Larry said, “Get me Mr. Foster on the phone, Irene.”
When Walt Foster's unhappy face faded in, Larry said, “Walt did you get Frol Eivazov?”
“Eivazov?” the other said impatiently. “No. We haven't spent much effort on it. I think this hunch of yours is like the other ones you've been having lately, Woolford. Frol Eivazov was last reported by our operatives as being in North Korea.”
“It wasn't a hunch,” Larry said tightly. “He's in this country on an assignment dealing with the Movement.”
“Well, that's your opinion,” Foster said snappishly. “I'm busy, Woolford. See here, at present you're under my orders on this job. In the way of something to do, instead of sitting around in that office, why don't you follow up this Eivazov thing yourself?” He considered it a moment. “That's an order, Woolford. Even if you don't locate him, it'll keep you out of our hair.”
After the other was gone, Larry Woolford leaned back in his chair, his face flushed as though the other had slapped it. In a way, he had.
Larry said slowly, “Miss Day, dial me Hans Distelmayer. His offices are over in the Belmont Building.”
As always, the screen remained blank as the German spy master spoke.
Larry said, “Hans, I want to talk to Frol Eivazov.”
“Ah?”