 Andrews as Matsevedic, undercover man. This story from the confidential file is marked The Red Waves. When you're an FBI man in comic clothing, you can't expect life to be beautiful or dull. And believe me, it isn't. There's neither comfort nor security in the everyday routine. In fact, the most prosaic humdrum incidents often end up quanging a tune on your nerve ending. You walk down a familiar street. For instance, the same street you've walked a thousand times before. You reach the corner in time to catch a streetcar. Just an ordinary streetcar. The same one you've ridden every day for weeks, months. Step up, please. Step up. You step into the streetcar. You see the same tired early morning faces. Same motorman you've seen every day. Good morning. Good morning. You pay the same fare. You start down the same aisle. You reach for the same familiar strap. Hey, mister. For me? Yeah. You forgot your transfer. Me? Yeah, yeah, you. Here. I don't need a transfer. Yes, you do. No, I'm just going as far as... Come on. Come on. Take it. Why? I just... This. Transfer your need. Well? Okay, okay. I... Oh. Thanks. I took the transfer and looked at it. Just an ordinary streetcar transfer. Then I turned it over and looked again. There was a phone number written on it. The handwriting was neat and feminine. Call Briar 2214, it said. And it was underlined in red. Hello. Is this Briar 2214? Yes, it is. Well, this is Matt Savetek. I... Oh, yes, Comrade Savetek. Fine. Who is this, please? I've heard so much about you lately. Comrade Lorenz has nothing but praise for you. Lorenz? Is Lorenz in town? Mm-hmm. We were sent here together. Are you free tonight? Well, I... I'm staying at the Royal Terrace apartment hotel. And you'll be here about nine? I guess so, if it's important, but I... Terribly important. I'm in apartment 402. See you at nine. Wait a minute. I don't even know who you are. Hello? Hello? Hello, Lorenz. How are you? Busy, busy. This project has involved so much work, it can only be successful. Oh, uh, do you know Comrade Block? We talked on the phone this morning. How do you do, Comrade? Frieda has worked as hard as I have on all this. And her big job is still before her. I wish it were an operation right now. I'm getting the jitting. Just remember, Frieda, that emotions are self-defeating. Consider each phase of our work as an intellectual exercise. Then you... All right, Comrade Lorenz. You'll find, Frieda, that our cause is best served by an attitude of calculated objectivity. A cool, deliberate... All right, Comrade Lorenz. You were obviously sent here for something important. How do I figure in it? Good. I must apologize for giving you this menial choice, Wittig, but even the slightest details must be handled by comrades of high standing. Only the most trustworthy have been chosen. Okay, okay, Lorenz. What's it all about? This checklist. Note the number of names listed here. All carefully selected comrades. You'll be receiving messages in the mail from these comrades shortly. In the mail? Oh, very innocuous messages, to be sure. But as you receive them, you will check off the names of the comrades who sent them. Then you'll compile the information they have sent you and turn it in. That's all? That is all. Svetik, no slip-ups. I need every bit of information you receive. All right, Frida, I'll phone you as soon as I get there. No. No? Why not? That's a private phone, isn't it? You will turn the information over to me, Svetik. You'll deal with Frida only through me. That seems like the long way around, Comrade. Naturally. And it will seem even longer to the FBI or any other enemy agency that tries to discover what we are doing. Lorenz did a lot of babbling, but he didn't tell me what I wanted to know. I still didn't know why the party had sent this upper echelon commie all the way from New York to poison the air in this region. And who was Frida Block? What was her function in the party? I could only wait and search for clues among the messages that were due to come in the mail. The first one was a note from a commie named Webster at Draft Board No. 179. It said, Harry Daniels, 1436 Elm Avenue, to be drafted on 6th of this month. Married two years. Wife's name, Mary. From a commie waitress at the PX at Camp Cronin, Lieutenant Tom Maxwell, stateside furlough ends this week. Rejoins outfit overseas. Wife just had baby girl. One after another. Simple, intimate, personal items about servicemen. I had to find out how they could contribute to any commie project, and I had to find out fast. Beaker, this is red. Listen, I'm sending the FBI some stuff. It may be important. It may be nothing. I don't know. What is it? It's a copy of a checklist of busy little reds. How busy? They're supplying the party with information about servicemen. That's important. Yeah, but I don't know why they're doing it. The party sent Lorenz out here to run the show. It's got to be important. He brought a girl with him. Her name's Frida Block. Block? I don't know. She's dark hair, husky voice, eyes like headlights. Yeah. That's the one. Keep an eye on her, Matt. That's no trouble. No, but she is. If Frida's playing a part for Lorenz, you can bet she's no ingenue. However, she was cast in this commie drama. I knew that Frida was more likely to spill information than Lorenz. So I called and made a date with her. It wasn't difficult. I'd compiled all the messages and they were ready for delivery. I lied that I wasn't able to get in touch with Lorenz. The next thing I knew, I was at her CD apartment hotel. I nodded to the desk clerk and stepped into the self-service elevator. Frida's floor. I opened the elevator door, stepped into the corridor, and you're early, Svetik. Lorenz, you must be eager to see the young lady. Well, I came to deliver the information you wanted. I'll take the information. Where's Frida? Resting. She has a lot of work ahead of her. Good night. As long as I'm here, Lorenz, I might as well say... Good night, Svetik. But Frida's expecting me. I owe her the courtesy of an explanation. You owe me that explanation, Comrade. You've deliberately ignored my instructions. You were told that I am to be the intermediary between you and Frida. You have your reasons, I am sure, for the disobedience, but my reasons have been formulated in the best interest of the party. If I thought you... All right, Lorenz, that's enough. Indiscretion can mean disaster, Svetik. It cannot be tolerated. Now that you've delivered the information, Comrade, good night. Now more than ever, I knew I had to break through that wall of secrecy. I waited a few hours and phoned Frida. There was no answer. I waited a few more hours. Then I went back to her apartment hotel. It was late. Her lobby was deserted, quiet, like a badly furnished tomb. The desk clerk was dozing in his chair, and just behind him was the wall rack holding the keys. If I could just reach it without disturbing him. Apartment 402 was a tiny place, but it seemed a lot larger with no one in it. Frida was gone. Frida's clothes were gone, too. The closets were empty. The dresser drawers were empty. There was nothing here to tell me what she was doing for the Reds, or where she'd gone, or why. The only thing I could do now was get out of the apartment. Locked the door behind me, then headed for the stairs. Good, someone was climbing the stairs, just the floor below. I couldn't rest being found here. I started down the hall again. Not quite sure where I should go and... Going down! All down! Hold it! Going down! I breathed the big cyber relief as the elevator door shut behind me, and then I couldn't breathe at all. My reflexes had crossed me up. This was a self-service elevator. It needed no one at the controls, but someone was at the controls. He was pushing the emergency stop button now. You don't mind stopping between floors, do you, Svetic? I have a few things to settle with you. Do you always settle things with a gondolorent? Not always, but in your case it may be necessary. Now back to Dana Andrew, starring as Matt Svetic. An eye was a communist for the FBI, and the second act of our story. Ever been trapped in an elevator late at night with a man you hated? Ever been forced to face a red fanatic like Comrade Lorenz from the wrong end of a gun? These were new experiences to me too, and I don't recommend them. You stand there and sweat, waiting for that last minute miracle, or the reckless flash of heroic abandon that will help you overpower the villain. But nothing happens. You just stand there and sweat. This is the second time you have disappeared party orders, Svetic. Well, speak up, Svetic. Why? You have no intention of believing anything I tell you. What's that you have in your hand? Hmm? Oh, the key? Key? Where did you get the key to? Frieder's apartment? Why not? We've spent a lot of time together, and good friends. Ever since we met in New York months ago. You're lying, Svetic. Am I? Sounds like someone would like to share our elevator. I know you're lying. Frieder had strict orders not to become friendly with anyone. Look, Lorenz, the key. Apartment 402. See? Sentiment. Love. A bit sickening. And you know the work she's doing, I suppose? Well, she's asked my advice about it from time to time. Are you going to give up this elevator or not? I can't believe it. She knows the cost of failure in this work. I can't believe it. I think you'd better get out of this elevator, Lorenz. Yes. Yes, of course. Where to now? To call your bluff. We're going to see Frieder. Now? At this hour? Frieder starts work tonight. If what you say is true, she'll stop work tonight. If you're lying... All right, Svetik. Out. Lorenz ushered me out of the building and down the street to where his car was parked. In a moment, we were speeding across the sleeping city. Our destination? I had no idea. I could only think of the dilemma I'd created for myself. The big commie secret, whatever it was, was about to be revealed to me. But I was about to be exposed as a liar, a traitor to the cause. A fat, messy dilemma, all right. And I was impaled right smack on its horns. All right, Svetik. Here we are. Out. Out? Nothing here but a beach. The pier is right behind the seawall. Pier? What pier? For one who knows so much, you seem to know very little. I've never been to this part of the waterfront before. All right. Out. Out. The seer was cold and damp. You tasted the salt on your lips, and when you breathed, you caught the sharpness of salt on your nose. The night was black and still. The water was black, too, and only its constant movement distinguished it from the night. Wait here, Svetik. Where are you going? Just wait here. Lorenz walked to the corner of the pier and signaled with a flashlight he'd taken from the car. Might as well make yourself comfortable, Svetik. We'll have a short miserable wait. Getting restless, Svetik? Isn't that a boat out there? Ah, good. It's just 25 minutes since I signaled. Ho-hoi! How about a light? Here we are. Can you see the beam? I see it. Stand by. All right, Svetik. Pop over there. After you, comrade. In the launch, Svetik. Now. Okay, okay. Come on. Cop to it. Here I come. That's the way. You ready, Lorenz? Ready? There we are. All right, let's go. The last lap, Svetik. The last lap. The launch sliced through the choppy water. We changed directions two or three times until I had no idea which way we were headed. Then, for no apparent reason, the pilot turned off the motor. The coil of rope landed at our feet. From above that I realized we were alongside another boat. Make it fast. All set here. This second boat was not much bigger than the launch we were in. But the pilot was busy tying the launch to the larger craft. As we scrambled up on deck, I could see that this had once been a small fishing boat. But now that the commies had it, it was used for purposes other than fishing. Where's Frida? She's still recording, comrade. Recording? Sure. What'd you expect her to be doing? I thought you knew all this, Svetik. Well, I thought she'd be finished by now. Come along. Where? Down below. You want to see Frida, don't you? Svetik, what do you think of all this? I never thought that you'd get a... Pretty compact, eh? Living quarters here and in there. A complete recording studio. Complete to the finest detail. Is Frida in there now? Sure. I'd like to hear how your lady-love sounds. Seems hardly worthwhile fighting at all, if that's how they take care of you guys. What's she doing? A Tokyo rosé? Listen. That furlough was fun, wasn't it? Oh, by the way, don't worry about your wife being lonely. The baby's doing fine. And so is Mrs. Maxwell. She's been getting lots of company lately. Mostly civilians. And mostly male. Funny how women... You're wrong, Svetik. You're wrong. Dead wrong. It can't fail. Frida records her programs here. A plane picks them up according to pre-arranged schedules and shuttles them to specified relay points. Then what? A matter of days, hours sometimes. And the records are delivered to certain ships at sea or to red bases on other continents. With a near shot of American troops, of course. It won't work. Tokyo Rose tried the same thing in World War II. She thought she'd break down American morale. But the GIs laughed at her. If anything, she boosted morale. Exactly. That's our purpose too. I don't understand. Among those cozy personal notes Frida broadcasts, we've included urgent coded messages. But of course, you know this, don't you? She never mentioned anything about messages. The messages, Svetik, are tailored for the ears of red agents among the Americans. Every time a GI tunes into snicker at Frida, he's aiding the closest communist agent. Now, do you understand? Yeah, I understand all right. Evidently, Frida didn't get around to telling you that. No. No, she didn't. Come inside the studio. She's done now. Let's see what she tells me. I swear it, Comrade Lorenz. I don't know what you're talking about. Svetik and I never... Frida, honey, tell the truth. It'll be a lot easier for both of us. Lorenz, he's out of his mind. I never had a thing to do with him. I never gave him the key. I never... I want the truth, Frida. The truth. I'm telling the truth. What is it? I'm busy. You're expecting another boat out here? No, of course not. There's one coming. What? A big one. It's got its lights on us. Looks to me like a Coast Guard cutter. Take a look. If that ain't a Coast Guard cutter, I ain't a seaman. Let's get away from them. Get the anchor up. Move. Comrade, this hunk of flotsam could not run a cork in a wash tub. They'll take all of us in. We can't let them. Svetik, we can't let them take all of us. How can you stop them? That gunner of yours won't help. Someone's got to get away to carry on our work. To give the party the facts before the newspapers make fools of us. We're on deck over there. We're coming aboard. It's too late now. Lawrence, one of us could duck over the side. They'll be towing this tub of ours in. If he cut the launch free, he could hang under that. Svetik, do it. What? You're the strongest man here. Go on, go on. Over the side. Hurry. I went over all right. I cut the little launch free and drifted around on a blackness, watching the Coast Guard cutter tow in the commie's boat, with Lawrence, Frida, and all the evidence the FBI would need. When the cutter's lights had faded to pin points, I climbed into the launch and started for the shore. I had my problems keeping her on course, but somehow I managed to bring her in. This time I enjoyed the blackness, the quiet, the feeling of being alone. But was I alone? Someone else was on the pier. He was watching me. He was catching up with me. He was too close, much too close. I saw a piece of loose lumber on the pier. It was big and heavy. I picked it up, like a club. I started to swing. Hey, man, come out. It's me, Beaker. Oh, Beaker. And if you don't mind, I'd like to keep my head on my shoulders. The FBI likes me better that way. Okay, Beaker, let's have it. Have what? The story. What brought the Coast Guard out to that commie boat? That checklist you gave us. What? The one with all the commie names on it. We rounded them up one by one and got just enough truth out of each of them to piece together the whole picture. What's the matter? You miss your commie playmates or something? No, I just hope they don't find out the truth about me. Don't worry, Matt. We told Lorenz that the Coast Guard got suspicious of all the unexplained activity on the boat. They investigated and hit Paydirt. Fine. Oh, uh, better let me out here. Well, can I drive you home? No, you better not. Never know who'll see us together. Yeah, I guess you're right. Night, man. Night, Beaker. Now, what's the taillight's biggest car disappear? The commies were gone. Lorenz, Frieda, the whole crew. They would face charges of sedition, treason, the works. I turned and walked the other way alone, really alone. This is the way it always seemed to end, alone. No reds behind me, no friends beside me. And ahead of me, I didn't know. I couldn't know. But I'd find out soon enough, too soon. I was walking toward it now, walking the silent street into the future, alone. Dana Andrews will return in just a moment. This is Dana Andrews, friends. In the story you just heard, names, dates, and places are fictitious to protect innocent persons. Many of these stories are based on incidents in the life of Matt Sevetic, who worked undercover for the FBI. Next week, another fantastic adventure. Join us then, won't you?