Why didn’t the pilot shoot? For the same reason that Pavlov’s dog starts to drool. A bell had gone off somewhere in the recesses of his brain. The Russian psycho-biological scientists call it “conditioned reflex”; the political brain-scrubbers of the Soviet call it “Socialist loyalty.”
Magnified in his sights, as they focused clearly on the window out of which Jonathan Relevant was peering, was the visage of the Premier of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics!
The lead pilot’s thumb moved away from the firing mechanism. Pavlov’s dog, caught between two bells, didn’t know which way to go. He was immobilized. The fighter plane passed under the transport and continued its screaming dive.
“Do not fire!” The squadron leader screamed the order to the other pilots following in his wake. It was his last command. His aircraft plunged into the waters of the Gulf of Alaska and vanished from sight. Like so many lemmings, the other pilots of the well-disciplined squadron held formation and followed their leader to his watery rave.
“Wa’al, Ah’ll be damned!” CIA agent Leander Pigbaigh had awakened just in time to observe the maneuver. “Sho’ gotta hand it to them Russkies. That’s jes’ ’bout the purtiest piece o’ flyin’ Ah ever did see.”
“But them six men is daid!” Jonathan Relevant said softly, sadly.
“The on’y good Russky’s a daid Russky!”
“Ah doan’ b’lieve that!” Jonathan Relevant’s voice was firm. He knew he didn’t like death. Not senseless death.
“Colonel, yoah all heart,” Pigbaigh told him admiringly. “Yew got true Southern compassion is what yew got.”
“Y’all stop an’ thank on it a mite,” Jonathan Relevant suggested to Pigbaigh. “Yew doan’ really like to see brave men takin’ to theah graves, now do yew?”
“Yew so right, Colonel!” A genuine tear trickled down Pigbaigh’s cheek. “An’ them boys sho’ was brave, Russkies or no. Ah reackon they must o’ come from the south o’ Russia.” He put his hand over his heart and bowed his head in silent tribute. . . .
A few moments later the President of the United States was bowing his head in silent thanks. He’d just received word that the American bombers had learned of the fate of the Russian squadron before severing radio contact to embark on their nuclear raid. Now he could cancel the orders he’d given when the Russian premier had hung up on him earlier. It would no longer be necessary to counter-attack. The noses of the MIRV missiles could once again be turned away from Moscow and Leningrad in the nick of time. The Moscow-Washington first-strike-second-strike Ping-Pong ball could be balanced on the net awhile longer.
The hot-line telephone rang. The Russian premier rattled off a long statement which boiled down to two words: “Concession” and “Reciprocity.” The Russians claimed to have made the first and demanded the second.
The President knew it was a bluff, but he played the game. “What do you mean by ‘Reciprocity,’ Mr. Premier?” he asked.
“Ivan Relevant is to be returned to us immediately!”
“You can have the plane and crew back,” the President conceded.
“And Relevant?”
“Is granted sanctuary. The United States stands for the right of the individual to make his own decisions in the privacy of his own mind. . . .”
“Ain’t it a mite crowded in heah?" Jonathon Relevant asked as Pigbaigh squeezed into the plane’s small lavatory with him.
“Ah’m responsible foah yew, Colonel,” Pigbaigh told him. Yoah in mah pertective custody. . . .”
“Privacy and the rights of the individual are sacrosanct,” the President summed up.
“Bah!” The Russian premier slammed down the telephone. He punched the intercom. “Get me our United Nations ambassador immediately!” he ordered.
The Soviet ambassador to the UN listened carefully to the instructions of his premier. Then he made the calls necessary to put in motion the machinery which would summon the UN members to an emergency session. It was some hours later when he rose to address that special meeting.
“The government of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics wishes to lodge the strongest possible protest regarding hostile and aggressive action taken by the capitalist imperialist dictatorship rulers of the United States of America in the matter of one Ivan Relevant, Soviet citizen,” he began. “The most stringent measures against the government of the United States are requested of this august body by the government of the Union of . . .”
While the Soviet UN ambassador proceeded with his ho-hum diatribe, the hijacked Russian aircraft was setting down on American soil. It landed at a secret CIA base on the California coast, about halfway between San Francisco and Los Angeles. As he disembarked, Leander Pigbaigh was informed that a direct telephone line was being held open for him to speak to Washington.
“Pigbaigh? Oswald here,” the voice on the other end announced tersely. “Just why the hell did you grab that plane without authorization, Pigbaigh?”
“ ’Cause it was theah!” Pigbaigh stuck out his jaw and planted his flag on top of the lunar mountain.
“The President’s damn mad, Pigbaigh. He wants your scalp!”
“Mah scalp?” Pigbaigh chuckled. “Naow, ’foah he acts prematuahly, might be y’all an’ the President both ought to have a chat with Uncle Strom.”
“Now, Pigbaigh, there’s no need for that. I’ll smooth the whole thing over. Why bother your uncle with a minor matter like this? . . . Now, getting back to Jonathan Relevant . . .”
“Yes, suh?”
“He should be kept under wraps for a while.”
"Yes, suh."
“Someplace where our scientists can examine him properly, Pigbaigh.”
“That’s all arranged, suh.”
“Good. Good. Keep in touch, Pigbaigh.” Oswald ended the conversation.
An hour later Pigbaigh escorted Jonathan Relevant aboard a CIA plane. Overhead the Russian transport was starting back toward Siberia with its original crew. A squadron of U.S. jet fighters was speeding it on its way. But Dr. Ludmilla Skivar was not on board the Soviet aircraft.
“I don’t want to return to Russia!” she’d announced to Pigbaigh through a CIA interpreter.
“Y’all mean yew wants to defect?”
“That is correct. Providing I can take part in the examination of Relevant.”
Pigbaigh called Washington and cleared it. If so renowned a figure as Dr. Ludmilla Skivar was indeed defecting to the United States, it would have great propaganda value. And there was also the scientific expertise she would bring with her. “But keep tabs on her,” Pigbaigh was told. “Until we can be sure of her loyalty.”
Her “loyalty” was made clear to Ivan Relevant when she sat down next to him in the plane. “Don’t worry, Comrade,” she whispered, enveloping him with her love-cow eyes. “I’m going to stay with you until a way is found for both of us to return to Mother Russia. Our love will find a way to circumvent these arrogant Americans. After all,” she added proudly, “we are both Russians, both communists.”
“I’m apolitical,” Ivan Relevant told her truthfully.
“But you do love me. Don’t you?”
“Yes.” And that was also the truth.
The conversation was interrupted by Pigbaigh. “Yew done the right thang, ma’am,” he told Ludmilla as he came up the aisle. “Gawd is on ouah side, the side 0’ dee-moc-racy.”
“God is on our side!” The United States ambassador to the UN was replying to the Russian charges. “He is on the side of democracy. He is on the side of freedom. In America Jonathan Relevant will have the freedom to choose. He will be free to go where he wishes, to associate with whom he wants to associate . . ."