"Oh, you're jolly well speaking for me, too!" Freddy Farmer spoke up quickly. "Besides, you'd have to have me along to watch out for you, you know."
Everybody chuckled at that remark, and then Colonel Welsh's thin face became very grave and serious.
"I really meant that, just the same," he said with a grim nod. "This one is really tough, and your chances of pulling it off successfully are about one in six million, roughly speaking."
"The odds have been pretty big against us in the past, sir," Dave said quietly. "But where are we heading this time, or shouldn't I ask yet?"
"You may, and I'll answer it," Colonel Welsh replied. "This time it's Russia."
That brought both youths up stiff and straight on the edges of their chairs.
"Russia?" Dave gasped out.
"Russia?" Freddy Farmer echoed incredulously. "Good grief!"
"That's right, Russia," Colonel Welsh repeated. "But just where in Russia, the good Lord Himself alone knows. To be perfectly frank, it's quite possible that I'm sending you after no more than a handful of Russian air. That's why I say the odds against your success are about one in six million. However, if by any possible chance you do pull this one off, why then—"
The American Intelligence Chief paused and made a little gesture with his hands.