Ride a Pale Horse by Helen MacInnes

Gregor was invaluable, a source of excellent information. If his stay in a safe house was prolonged, it was only for his own safety. Coulton, like other know-it-alls, knew damn little of the true facts.
    “Not enough time?” Fletcher asked sadly. “Not enough time for anyone. Mr. Bristow, you’ve studied Vasek, or should we call him Farrago? What is your estimate of the man? Briefly.”
    “His career has been varied, travelled a good deal. But for the last three years he has held a high position at KGB headquarters in Moscow. He never belonged to any particular clique. There was antagonism between Brezhnev and Andropov, but Vasek kept clear of that. Recently, he was reported absent from Moscow. Now he has turned up in Prague, a demotion, obviously—could be an incentive to his defection. Some may say”—Bristow glanced at Coulton—“that is all part of a grand deception, but—”
    “No, no!” Coulton interjected with a laugh. “I wouldn’t say it is a part. I’d say it could be a part.”
    “But,” Bristow continued, “we heard Vasek’s own statement: he admits he is still a Communist. That was honest enough. He could be honest, too, in his rejection of war. World dominion won’t be achieved by any military power in a nuclear age. And eventual world control is the aim of all Communists. So Vasek would be likely to see war as a useless means for world dominion.”
    “He would still accept political means,” Kirby said, but he had found sense in Bristow’s reasoning. “You will have to keep a close eye on him when he arrives.”
    “We always take chances with defectors,” Bristow admitted.
    Schlott’s impatience burst out. “Do we go public on this? Do we disclose the letters, print the facts? What other options are there?” Angrily, he looked around the table. No one answered.
    Bristow drew a deep breath and ventured a suggestion. “First, the President could ’phone Andropov, advise him that we are sending an immediate delegation to Moscow. It must be received without delay—its information is vital to Russia’s interests as well as ours. Andropov must hear it himself.”
    “And then?” Fletcher prompted.
    “Our delegation shows Andropov we know what his Active Measures has planned. We tell him we will publish, reveal the full facts and let the KGB be damned—if it isn’t brought under proper control.”
    “He’s got the power,” Kirby said quickly. “All final decisions on Active Measures are made in the Politburo of the Communist Party Central Committee. He can void its previous permission to the KGB.”
    “That might work,” Menlo agreed. “Provided, of course, that Farrago is not in their hands. Their Department of Active Measures never risks possible failure—not knowingly. Exposure is the last thing it wants.”
    Coulton repeated Menlo’s phrase, “Provided Farrago is not in their hands... But what if he isn’t in ours? His escape could take time—might be weeks before he reached here. If he does.”
    Schlott said irritably, “What the hell does it matter if we haven’t got him? We could be guiding him out, couldn’t we?” He glared around the table. “Perhaps we are! The Russians won’t know whether we are in touch with him or not.”
    Menlo nodded. “Provided,” he said again, “that not one leak gets out of here.”
    “If it does”—Kirby’s usually benevolent face was cold, forbidding—“one of us will be held accountable.” There was silence as that hard fact was accepted.
    Abel Fletcher looked around the table. “Then we are agreed on sending a delegation? There will be, of course, complete urgency in carrying that plan out. The minimum delay.” He was addressing Drayton now. “The State Department might also warn the possible victims of assassination and communicate its intention to do that to Mr. Andropov if he is a little slow in believing we actually mean what we say.” He paused, waiting for any further suggestions. There were none. He