"Then I suggest we go to a bar, or some place, for a drink or a cup of coffee or whatever the current Russian equivalent might be."
Shvernik looked at him searchingly. "Yes," he said finally. "There's a place down the street." He began to stick the gun in his waistband, changed his mind and put it back into the desk drawer.
As soon as they were on the open street and out of earshot of other pedestrians, Paul said, "Would you rather I spoke Russian? I have the feeling that we'd draw less attention than if we speak English."
Shvernik said tightly, "Do the Intourist people know you speak Russian? If not, stick to English. Now, how do you know my name? I have no contacts with the Americans."
"I got it through my West German contacts."
The Russian's face registered unsuppressed fury. "Do they ignore the simplest of precautions! Do they reveal me to every source that asks?"
Paul said mildly, "Herr Ludwig is currently under my direction. Your secret is as safe as it has ever been."
The underground leader remained silent for a long moment. "You're an American, eh, and Ludwig told you about me? What do you want now?"
"To help," Paul Koslov said.
"How do you mean, to help? How can you help? I don't know what you're talking about."