 I was a communist for the FBI. Starting Dana Andrews in an exciting tale of danger and espionage, I was a communist for the FBI. From the actual records and authentic experiences of Matt Sevetik, come many of the incidents in this unusual story. Here is our star, Dana Andrews as Matt Sevetik, who for nine fantastic years, lived as a communist for the FBI. Nine endless years, but they ended. Three thousand tormenting days and haunted nights, an eternity of nerves, with my stomach and hard knots and my chest bound in steel so I could hardly breathe. How did I last do it? I don't know, maybe I didn't. Maybe part of a man dies after doing some of the things I had to do. Worth it? Definitely. Would I do it all over again? I don't know. In a moment, listen to Dana Andrews as Matt Sevetik, under cover man. Matt Sevetik, under cover man. This story from the confidential file is marked, Penny's from the dead. I stand in front of Comrade Revson's desk while he studies some papers in front of him and looks up at me from time to time with those small, contentious eyes of his. Suddenly out of nowhere he snaps. How much do you weigh? Why? I asked you. 180 pounds, I'd say. Good. Why? Eyes, brown, hair, brown. Height. Does tall enough for my feet to reach the ground? Apologies for the gag to Abraham Lincoln. Okay. Never mind, you'll do. First you will go to a passport photo studio and get a photo of yourself. Passport photo. To attach to your passport? Yes. My passport? Where am I going? You are not going, you have just arrived. Well, did I have a good trip? And where from? If you were not otherwise such a good man for us, I should find it necessary to discipline you for your impertinence. You will take this passport made out for one Alexei Borodin. Comrade Borodin landed last night from one of our European ports. How did he get a passport? We have methods. Forged? We have methods. Go on. Comrade Borodin is an important Soviet agent we wish to have in this country. However, for the time being, we wish to kill two birds with one stone. We need money. We always need money. How does this cure it? We have here other papers giving you power of attorney to act for a certain Olga Lazerov of Gorodok, a town near Minsk, Russia. Yeah? Power of attorney for what? To collect money, due her from the estate of private first class Joseph Lazerov of the United States Army, recently deceased. Private Lazerov has no American relatives to claim his insurance and other estate. So we shall claim it in the name of his old forgotten grandmother in Gorodok. I see. Get a suitable picture taken, then come back. Then I will instruct you where to go and whom to see at the Independent Veterans Organization. It is quite simple. Go and come back. I don't like it. I hate it. I don't quite get all of it yet, but what I get, I hate. I've pulled some shoddy little tricks for the party, but this looks like the main event in the Dirty Derby. I go to a place and get a fast photo of myself. It makes me look like a B television version of a Balkan spy. When I go to a public telephone making sure I'm not being followed and dialed my FBI contact. Drugstore? This is the drugstore, may I help you? Oh, this is Dr. Herbert. Yes, doctor. How about lunch today? Huh? Plenty. Clear. You name it. I'm at Main and Temple and there's a little restaurant with booths on the next corner south. How about ten minutes? Right. Thank you, doctor. So long. Yeah, Matt. We're familiar with the device, all right? It's one of the ways the party finances itself. Can anything be done about it? Yeah, it's a tough order, Matt. See the way it works, the party keeps a file on all U.S. veterans of Russian origin. Now, when one dies without airs or legacies, the party done well digs up an air somewhere behind the iron curtain, see? You mean they'll have to turn over Joseph Lazaroff's effects and all to me to deliver to a relative of his somewhere behind the iron curtain? Ooh. Does he even exist? You have power of attorney. All legal and dimensional. Forged, probably. Phony, probably. Can't you do something about it? We don't know yet. You don't know yet. Meanwhile, I've got to do the dirty work. I've got to be the one who steals the pennies of a dead American soldier's eyes to hand them over to the commie. I won't do it. Look, Matt. Yeah. It's a chance for you to see the inside of the gouging report to us. We can do certain things about it, sure. But it gives us more research on the trick. Fattens our files until we're ready to act. Meanwhile, I picked dead pockets for the red. If you don't do it, they'll find somebody who will do it. Gladly. They won't report to the FBI either. Yeah, you happen to match the description of this Borodin person on the passport. That's all. The reds could find ten men in this town to match that description. What happens to Borodin? Yeah, it's an interesting angle. What's as if they're turning a Soviet agent loose in this country and turning you loose on PFC Lazarov's estate at the same time? Two birds with one stone is the way Revson the corny-comer, I put it. Don't underrate Revson. I don't keep in touch. Now, what do you want to eat? I'm not hungry. I report back to Revson. He appraises my passport photo and then substitutes it for the photo of Alexi Borodin. He gives me the name of the man to see at the Independent Vets Organization and some final words of cheer and caution before I rob the dead. He prepared for a hostile reception. Stand firmly, however, on your legal rights as represented in your papers and which they are unable to controvert. There is nothing they can do but recognize this Olga Lazarov's claim. As opposed I'm questioned about my passport, my English, my contact with Olga Lazarov. Answer or not, as you please. If the official gets unruly, rebuke him. Have no scruples about that. Assert your rights. Very good. Always place him in the wrong if you can. Leave it to me. There is a matter of some $12,000 involved if our information is correct. A tidy little donation to the cause and already as good as ours. All you have to do is arrange to collect it. Go. Alexi Borodin, is it? That's correct, Mr. Gregory. How did this Olga Lazarov happen to learn of her grandson's death? The obituary was in the American papers. I wasn't aware that the American press reached such Soviet sentences in Moscow, let alone a hinterland like this. What is it? Gorodok, not far from Minsk. Does it? Pardon? Does our press penetrate the Iron Curtain? No, not quite, sir. Of course. However, the Soviet government has the interest of its citizens close to its heart. Did you speak to this Olga Lazarov? I must ask you not to refer to her as this Olga Lazarov. Olga Lazarov or Madam Lazarov, if you please. Did you speak to Olga Lazarov? There is a signature properly witnessed by two citizens of Gorodok. Yes. Any data at all is open to your closest, scrutiny and investigation. To whatever extent possible under the circumstances. Please call me at any time you have my hotel. You appreciate the necessity for delay. Naturally. A fair amount of money is involved and these small effects. He opens a drawer and takes out a soft leather pouch, tosses it on the desk. It's old and dark with age and sweat and handling, closed with soil draw strength. I look at it. The feel of tightening in my throat. This is it. This humble leather pouch containing, I don't know, trinkets, mementos, badges, medals maybe, I don't know. All at once. I want to know. I want to see and touch the things that Joseph Lazarov, soldier of his adopted country, thought worth saving. I want to visit the grave of Joseph Lazarov, dying alone and unmoaned in a little rooming house. I want to say hello, Joe. I want to say it's for long, Joe. Sorry. That's it and that's about all of it. You mind if I open the pouch? Go ahead. That's right. What? Trinkets. Second place out of yard dash. Purple heart. Pass ring. A single old fashioned gold cuff length with a tiny diamond chip in the center. Some old coins. The charge button. That's all. Does Madame Lazarov want that too? Just one gold cuff length? We didn't take the other, believe me. Just asking. Could I visit Private Lazarov's grave? Why? It's customary. You certainly do it up-brown, don't you? Whatever that means, and I don't care what it means, I'd like to see Private Lazarov's grave. Very well, Mr. Borodin. I'll arrange it for you. I find a little gravestone among the thousands in the cemetery. I'm glad Private First Class Lazarov has the company of his fellow soldiers. It's a fairly new grave. The plot hasn't greened over yet, but it will. I stand there a while with my hat off, I think. So long, Joe. Don't be too rough on us. The job says I've got to rob you and hand it over to strangers. Look at it this way, Joe. It's an investment. It's experience and the inside dope. And it all goes into files where we'll have use for it someday. Look at it this way, soldier. It's your last contribution to your country. Way beyond the call of duty. Your country, the USA. Even if your name is Lazarov. Okay? I'm almost at the exit gate, but I suddenly realize that there's been a tired, potted geranium on PFC Lazarov's grave, and none on the other. But something else wipes that out of my mind in a hurry. The car is parked at the exit. Sitting behind the wheel, looking grim, there's Comrade Rebson. Rebson. Get in. But what are you doing here? How did you know I was here? Get in. So? Enough. And for you. Me? Why? What? Get in. Drew, starring as Matt Sevetic. And I was a communist for the FBI and the second act of our story. For half an hour, we drive out into the country. Rebson not saying a word, his mouth set and his eyes dark with anger. Finally, he stops the car and we walk away from it. We never know when the FBI might have wired a car, or an office, or a hotel room to record conversation. We sit down under a tree. Rebson pulls up grass for a moment. Then he looks at me and comes to the point like a pistol shot. They arrested Borodin. The police? The FBI. Very curious. Why? Why did they pick Borodin up? He passed customs all right, nobody questioned his passport. They might have let him through, then notified the FBI that he was in on a questionable passport. The FBI have picked him up without any passport at all. You and I alone knew he had none. That's true, but I... You have his passport. By your instructions, comrade. Give it to me. Certainly. You'll have to put Borodin's picture back and get the passport to him. Leave that to me. Does that put Borodin in the clear? I think so. It is very important for him to be in the clear. He's a trained Soviet agent. Look, if the FBI has picked up the real Alexei Borodin, how can I go back to the veterans' organization claiming to be Borodin? There is no reason whatever to suppose that the organization keeps closely informed on FBI activity. That's true. The FBI does not exactly publicize its every move. Right. And $12,000 will mean a lot to us right now. Worried? Not now. Let's go back to the car then. Hello? Yes. This is Gregory of the Veterans' Organization. I wonder if you could come down to my office and discuss a few final points in the Private Joseph Lazaroff matter. Certainly, Mr. Gregory. When would it be convenient for you? Could you make it right now? Coming right down. I took it back to you right down when you phoned. Mr. Borodin, this is Mr. Darwin Dykes. How do you do, Mr. Dykes? How do you do, Mr. Borodin? I wonder if I might ask you a few little questions. Sure, go ahead. May I see your passport, please? Passport. You see, I'm new at this job, Mr. Borodin. Simply as a precaution, I called on the FBI to help me out on this matter. The FBI? Yes. Here are my credentials. I see. It's a curious thing, another Mr. Borodin entered the country by the same port of entry that you did. Somewhere along the line, he claims to have lost his passport. This, Mr. Borodin, has a passport. I can vouch for that much. Could I see it, sir? All right. You don't seem to have it on me. Oh. I must have left it in my other suit. Well, I have a car outside. I'll run you down to your hotel. Could we stop at a pay station somewhere for a minute or two as a phone call I have to make? Privately. Who is this? Spedic. Spedic? What do I do? That veteran's official just got a hunch to call on the FBI. They asked me for my passport, and I don't have it anymore. What do I do? Who is this? Spedic. You have the wrong number. I'm sorry. You have the wrong number. Hello? Oh, listen. Hello? Oh, drugstore? Drugstore. Dr. Herbert talking. Shoot, doctor. Listen. Listen, I've been picked up by the FBI. Without my passport. They're real borrowed and hazard. So what do I do? I've called Rev. And he's powdered out on me. What? Rev. The second I said FBI, he didn't know me anymore. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Who is this? I told you, Dr. Herbert. Well, you're the Dr. Herbert I met yesterday at that party over the cafe on 3rd and Moffett Avenue, aren't you? No. You sound like a... Oh, sure. I met you and your wife at 5 p.m. downstairs. No, 3rd and Moffett. No. Oh, sorry. You've got the wrong party there. Hello? Oh, hello? Mr. Borodin? No luck? I thought sure I'd left my passport in this room. Think you might have lost yours, too? Can't find it. It's too bad. Just how bad is it? Well, I'll have to ask you not to leave town, Mr. Borodin. All right. I won't. See, we'll want to have a little talk with you. Meanwhile, you may find your passport. I'm sure I will. I'm sure you will. Goodbye, sir. I'm alone in my hotel room. And alone in the world. Alone and deserted. Rebson has disowned me. My FBI contact is hung up on me. One tells me I have the wrong number. The other tells me I'm somebody who met at a party on 3rd and Moffett, and I was with my wife. My 3rd... All at once it's Suna. All at once the dawn. I grab my hat and ticket taxi to 3rd and Moffett. It's a little after 5, but there is my FBI contact sitting in a booth waiting for me. Don't you see, Matt, by talking to Rebson, you've put me in a very difficult spot. If I get you off the hook now with the FBI, Rebson will know you've pulled some important wires. Probably the FBI. Well, they'll put two and two together and get FBI. And you'll be in serious trouble. What should I do? I wouldn't talk to you over the phone, but I'd see you. Same goes for Comrade I. See you. I think you'd better. Will you keep an eye on me, sort of? Sort of. Because someday I'd like to have that wife you invented if I live. You were a fool, Svetik. An accident of birth, OK. No nonsense. Do you hear? How was I to know the veteran's organization character would call in the FBI? You should not have called me. Then you come to the office. You know the FBI wire's officers. All right, so you took me to this rehearsal hall. We're OK. The question now is, what do we do? We have a choice. Only one of you can be the real Alexei Borodin. Borodin is an important agent. Svetik has access to important money. If we look rotten to the independent veteran's organization, we lose this 12,000, then they'll always be suspicious of us. Our whole scheme will be exposed. But Borodin is an important agent. Moscow train, Lenin Institute. If he gets the passport, he stays. If Borodin gets the passport, he stays, yeah. He stays. I won't have to steal those pennies from a dead American soldier's eye. I think sure. But if I don't get the passport, I'll have to get off the hook with the FBI. They'll have to know that I'm FBI too. I'll get off. But Redson will be suspicious then. Suspicious? No, you'll know. My usefulness of the FBI will be over. That's the problem then. Do I want to skin out of robbing a dead soldier for the commies? Or do I want to keep on working for the FBI? I don't know. I just don't know. Spedig? Yeah? Borodin is a very important man. You want to let him have the passport? $12,000 right now is important money. Yes. Well? Come at Spedig. You decide. Isn't that a pretty big decision for me to make? Make it. All right. I want the passport. I telephone the Independent Veterans Organization. I'm asked to come down. I show the passport. I'm a good boy now. It'll take some time for the transaction to be finalized, but we'll have Private Lazaros' estate cleared for you in time and made over to you as attorney for Olga Lazaros. Thank you. No reason why you can't have this little bag of his small effects now. I take the pathetic little leather pouch with its poor, eloquent relics of the dead. I find my way out to the cemetery again to pay my respects to offer my last apologies. A girl edges past me and stands silently at another grave a few yards away. I pour the humble tokens out of the leather pouch. I wanted to tell you so, didn't I? I hate what I had to do, but the comrades won't be wanting these small things. Purple heart, cuff link, grade school, athletic medal. I wanted to tell you so, didn't I? With your kind permission. I'd like to keep them for you. Okay. I turn to go. Something in the grass glitters in the setting sun. I pick it up. It seems I drop the cuff link, but it shake you. Pretty dim-eyed, miserable. I've been pouring the little tokens back into the leather pouch. I stop short. I have two cuff links where there was only one before. I look back and I see the girl standing there. You, girl! I mean you. I don't do anything. I'm not doing anything wrong. Really? Yes. Just look at this cuff link. Give it to me. Then it is yours. Give it to me. Give it to me. And why are you standing at Joe Lazaroff's grave now? I can't help it. I had to see him again. Joe gave you this cuff link, didn't he? I had to take it back again. I have to... He gave you the cuff link? Yes. Why? He couldn't afford to give me a ring. A ring? It's a note-fashioned cuff link. His father wrote. You hold it between the middle finger and the ring finger. See? So, it curls around the ring finger. It looks like a ring. It's a marriage finger. See? See? Marriage finger. He roamed in Mama's rooming house. We loved each other. But Mama said no. I couldn't marry him. Oh. But I did. Wow. Secretly. So nobody would find out. We were married almost a year. We were so happy. Look, listen to me. This is big news for both of us. But mostly for me. Now listen to me closely. This is Joseph Lazaroff. I tell soldier Lazaroff's widow-in-air what to do to get her legacy. And warn her solidly not to involve me. I don't leave her with her dead until I know she's got it right. Then I go. I'm a new man washed clean by the tears of gratitude in her eyes. This is a lump sum that comrades aren't going to get. But they won't know it until I'm sure Alexey Borodin is safely deported again. A win-bill double victory. I hit the pavement. Away from the grave, the girl and the gratitude. I come down to work again. I know that gratitude is great. But I know that nothing will save me if the comrades find out what I've engineered with their help. Comes the showdown. I'm a communist for the FBI. Those will return in just a moment. This is Dana Andrews stepping out of the character of Matt Saavedic. To remind you that our story wasn't pure fiction, oh no. We've changed names and modified incidents to disguise the story from the wrong people to protect the right people. But you get the general idea, sure you do. And that's what counts. Next week, another adventure of Matt Saavedic who worked undercover for the FBI. Hear it. Because you are the right people to hear it. Thank you.