 I was a communist for the FBI. Starring Dana Andrews in an exciting tale of danger and espionage, I was a communist for the FBI. Many of the incidents in the story you are about to hear are based on the actual records and authentic experiences of Matt Sevettik, who for nine fantastic years lived as a communist for the FBI. Here is our star, Dana Andrews, as Matt Sevettik. I was in it for nine long years, a member of the party. I lived with communists, worked with them, watched them. I learned their methods, their tricks, their plans, and their weaknesses. This is my story. The story of my life as a communist for the FBI. In a moment, listen to Dana Andrews as Matt Sevettik, undercover man. Now here is Dana Andrews as Matt Sevettik, FBI, undercover man. This story from the confidential file is marked, tight wire. There's no eight hour day for an undercover man, no 40 hour week. The working day is 24 hours, the week is seven days long. It's not a job, it's a way of life, a tough way, and a dangerous one. You've got to be ready for anything, anytime. Play it tight, and you'll play it smart, or you're out of the game. And there's only one way out, the hard way. Whenever possible, you plan your schedule to contact the FBI, but they don't have a schedule, of course, so you never know when or how. Taxi, mister? No, thanks, I'm not going far. Taxi's better than walking though, Mr. Fisher. Oh, did you say, Fisher? Yeah, I was sure I recognized you, Mr. Fisher. Some buddies of mine are friend yours. How about a ride? Okay, I guess a taxi will save time. Sure, time and shoe leather. My name's Davis, transferred last week from the FBI office in Chicago. I see. Who are some of your buddies, Mr. Davis? Richard, Spalding, Blake. Barclay's the district inspector here, and... Okay, that's good enough. I was just checking. Smart idea. You never know. What's up, Davis? Got a job for you, Matt. Maybe a rough one. What kind of a job? What's that meeting you told us about? The one for that big shot from the West Coast? Yeah, Lattocorini. He's one of the national coordinators. The meeting's Thursday evening. There'll be cell chairman here from 10th State. So, there'll be names, named, people, places, plans, so on. Matt, we've got to have all that verbatim. Verbatim? Yeah, by Dictograph. Dictograph, what about that new radio gimmick? That miniature's better. It can't always be sure of it, Matt. We might hit a static problem, miss half the meeting. Now, here's what we want. Between now and Thursday evening, plant a microphone and wire the meeting hall. That's all? Yeah. I know. We're not giving you much time, but the job's got to be done, Matt. Go to it. Well, there it was. Wire the hall. It sounded simple. That was going to be one of the toughest jobs I'd ever done for the FBI. The party offices were on the same floor as the hall, and they'd be in use all week. Davis gave me two button microphones, 500 feet of bell wire, and his best wishes. It was all up to me. At seven o'clock that evening, the cell leads met to discuss plans for the meeting. I was at the table. I had a plan of my own. All right, comrades. Now, we're pretty well lined up on how to handle this. Delegates from out of town. I don't think there'll be more than 85. You agree, Comrade Mates? Carl Jones was cell chairman at the time. Definitely, Comrade Jones. 85 is more than safe. Damn apes, the local secretary, a transfer from Cassidy. Then we'll plan accordingly. Now, are there anything else we have to work out? Yes, there is, as a matter of fact. Let's talk about security measures. This meeting is big. Agents' names will be mentioned. Our future plans will be discussed. The FBI would love to get in on it. True enough. But unless there's been some new development, I don't see why. There has been a new development. Take a look. What is it? A piece of wire. Where did you get it, Comrade Svedik? In the corridor. A few feet from the door of the hall. It was caught between the edge of the rug and the baseboard. I saw it by sheer accident. It's mic wire all right, and I'll bet on it. And I'd say there's only one answer. The FBI has got in somehow. Yeah, that was my idea. Comrade Svedik, I'd like you to follow this up. All right, Comrade. Go with all of the fine-tooth comb. Your job is to find a microphone. To it. I'd played an outside chance. I'd an approach right in the open, and it had worked. My orders from the FBI were to wire the hall. And my job for the commies was to find the FBI's wire. The same wire I was going to install myself. With a little luck, I might combine the two jobs. But luck was just what I didn't have. Comrade Svedik. Comrade Ethridge, what are you doing here? Well, you know, not very glad to see me, Matt. I know it's not that, Ben. I'm surprised that's all. Comrade Jones said I'd have the hall to myself today to look for that FBI wiring job. Yeah, yeah, I know. I've been assigned to help you. You know, Matt, there's only one way the FBI could have wired this place. How's that? By having an agent planted in the cell. Yeah. I thought of the same thing, Ben. I've been keeping my eyes open. Any results? No. Not yet, at least. Well, let's get to work. Anytime. We'll start at one corner of the hall and go over it in the square yard at a time. Floor, walls, ceiling, everything. Okay, Ben, let's go to work. Well, my bright idea was knocked right in the head. I'd tend to make the installation during my supposed search. But now, with Comrade Ben Ethridge breathing down my neck, I didn't have a chance. All I could do was go through the motions and try to figure some other angle. It was four in the afternoon when we finished our shakedown of the hall. Well, I guess that's everything, Matt. There ought to be another screwdriver. Oh, yeah, here it is. Well, what do you think? You tell me we covered every square foot and didn't find anything. I'd say the hall's clean. What about that piece of mic wire, Matt? I don't know. I don't know some way, but the FBI hasn't planted any microphone in here. I'll swear to it. Well, I'll take your word for it, Matt. My word for it? Look, Ben, were you assigned to help me or watch me? Well, Chairman thought you kind of jumped at the job. A little of both, I guess. So now, added to everything else, the chairman was suspicious. He'd wasted a day and there was less than two more days to go. Dozens of names would be mentioned at the meeting. Plans discussed, information the FBI needed badly. That hall had to be wired somewhere. Fisher here, Bob Fisher. Jack, go ahead. Listen, that wire job's not going so good. It's got to go. Washington really wants this one. Yeah, I know. Look, I've got wax impressions of a couple of door keys. Took them right under my helper's nose this afternoon. How long will it take to get duplicates made? 30 minutes. What are they for? The meeting hall and the alley door of the building. I'm going to slip in late tonight and string that wire. Look, I'm calling from the phone booth in the Gavin Hotel lobby. I leave the key impressions behind the calling box. Jack, we'll pick them up in 10 minutes. What do you want the keys delivered? Leave them behind the cushions in the next to last booth in the hotel coffee shop any time before 9. Right. Watch yourself, boy. You know it. Good luck. The keys were there when I went in at 9 o'clock that evening. I slipped them into my pocket, ordered in 8 slowly. Well, I read a couple of papers. Timing was the one important thing. I knew that between 1045 and 1048, the watchman would be punching the clock on the seventh floor at the far end of the hall. And during those three minutes, I had to get in that alley door. The time was 1047 when I slipped my key into the lock of the alley door. I closed the door behind me, hurried along the corridor and began climbing the service stairs. I was almost to the third floor when the switch was thrown up above me. And I heard the elevator coming down the shaft. I froze in the dark stairway. The night watchman was back on the first floor again and the coast was clear. I climbed the few remaining steps, hurried along the third floor corridor and fitted my second key in the lock of the meeting hall. Inside, I took the microphone buttons and the wire from my coat pocket went to work. In 20 minutes, the job was done inside the hall, that is. But the final connection in the shaft meant a few ticklish minutes swinging on an iron ladder over empty space. I used my knife blade to spring the catch on the shaft door. And I slid it open, stepped in on the ladder and closed the door. I could see the top of the elevator three stories below me and the height made me sick and dizzy. I worked quickly and I just finished the connection when the elevator started up. There was no space in the shaft for me and the elevator and no time to get out the door. I did the only thing I could. If the elevator reached me, I stepped onto the top and climbed to the cable. It kept going up. Sixth floor. Seventh. I could see the spinning drums winding the cable above me, coming closer and closer. Eighth floor. One more to go. The drums were right over my head and threw myself flat from the top of the elevator. Great. When we stopped, I had barely 18 inches clearance. When the watchman closed the doors and started back down the shaft, I clung to the iron ladder and stayed there until he reached the main floor. Then I fumbled at the catch on the path door, slid it open and stepped out onto the ninth floor. Okay, Matt, don't move. Ben, what are you doing here? Waiting for an FBI stool pigeon. For you, Matt. I don't know what... Back to Dana Andrews, starring as Matt Severick. And I was a communist for the FBI and the second act of our story. I stood there in the dim corridor in front of the elevator, staring at the gun and Ben's hand. One move and he'd kill me, he'd said, and I knew he would. Ben impressed people as being good natured and easygoing, but underneath, he was a fanatic. I knew that and I knew he meant what he'd said. Matt, what are you doing here this time of night? I'm just looking around, Ben. Checking up on things. What things? What were you doing in the elevator shaft? Look, Comrade, maybe I've got a couple of questions of my own. What's your reason for being here? A hunch, Matt. I got the thinking. So I came over, had the night watchman let me in. I don't follow you, got the thinking. What? How would be a smart idea for an FBI agent planted in the party to search the hall with a witness and then come back and put in a microphone after the search? I'm afraid that's pretty weak, Ben. Weak? Yeah. I think we'd better talk to the chairman. I'm way ahead of you, Matt. We're going downstairs to the party office. I'm gonna phone him and have him come right over. Okay. And don't forget, Matt. The gun's still loaded. Comrade Etheridge snapped on the lights in the party office and called Chairman Jones and told him what had happened. Then we sat and waited for Jones to arrive. I kept trying to think of some way out. One fortunate thing, I did in the keys, the extra wire and my tools on top of a girder in the elevator shaft. I was clean and that was some advantage, but not much. Well, you made a quick trip. It sounded as though a situation called for it. Well, Comrade Svedik, it seems we've been mistaken about you. That depends on what you mean by... Shut up! Get up, Svedik. How long have you been working for the FBI? I haven't been, Comrade. That's your mistake. Mistake? When Comrade Etheridge caught you right in the act tonight? There are a couple of ways of looking at that. Look, Comrade Jones, you're the one in charge here, aren't you? Of course. And why is Ben holding the gun? Well, I wasn't trying to take over any authority. Here you are. Thanks. Feel better now, Svedik? Yes. It was making me nervous having a gun pointed at me by an FBI agent. Oh, no, wait. Ben, you claimed you came here tonight because you suspected me of planting a microphone in the hall. All right, where's the mic? Well, I didn't have any chance to look for it. You know that? But the mic was there this afternoon, Ben. Why didn't you find it then? What are you driving at, Svedik? One of the sections of the hall Ben searched included the electric outlets next to the radiators. Did you take the cover plates off those outlets, Ben? Well, no. They hadn't been tampered with. One of them had. It's got a button mic planted in it. What are you talking about? The wire runs behind the baseboard. I saw it this afternoon. How come you didn't? Well, there wasn't any wire. There couldn't have been. I don't see how you could have missed it. That's why I didn't say anything this afternoon and that's why I came back tonight. Wait a minute, Svedik. Maybe you wired the place tonight before Ben caught you. How? As you said, Ben caught me. Search me now. I don't have any wire or tools. The hall is locked. I don't have a key to it. That's another thing, Svedik. How did you get into the building? That's the watchman. Watchman, that's a joke. What do you mean? The front door of the building was unlocked tonight and the watchman was asleep in the lobby. I walked right in past him and he didn't even move. Security. A microphone planted in the hall and my so-called helper didn't even see it. Now, take it easy, come back. All right, so I'm mad and I've got a right to be. The party's the biggest thing in my life. I'm giving my life to it. And when things happen like they have today, a helper who's either too stupid or too crooked to see a microphone when he stumbles over it and a so-called watchman who goes off to sleep and leaves the door of the building wide open, of course I'm mad. Well, it worked. Temporarily, at least, I was off the hook as my party membership was concerned. But the last chance of getting that hall wired had gone right out the window. Davis, the FBI agent, agreed when I told him the story the next morning. You went at it the right way, Matt. There's no question about that. He just had to run a bad luck, that's all. Look, Davis, I've been thinking about this most of the night. I've got a halfway idea. It may sound crazy, but... Let's have it. I haven't even got a halfway one. Well, Richards was telling me a couple of months ago about that new miniature shortwave transmitter. Yeah, but we only use that as a last resort, Matt. This is a last resort. How big are they? Well, about the size of a couple packs of cigarettes. What do you got in mind? It has a built-in mic, I suppose. Oh, yeah, it's a complete unit. You just switch it on and it's good for about 20 hours of continuous transmitting. Life of the batteries. Davis, suppose one of those transmitters were planted in the hall. Could you pick it up? Sure. They've got a radius of about six blocks. We could park a truck on the street as a mobile receiving unit. Well, can you do it, Matt? With a little luck, I think I can. I arrived at the hall at five in the afternoon, and I noticed that several baskets of flowers sent by the front organizations had already been delivered and placed on the speakers' table. The basket from my own group, the Pan-Slob Congress, wasn't there yet. Good. So far, the plan was working. Matt. Oh, hello, Ben. I, uh... I shouldn't have jumped at conclusions last night, Matt. When I found you here in the building, well, I thought sure... Don't forget it. I was pretty rough on you as far as that's concerned. No, no, I just followed up. I don't know how I could have missed that mic. It's a matter of training. I remembered later that you said you'd never had Matt. Yeah, Carl? There's some guy here from the garden florist says he's got a flower order for you. Oh, yeah, it's the bouquet for the speakers' table for the Pan-Slob Congress. I'll take care of it. Thanks. You're the fellow that ordered the flowers? That's right. Thanks. Just sign here, please. All right. The transmitter's in the basket. It's all worthy turned on. All right. Good luck. Thanks, Richard. There you are. Thank you, sir. Goodbye. Well, now, he went pretty elaborate on it, didn't you, Matt? Four dozen roses. Cameron Corini is an important man, Greta. Only the best. They smell wonderful. Those must have been specially selected. That's right. They were. Well, the transmitter was in the meeting hall and right on the speakers' table. It was already turned on, Richard said, and parked down the block somewhere was a panel delivery truck with a tape recorder and a pair of stenographers with headphones taking down every word. My job was over. There was nothing to do but wait. Now, Matt, is that microphone your phone's still hooked up? Yeah, Cameron Jones decided we wouldn't disconnect it until just before the meeting. That way, the FBI wouldn't try to plant another one. Good idea. Catch them flat footed. I wonder how they got in to install it. Well, with that watch, we're not paying attention to his... Oh, this must be Cameron Corini. I guess so. Carl's bringing them all in. Cameron Corini, Cameron Svetik. Cameron. Go ahead. And, Cameron Ethridge. What is this? Why, they're flowers sent by the various organizations in honor of... I am sorry. What? The honor I appreciate. But the flowers must go. I have the allergy, you understand me. The hay fever, I... I am unable to... I'm sorry, comrade. I had no idea we'll have them placed outside in the corridor. Matt, would you... Oh, yeah, sure. Ben, we'll grab a couple of these baskets. I'll take these at the end. I wish to cause no offense. That's all right, comrade. It's quite all right. Quite all right. As far as I'm concerned, it was quite all wrong. In a few minutes, the meeting would start and the FBI wouldn't be in on it. Ben and I carried the flowers out and set them along the corridor. And suddenly, I decided to take one last chance. Ben's back was turned. Quickly, I reached into the flower basket, fished out the transmitter and dropped it into my inside coat pocket. Comrades! Before I open this meeting, I wish to inform you that the FBI has managed to establish a beachhead in our very midst. Comrades, is that it? Yes, comrade. Take care of the matter. Of course. There you are. You see, comrades, a microphone. Right here. The FBI will be most disappointed. And now I wish to present our national coordinator from West Coast headquarters, comrade Letso Corini. I sat through the meeting while name after name was mentioned, plan after plan discussed. The transmitter sagged my coat pocket, pressed against my chest. I was conscious of it every second and conscious too of what would happen if the commies knew I had it. The only thing I didn't know was it working all right, was the stuff going through, was the FBI getting it. I found out around midnight when I put through a call from the public phone booth. Richard speaking. Fisher here, Bob Fisher. Jack, nice work. Everything come through all right? Perfect. We got every word from Starter Finney. Good. One thing we couldn't figure though, who was beating that drum? Drum? Yeah, it kept up all through the meeting. Sounded like a funeral march. Well, there wasn't any drum that... Hey, wait a second. I had the transmitter in the inside pocket and the coat, Richard. That drum beating was my heart. I left the phone booth and walked along the street. It was after midnight and the city had gone to bed. And I could hear my footsteps echoing against the dark fronts of the building. An hour before, I sat in a hall with a hundred people, supposedly my friends, my comrades. And now I'm alone. But I was alone then too because they aren't my comrades. And I have no friends. That's how it is with me. I'm a communist for the FBI. I walk alone. Dana Andrews will return in just a moment. Next week, another exciting adventure for Matt Sevettik's official records. Join us, won't you?