William Wu - Dictator

Ishihara raised his hands over his head. Wayne imitated him. Neither of them spoke.

The squad leader shouted again. Two of the soldiers slung their rifles over their shoulders and jogged forward. They frisked Wayne and Ishihara, then stepped back.

The squad leader spoke sharply once more, jerking his head toward the back of the armored car.

“Follow me.” Ishihara walked toward it, glancing back at Wayne.

The instruction was unnecessary. Wayne was going to do whatever Ishihara did. They climbed into the back of the armored car, followed by the rest of the squad.

The armored car rumbled forward in a wide turn and drove back in the direction from which it had come. These soldiers were much more alert than the exhausted Germans had been. They kept their weapons trained on the prisoners during the entire ride, and never looked away from them.

Since Ishihara said nothing, Wayne remained silent as well. These Soviet soldiers seemed more dangerous, at least so far, than the Germans ever had. He could only hope that their superiors, like the Germans, would be open to hearing their story. As the icy wind whipped past them, he concentrated on keeping his balance and not making any sudden moves.

The journey did not take very long. The searchlights over Moscow were closer than ever. With the Soviet lines blacked out, however, Wayne suddenly realized that they were coming right up on the lines without any warning. Moscow itself was still some distance away.

The armored car drove through the lines to the rear. When it pulled up in front of a large tent, the squad leader shouted in Russian again. Ishihara jumped to the ground, so Wayne followed him.

Ishihara felt stress under the First Law imperatives. He had to keep Wayne safe or else somehow reach inside his torso cavity quickly and take them both to the safety of another time. His promise to Wayne not to do so unnecessarily, however, prevented him from acting too hastily.

Two men in civilian clothes, wearing long black overcoats and fur hats, came out of the tent. One of the civilians conferred briefly with the squad leader in Russian. The other soldiers still held their weapons trained on Wayne and Ishihara.

“This way,” said the civilian to Ishihara in Russian, nodding toward the tent.

Turning, Ishihara led Wayne into the tent. Ishihara was surprised that civilians were going to talk to them. Here in military lines, he had expected to be grilled by military officers again.

Only a battered wooden table and a couple of wooden stools stood inside the tent. The dirty canvas walls protected them from the wind but did little else. One of the civilians spoke in a coldly formal tone.

“What nationality are you?”

“My friend is Swedish and I am Swiss.”

They had agreed upon this story while waiting out on the steppe. The Soviets would not like to hear that Ishihara had any connection to Japan because of their historical resentment; in 1905, the Japanese had defeated Czarist Russia in war. If Wayne and Ishihara were both Swedish, however, their hosts would expect them to communicate in that language. Since Ishihara knew that Switzerland had also been neutral in this war, claiming to be Swiss would explain their language differences.

“My friend does not speak Russian or any of the languages spoken in Switzerland and I do not speak Swedish,” said Ishihara. “Therefore, we speak English to each other and I can translate Russian for him.”

“Very well.”

Ishihara turned to Wayne and explained this exchange in English.

“All right,” said Wayne. “Any idea who these guys are? They aren’t officers.”

“I am not certain.” Ishihara turned. “Who are you? What are your names?”

“You don’t need to know.”

Ishihara translated this, as well.

Wayne nodded. Then he waited, as one of the two civilians asked questions. His partner remained silent.

Ishihara prepared to translate throughout the conversation.

“What are your names?” The man in charge, a stout, frowning man, looked back and forth between them from under bushy eyebrows.

“Wayne Nystrom and R. Ishihara.”

“What are you doing here? What is your purpose?”

“We are pro-Soviet agents from neutral countries,” said Ishihara, matching their host’s formal tone. “For many months, we have been pursuing a German agent across much of central and eastern Europe.”

“Why are you wearing those ridiculous clothes?”

“We were given these clothes while crossing the mountains fleeing the enemy.”

The man studied them both for a moment. “You say you are chasing a German agent?”

“Two agents,” said Wayne. “Remember Hunter.”

“Oh, yes.”

“Eh? You aren’t certain of your mission?” The Russian glowered at them both suspiciously. “You are changing your story, now?”

“Our first mission is to apprehend a man codenamed MC 4,” said Ishihara.

“However, another German agent is hoping to warn him about us first,” said Wayne. “His name is Hunter. Naturally, we must stop him, too.”

“This agent who is code-named MC 4,” said the Russian, still eyeing Ishihara closely. “Do you know what his name is? Or what name he is using?”

“No,” said Ishihara.

“What is his mission in Moscow?”

Ishihara was aware that Wayne was deliberately remaining quiet, letting Ishihara take the lead. If they both answered simultaneously, and contradicted each other, they would lose their credibility completely. Wayne watched Ishihara.

“We believe that MC 4 will observe Red Army military placements,” said Ishihara.

“Then he will not enter the city proper?”

“We expect that he will also infiltrate the city to gain further information. Then he will radio what he learns back to German lines.”

“If he has preceded you here, he may already have radioed this information.” Their host turned to Wayne. “You have said very little. Do you think you are too late?”

“Uh-no,” said Wayne slowly, as Ishihara continued to translate. “We aren’t too late. I don’t think he can risk too many radio transmissions from here to the German lines.”

“He can’t risk too many? What do you mean?” For the first time, the Russian sounded less hostile.

“Well, if he radios back too soon, he runs the risk of being caught before he has learned everything he can,” said Wayne. “He won’t want to take that chance.”

“Then what do you expect him to do?”

“I think he’ll probably try to look around the Red Army positions first, then enter the city before he transmits anything.”

“Yes,” said Ishihara, nodding quickly. “This would match his pattern of behavior in the past.”

“Eh? What pattern do you mean?”

“He will try to gather all his information first and then transmit it at once. A single radio transmission will lower the risk to himself.”

“That’s right,” Wayne said quickly. “That’s what I was trying to say.”

“Now what about this other agent? Is ‘Hunter’ his code name or the one he is giving to others?”

“This is what he calls himself,” said Wayne. “We, uh, don’t know what his code name is.”

“What do they look like?”

The second Russian took out a pad of paper and a pencil from his overcoat and prepared to take notes.

“They are opposites,” said Wayne. “MC 4 is a short, slender man, very slight and quick.”

“Hunter is tall and brawny,” said Ishihara. “Blond hair, blue eyes.”

The man taking notes nodded as he scribbled. When he had caught up with what they had said already, Wayne and Ishihara finished giving him descriptions of the two robots. Wayne had decided that MC 4 and Hunter, being robots, could adequately take care of themselves.