak English, man?"
Dugan-Andreanov chattered, "Sure. Sure. Sure. Speak English. Sannagitch. Hi-sport. Same to you. Goombye." He changed back to Chinese. "That is excellent English, isn't it, Comrade American?"
"What else do you know?" asked the American, in colorless Chinese.
"You mean the speaking of English?"
"That, indeed."
"That is all I know, but I can talk some Japanese, too. Learned them both in Mukden. Would you like to hear some Japanese? Moshi-moshi? Benjo-wa doku desuka? Good Japanese, too. But my Chinese is best."
The strange captain leaned over and took Dugan's wrist. He did not grope for the pulse, but found it immediately and ground his fingertips tight against it. From the side of the room the Russian technical sergeant watched the scene patiently. He frowned when he saw what the alleged captain was doing.
The stranger leaned over and looked Dugan-Andreanov directly in the eye. Speaking in English, in a clear friendly tone of voice, he said, "You are a spy sent by the American forces. I have been warned of your coming. You are going to be killed immediately. By myself. Stand up."
Two can play at that game, thought Dugan. He exerted his will to keep his pulse even and looked mutely and expectantly into the stranger's face.
The captain went on, "Do you have anything to say before you die?"
"Hello. Goombye. Sure, Sport, sure. Speak English. Speak English." Then Dugan grinned at the man and waved his glass with his free hand.
The captain dropped Dugan's wrist and turned to Byelov. Still speaking the same careful English which he had used on Dugan, he said:
"The swine does not speak English. Do you think that he is really from our country?"
"How could I tell?" asked Byelov in accented but passable English. "I not see him very long. Just now."
"What are you going to do with him?"
"He is a—" Byelov scratched his head, trying to think of the right word. "He is man who runs away from Red Army. I send him back."
The cold bland captain looked over at Dugan without anger, without fear, and said, "You must kill him."
"Kill him?" said Byelov. "Make him dead?"
"Yes," the captain nodded.
"Why?" said Byelov. "If he is good Russian man, he can live. Get punishments for bad soldier, but live. If he is not good Russian man, special governments find out and then shoot him for spy. You too busy to working with him. I just work this machinery. Don't know things like that."
Without glancing at Dugan, the captain said, "I think I'll shoot him now." Then he swung around and stared sharply at Dugan.
Dugan grinned at him and said in Chinese, "You are a filthy Fascist turtle egg and I ought to kill you."
The blank face burst momentarily into expression, showing fury. Then the fury was gone and the captain asked calmly, "For what reason do you insult me?"
"You are an American. A bad man," said Dugan in Chinese. Switching back to Russian, he said to Byelov:
"Sarzhant, why do you keep American Fascists in such a nice Communist headquarters? In Mukden I got very tired of the Americans and the Kuomintang and all the time I hear English talk everywhere, with nobody talking Russian. Now I come here and you talk English, too."
"Sorry, comrade," said Byelov. "This is a good anti-Fascist American. This is Kapitan Stearns."
"Glad to meet you, comrade," said Stearns in Chinese. "What is your name?"
"Don't you speak Russian?" said Dugan sullenly in Russian.
"Not enough," smiled Stearns, staying within the safe limits of Chinese.
"My name," said Dugan, "is Andreanov. I am an upper-category private in the Soviet Red Army. I have lived in Mukden with the Americans and the Kuomintang all around me. When Mukden got clear, I started home. Now I come here and I see more Americans. You talk in English. I think that you talk about me. You should have a drink instead." Dugan poured himself another strong slug of the vodka. Though he was doing it on an empty stomach, he was sure enough of the Andreanov role for the assumed character to stand up under mild drunkenness.
Stearns said to Byelov in English, "Wait till tomorrow." And he drank with Dugan. The armistice had been called.
Dugan sighed with relief. He had been fearing that he would have to kill them both, a policy which would have let him in for a lot of trouble from the local boys upstairs; and he had been unable to think up any way of dusting off "Stearns" alone without getting Byelov thoroughly hostile. For a moment or two he had considered having a drunken brawl with Stearns, in which the imitation American would get accidentally killed; but Comrade Sarzhant Byelov looked too alert and too judicious for any shallow deception to be worked on him. Dugan let the pressure pass. He jollied them into giving him food. By a combination of stupidity, good humor, and persistence he got them to take him into their quarters. Stearns was reluctant; Byelov did not care.
The next morning, Dugan awoke with an idea. He needed Byelov as a friend. But he had to get Stearns out of the way. Overnight he had figured Stearns out as a smooth cosmopolitan Soviet agent who was waiting for the double mission of winning the confidence of visiting American military groups whenever necessary, and of interrogating downed or wounded American air personnel. The flyers could then be murdered — without their going back to HQ with inexplicable reports of finding an Air Force captain in Communist territory. But Dugan did not worry about the rights and wrongs of the mission. He had been ordered to go to Atomsk, and the authority which ordered him was lawful. That was all that he needed to ask.