 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. Towards an authentic experiences of math-cevetic. Come many of the incidents in this unusual story. Here is our star Dana Andrews as math-cevetic. Who for nine fantastic years lived as a communist for the FBI. In all these fantastic years fear was my worst enemy. The average man in the normal course of events comes face-to-face with fear only a few times in his life. But I faced the terror of fear almost constantly for nine years as a communist for the FBI. Listen to Dana Andrews as math-cevetic undercover man. This story from the confidential file is marked the American Kremlin. Good afternoon in the large Midwestern city. The Sun has found its way through the haze that shrouds the downtown business section and is drawing the remnants of a morning shower. I decided to walk from my rooming house to the meeting at party headquarters. An unobtrusive address on an undistinguished side street. Yeah, mister. No, thanks, Cavi. I'll walk. I think you'd better ride, mister. Seven is a lucky number. You're clear. No one following. Why the emergency contact? The top agents, the MVD, have been smuggled into the country. Their job is to close any loopholes in party machinery. Who are they? You don't know who they are, what they look like. But so far they've been efficient, too efficient. Two of our New York contacts disappeared. As chancees agents are here right now. You see them, we want them. Don't waste any time calling your contact. Anything to report? No. OK, you can let me out. The top agents of the MVD are here to check on their own party members. They're never sure of themselves or the people who work for them and with them. For how can you really trust a man who's a traitor to his own country? Still rather early for my meeting, but there before me is the party headquarters. Outwardly, it resembles some of the other faded infallorn buildings on the street. But there the resemblance ends. For this building is the nerve center of the entire communist network in this section of the country. This is the American Quimlin. Barstaff's office is open. I walk in. Barstaff? Not here. Beyond this office, the printing presses. I start to call Barstaff's name. But the words choke at my throat. There, above me, dangling like a limp cord of an overhead light, hanging and swaying from a pipe which runs across the ceiling, the body of Comron Barstaff. I look around for the box or platform which he used to raise himself off the ground. But there is none. The floor beneath his swaying feet is clear. This isn't suicide. This is murder. Caspin for air. Sure, I'm scared. I didn't recognize that voice on the other end of the phone. Let's hope I wasn't recognized either. Why did I answer it? Call it an automatic reaction. The phone rings, you answer it. Just like you see a body swinging from a pipe and you know it's murder. Except in this case there's a frame attached to it. And I could be the picture inside. I can't understand why the building is empty. The presses should be rolling a symphony of inky lies and some of my beloved comrades should be at the door. Of course. This is Sunday. I sometimes take advantage of a decadent bourgeois custom like not working. I walk around the block and then I spot Comrade Kovar, a local party leader entering the building I just left. The American Kremlin. I wait about two minutes and then I walk back in. Well, it's me, Comrade Svedik. Quickly, lock the door and come back here. I had seen only Comrade Kovar into the building yet. Comrade Svedik, this is Colonel Polanski who lives here from Moscow. It is my privilege. Open it out of the press room, Comrade Kovar so that Comrade Svedik may also see. Barstoff? Who did? Either my eyes are playing tricks on me or else I didn't get a good look the first time. For there, under the swaying feet of Comrade Barstoff, is a box. Yes, Comrade Svedik. Barstoff realized that any weakness in our party structure is dangerous to the entire cause. Yes, Comrade Kovar. Comrade Svedik, Colonel Polanski has asked me to recommend a man to take Barstoff's place. I have recommended you. I'm here to serve. When the revolution comes, our strength will lie in the instrument of the workers, the trade unions. Your first assignment, Comrade Svedik, is the shipbuilder's union in the Brooklyn Navy Art. There's a train which leaves in exactly 40 minutes. You will be on it. Your contact is the waitress Her name? Millicent Johnson. Comrade Kovar here will give you specific instructions about Barstoff. You have seen nothing. You know nothing. Wait for me, Comrade Svedik. I will accompany you to the station. Oh, don't bother, Comrade Kovar. No bother, Comrade Svedik. Who knows when I may see you next? He helps me pack. He helps me find a cab. He's too much of a help. He is right with me as we enter the railroad station. I buy a ticket, look at the clock. There's less than ten minutes to train time. Ten minutes in which I should get to a phone and tell the FBI that one of the two MBD agents is right here. But how to do it without arousing suspicion on the part of Comrade Kovar who is being most solicitous and most comrade-like. Comrade Kovar, will you watch my bag while I wash my hands? For sure. Go ahead. Three and four are seven. Comrade Svedik, whom are you calling? Oh, I was just checking the time with Meridian. The thing I see is the train picks up momentum and speeds out of the station as Comrade Kovar standing on the platform and smiling goodbye. I've been cornered, boxed and shipped. Eight hours before the train arrives in New York. Eight hours before I can get to a phone, contact the FBI and tell them the MBD agents have arrived. Eight hours in which Colonel Polanski and the hatchet woman on the phone could be in Dallas, Chicago, Los Angeles. You pick the spot. A canyon of noise and activity. I disregard the porter with the outstretched hand waiting to take my bag and head for a telephone booth. To my FBI contact and reverse the charges. Hello? I'm on my way to the Brooklyn Navy Yard replacing a local comrade who was killed. Details? August Bostoff, party courier. Murder made to look like suicide. The body was still hanging in the press room when I left eight hours ago. Be careful how you check it. I don't think anybody knows except myself, comrade Cobra and one of the two MBD agents you're looking for. Name? Colonel Polanski. I think his partner is a woman. What's my Brooklyn contact number? Your Brooklyn contact number is... Isn't near Pittsburgh? Pittsburgh isn't near Brooklyn. We've been expecting you. The meeting starts in 30 minutes. I finish here in 10. I'll get you a cup of coffee while you're waiting for me. What about a place to sleep? We have a room for you. Hey, Millie, I'll buy some silies. Captain headquarters is an innocuous three-storey brownstone couple of blocks from the waterfront. The converted rooming house which boards all the local agents. I'll be under constant surveillance here. Is this by design or accident? Oh, comrade Millicent, come in. And this is... Comets Vedic from out of town. How do you do? How do you do? Where is comrade Aachen? She's due here any minute. She, comrade Smith? Yes, comrade Hedwig Aachen, one of our most brilliant party members. Direct from the Stalin Institute. Are you discussing me? Ah, comrade Aachen. This is comrade Svedic. Where is Barstow? I'm taking his place. Comrade Smith, how did he get here? Comrade Millicent brought him. How do we know he's not an FBI spy? He identified himself correctly. Oh, but how do we know? Oh, this is childish. You can check me whenever you please. I'm here to carry out a mission. Which is? The shipbuilder's union. I'm satisfied. Comrade Millicent, you have contacted one of the union men? Yes. Hans Martin. He's been a party member for two years, and he's anxious to do what he can. Comrade Svedic, this is an important union. They are at work on some vital naval projects. So far, we have only been able to win over Martin. But one man in there is not enough. He will help you join the union. When do I meet comrade Martin? He comes into the diner every day before his shift, around quarter after three. You beat the diner tomorrow, and I'll introduce you. It's on the agenda, so I just sit back and listen. I listen and look and catalogue their faces. What is the connection between Hedwig Parken and Comrade Barstoff? Was she the voice on the phone? There being no further business to discuss, the meeting is adjourned. Comrade Svedic, may I speak with you alone? What about? Alone. Come into the hall. What's on your mind? Why did you kill Barstoff? What did you say? Why did you kill Barstoff? Matt Svedic and I was a communist for the FBI and the second act of our story. Fear again. Fear projected by the cold, deadly, accusing voice of Comrade Hedwig Parken. Why did you kill Barstoff? I had to stall for time. The best defense is an aggressive offense. I grabbed her arm and replied, what did you say? Why did you kill Barstoff? Let's go of my arm, you're hurting me. What is the meaning of this? Comrade Hedwig Parken, repeat what you just asked. You fool. I said repeat what you asked me. I will hear it from you, Comrade Svedic. She asked me why I killed Barstoff. Comrade Hedwig, you place yourself in a very bad position with such a question. How many times have you seen Comrade Barstoff? And under what circumstances? Was there a romantic attachment... Comrade Svedic, you exceed yourself. Comrade Svedic? Perhaps Comrade Hedwig's suspicions might be alleviated by a long-distance phone call. And you might ask Comrade Kovar why Colonel Polanski recommended me. Polanski? Comrade Smith, I wish to withdraw my charge against Comrade Svedic. Good night. An empty cigarette pack has an excuse to get out of the house and call my Brooklyn contact. Hello? Three and four are seven. Seven is a lucky number. I'm living at local headquarters. Nothing to report is yet. Did you hear from out west? Party headquarters had a visit from the local building inspector. But everything was in order. Did they find Barstoff's body? No. Was Barstoff an FBI contact? No. Okay, if he were, you wouldn't tell me. Any other contact besides you? The shoeshine man outside the King Street subway station. Tell him you prefer a red polish. A deep red polish. I'm sitting at a table in the corner of the diner. And over in the opposite corner, a fat, pointy individual blows the steam off a spoonful of soup. It's during my second cup of coffee that Hans Martin comes over to the table. Sit down. Your Millie's friend? And your friend, Hans Martin? First we've got to get you into the union. There's a meeting of our shift tonight at 1130. The business agent for the union will be there. You'll meet me at 1130, and I'll introduce you with my cousin. Where is the meeting? In the warehouse off Pier 9. Don't worry, nobody will stop you. Just walk past Pier 10 and across the cutover, which you can't miss. Meet me at the entrance to the warehouse. Hans Martin. Walk him part way back to the Pier. As we pass the King Street subway station, I say goodbye to him. Shine, Misty? I start to say yes, but because I look up I see Colonel Polanski coming out of the subway. He looks straight at me, through me, and around me, and walks on. Shine, Misty? Well, yeah, I prefer a red polish. A deep red polish. Oh, well, well, well, my cab driver from home will come. I had a feeling out there that you might be heading into something. I can't get over the feeling of being watched. I sit back in the shine chair and let my eyes wander. Sure enough, across the street is a fat man who had been blowing steam from his soup spoon in the diner. Anything to report? Colonel Polanski. What about him? Can't talk, being watched. There you are, sir. You got the shoe, please. Look away from the shoe shine stand. I notice that the fat man has disappeared from the doorway. Rather than walk for four blocks back to the party headquarters, I take the trolley. Was the fat man really watching me? Did I do anything to give myself away? Oh, nuts. I'm falling for the old commie trick, but the guilty man will always worry. The innocent man will only be confused. As I start up the stairs to the three-story brownstone, I turn around and freeze. There, and across the street, is the fat man. I shut the door behind me, and run up the stairs into the meeting room. Colonel Polanski. What is it, Colonel Polanski? You look pretend. I think I've been followed. He's right across the street. Who? The man who's been following me. Look. Polanski and Smith cautiously move across the room to the party, and the drapes get a good look at the fat man standing on the other side of the street. Colonel Smith, will you leave us alone? Yes, Colonel. Well, this is no laughing matter. Easy, Colonel Smith. Easy. I watch as Colonel Polanski lowers and raises the window shade twice, and then see the fat man across the street come up the steps and into the brownstone house. A minute later, the door to the room opens again, and he waddles into the room and smiles at me with the lower part of his face. His eyes can never smile. Comrade Thorin, this is Comrade Sverik. Comrade Sar, I'm honored. So, it is you who have taken Comrade Vastov's place. This is the other member of the two-man team from the MBD. This is the voice on the telephone. I watched you handle your contact in the diner, and I'm very pleased to know that we have such workers in the party. Good. Comrade Sverik, what have you arranged? I'm to meet Hans Martin on the pier tonight at 11.30. He's introducing me as his cousin to the business agent of the Union. I should have no trouble. My dear comrade, but the test of a good agent is to always be prepared for trouble. Colonel Polanski will accompany you. In the meantime, I suggest you get some sleep. You look tired. At exactly 11, Colonel Polanski knocks on the door of my room and takes me down to the car he has rented, especially for the occasion. He opens the back door for me, and there is Commissar Thorin. Come in quickly, comrade Sverik. The night air is a bit cold. Comrade Sverik, you wonder why a commissar and the Colonel should accompany you on such a routine matter. My duty is not to wander, just to obey. Very convincing, comrade Sverik. You should not have run out of the building where you found Bastov's body after you spoke to me on the phone. Oh, yes, do not look startled. It was you. And you should not have entered the building a second time and acted as if it were the first time you had seen the body of comrade Bastov. And finally, you should not have called the FBI. This is some sort of joke. I don't get it. Oh, come now, comrade Sverik. Spy traitor fascist pool of the FBI. Let us put an end to pretenses. As you say, I am an agent for the FBI. How do you accompany me to my meeting with Hans Martin? Why don't you just kill me now? You have an appointment with him. If you do not appear, you will ask questions. Commissar, we are approaching Pier 10. Turn your lights off. Why was comrade Bastov killed? Let us say he served the cause. Served the cause? Yes. To trap any traitors in our ranks. And we did trap you, didn't we? I shall put it all in my report tomorrow. Moscow will be pleased. Bear in mind that Colonel Polansky and I are both armed. Now we shall get out and keep our date with Hans Martin. Brill whistle of the tugs. A basso boom of the larger vessels are playing a funeral dirt across the night winds of the Brooklyn waterfront. Carrying the coffin to its final resting place. You think you get accustomed to staring death in the face, don't you? Where's that light coming from? Drop your guns. An FBI threat. This is my cue. I make a dive for shelter behind some piling. I twist my target by myself choking. The water dragged me down, choking. Gasping, fighting my way up. I break for air. I hear the barking of guns punctuating the stillness of the night. There's an eerie quiet and then... Betty! Betty, are you all right? That's all. We have ravers. We're out touring in Polansky. We've got them. Are they dead? I don't know. All the boys will find out. How did you manage to get here? We've had a stakeout on local headquarters ever since you arrived. The Shushine man reported your contact and when you got on the car tonight, we just followed. Did anybody else know of their suspicion? I don't think so. But I'm supposed to meet a party member on Pier 9 at 11.30. What time is it? Well, that's the 11.30 break now. Well, what do I do? Tell them you slipped and fell overboard to explain your wetsuit. We'll take care of Polansky and Turin. Well, what are you waiting for? As I make my way to Pier 9, the calm of the waterfront is as before. As if those gunshots had never been. As if Polansky and Turin had never been. But there will always be more Polanskys and more Turins. For this fight I'm in is a lonely fight. An undercover man who must forsake his friends and family for the false friendship of the comrades in the party. I must continue this fight alone as I walk. Turn in just a moment. Just heard. In this episode, as in all others, names, dates, and places are fictitious to protect innocent people. However, party headquarters, described as the American Kremlin, did exist. And similar places will continue to operate in this country until we won the fight against communism. Next week, another exciting adventure based on Matt Sevettik's experience as an undercover man, a communist for the FBI. So join us, won't you?