 I was a communist for the FBI. Starring Dana Andrews and 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. Nine years, nine nervous years, always looking over my shoulder. Because if I didn't, my head might roll when I didn't want it to. Years of isolation and tension, being alone in crowds of comrades. A long hectic dream, but now that it's over, the dream is more real than ever, for all of us now. In a moment, listen to Dana Andrews as Matt Sevettik, undercover man. Matt Sevettik, undercover man. This story from the confidential file is marked, hard game in the cloud. The federal courtroom is jammed. There's no stir and no sound in the room except the voice of the attorney for the federal government making his opening to the court. Everybody in the room knows that this matters. This is important. This is part of an enormous struggle for our survival. We listen spellbound. And we shall present witnesses whose testimony will prove beyond any shadow of a reasonable doubt that these defendants, all members of the Communist Party have been guilty of sedition, seeking the overthrow of the United States government by force and by force of arms, if need be. We are ready to proceed, Your Honor. Are you ready to leave, Mr. Sevettik? Who are you? Come with me. Give me one good reason and maybe I will. Revchenko wants you. Revchenko? That's not out. Headquarters? Certainly not. I'm to telephone Revchenko that I've found you. He'll pick us up at a spot that I'll designate. You must be quite a gal at the party. I am. We'd better go, Revchenko is an impatient man. Comrades, Sevettik, you know that we wish to know at all times where our comrades are and what they're doing. You seem to know where I was, Comrade Revchenko. Only because you were seen in the courtroom by a comrade. I've been looking all morning for you. Ah, so the lady tells me. The lady is Comrade Laura Black. Comrade? Comrade. Well, I'm ready for orders. When we reach the city limits, this automobile may have been wired but the FBI will abandon it to talk. Interesting problem, Comrade? When we leave the car, Comrade. Yeah, this will do. I'm about tired of walking in fields. Well, Comrade, Comrade Laura, I'm out of breath. Begin for me, if you will, and be direct. Comrades, Sevettik, you and I will meet a plane at Municipal Airport tonight. The plane is from Washington, D.C. Oh, cool. I will meet a man coming off the plane. What about me? You will stay in the background. The man will give me a portfolio which we will deliver to a comrade in New York City. The Park Lowell Hotel, you will take the night train. Does it take two? If one of you is detained, shall we say? The other must get through with the briefcase at all costs. Should I know the contents of the briefcase? No. Simply follow orders and to the letter. And the letter is exactly you ought to report to a Mr. Penrose at the Park Lowell Hotel tomorrow night. No later. Mr. Penrose has made elaborate and delicate plans for leaving the country Friday night. With the briefcase? Of course. Suppose Laura and I become separated and she has the briefcase. Do I report to Mr. Penrose anyhow? Yes. Empty-handed? Yes. Okay. Good stroke, comrade. I will execute this audacious move during the communist trials when the FBI expects us all to scurry into hiding. Oh, yeah. It's a good time for us to move. You have a revolver, Sevetik? Yes, take it with you. Take all orders from comrade Laura. Is that all? See to it that one of you succeeds in getting the information in that briefcase to New York. That is all. Mr. Oxford, please. Who is calling, Mr. Oxford? Cambridge. The boys dragged me out of the federal courthouse this morning for an assignment with all the romantic gingerbread. Mysterious gal briefcase by plane from Washington, D.C. Gun towing? Hold it. Yeah? Where did you say you're calling from? Pay station, drugstore, 12th and Main. I'll pick you up in exactly 10 minutes. Sound big to you too, Oxford? 10 minutes. The FBI has been waiting for this chance for a long time, Matt. This looks like it. It felt important the second that gal tagged me. Vital information leaks have been occurring in Washington a lot too frequently. We've wanted to know how the comies do it. This looks like a look-in on one of their methods. This could be my big moment. It's peculiar. Why do they want you to report to this Mr. Penrose Friday night? Even if you don't have the briefcase with you? A discipline, I suppose. That's what worries me. Matt, we want you to deliver that briefcase. Believe me, I want to deliver it too. If only as a personal health measure. Keep in touch all the way, Matt. Stay with me, boy, huh? We will. We'll be with you at the train, sort of. I pick up Laura at 6. We drive to the airport and wait for Flight 695 from Washington, D.C. to taxi to Gate 5. A tall man in a flapping topcoat and dark glasses steps out of the plane. He's carrying a briefcase. I crowd the wire fence for a good look, but the girl pushes ahead of me and faces me. Her eyes are cold toward me, but I sense an inner excitement in her manner. I'm not the guy that's exciting her. Please go inside and wait for me. Why can't I meet the gentlemen from across the Potomac? Do as I say, please. You're pretty set on my not seeing your boy up close. And you're set on seeing him close. Why? Just being a good parking member is all. More like one of those contemptible FBI plants who are going to testify at the trial. How does that figure? That's a rough remark, Laura. Then please don't intrude until you're needed. Now go. Yes, Sergeant. Now go inside and wait, doing a slow burn and starting to worry a little. Five minutes later, another plane is announced departing for Washington, and Laura comes into the waiting room with the briefcase. She also has a smudge of lipstick on her cheek. Thank you for waiting. Where's the watch on the Potomac? He's on the way back to Washington. I'll be glad to carry your school books for you. Thank you, but I'll carry the briefcase. Wait here. Again? I'll pick up our plane reservations. I thought you said we were taking the train. We were. Now we're not. That can be confusing. I mean it to be confusing. Well, you made it, sister. No objections? I don't like to be treated like the boys who are a rich relative, while I'm an accredited and trusted member of the party. Unless maybe you don't trust me. I don't know, do you? Do you trust me? Let's say I trust comrade Laura Black. But plane Laura Black, who isn't playing at all and with a smudge of lipstick on her cheek, maybe something else again. Warren and I happen to be in love. Warren isn't. And you'll forget it, do you hear? The tender passion in the party. Is it quite all right with you? The question is, is it all right with the party? The answer is, that if we weren't in love he wouldn't be doing this for me and the party. Flight 802 for Buffalo is now loading at gate 70. Well, I'd better hurry and pick up our reservations. No hurry, that's 802 for Buffalo. Yes, that's for us. We're going to New York. By way of Buffalo. Why? You'll see. Passengers for flight 802 for Buffalo, please board your plane at gate 70. You wait here, I'll get the tickets. I look around for a telephone booth. I've got to let the FBI know that I'm flying to Buffalo tonight instead of training out to New York. All the phone booths are filled and people are waiting except at one where a soldier is talking and smiling in pantomime behind the glass door. Come on soldier, I'm next, bring off, hang up. Because of that briefcase that Laura Black carries under her arm, gets to Moscow it may wipe that smile off your face for good and for a lot of other guys like you. If you don't talk to me. There's the telegraph counter. I go to the counter and scroll a message and hand it to the clerk. Just as Laura Black's hand reaches past me and takes the yellow blank out of my hand. May I, Matt? You may not. Private? And personal and you're getting pretty personal with my privacy. There's no such things in our lives, is there? Go ahead, read it. Mrs. Wettig? My mother. Who is Mr. Oxford? A prospect of mine. What kind of prospect? Insurance. I sell insurance as a front as well as a livelihood. I've got to live while I'm serving the party. You tell your mother to phone Mr. Oxford at Crest 2211 and tell him you're flying to Buffalo tonight. Right. Why? Mother expected Mr. Oxford and me for dinner tonight before I took the train. I want him to know my plans are changed and we can't dine together tonight. Crest 2211. That's right. Why not telephone him? The booths are full. Now they aren't. We're a minute ago. Better still, let me telephone him. What for? Well you think on your secretary, it does make an impression. Oh no, not with smaller investors, they feel somehow it runs up the cost to them. I'll know how to talk to Mr. Oxford. You wait here. No Laura, no. Wait there. Oh no. Oh wait, if it kills me. And if Laura makes that call and they tell her there's no such person there. Now wait, I've got to. I've got nothing to lose but everything. The truth starring in I was a communist for the FBI and the second act in our story. Laura Black goes to the telephone booth and stops there fumbling for a corn. I shelved the telegraph blank at the clerk again and handed $2 and start after Laura. If she phones Crest 2211, the unlisted FBI number, there won't be a Mr. Oxford there, not for her. If Laura Black calls and doesn't get Oxford, she'll be more suspicious than ever. I'll be in trouble then. I reach her side just as she finds a coin in her purse. I thought I told you to wait for me. Well I saw you needed some change. I have it now, thank you, excuse me. Well Laura, look. This is the last call for a passenger or flight 802 to Buffalo, now ready to depart. Oh dear. Oh, never mind, it's alright. Oxford will understand. Well we'd better hurry, we mustn't miss connections with our men in Buffalo. Come on. In the plane Laura and I play canasta with cards furnished by the stewardess. The briefcase on her lap serves as a table, on her lap. Somehow I've never even touched the leather portfolio. So far I'm excess baggage on this assignment and I don't like it. We play indifferently at first, idly. Then as the coveted stack of cards on the briefcase grows larger, the play grows tense and watchful. Strangely some enormous stakes seem in the balance. Our playing is careful and charged. Hmm. Stuck? All out of wild cards? Well, I may have a throwaway or two left. Sure, fatten a pile for me to take. You don't want a pile do you? You're ready to go out. Okay, I'm ready to go out. Agreeable monster aren't you? Play. I just can't help it, I gotta give you the deck. There. All at once, the innocent card game in the clouds is a clue to another more sinister game that lovely Laura Black is playing. She's trying to keep me in the deal until she can raise her score just enough to win. It's like putting me on an important job for the commies so that the FBI won't want to call me off that job. Even to testify at the trial. If that's the game, then they know I'm an FBI spy. Or do they? For a long time I stare at my cards unseemly. A long time. What's the matter, Matt? What? Make up your mind, we're coming into Buffalo. All right, I'm not going to bite. You refuse all those juicy points? Yes, I'm going out. Operator! Operator, I was connected with my party long distance. There's no time to- Hello? Hello? Oxford? Yes, and I want to know if you heard from my mother. I wired her to call you. I wanted to be covered here in Buffalo. Don't worry. Where's the girl? Getting plane reservations for New York now. Go ahead then. Look, does this make sense or am I getting in an uproar? I just got a brainwave that the Reds know I'm FBI and are letting me string along here so they won't call me to testify. Or am I screwy? What do I do? Play the game out to the finish, that's all. Stay with me fellas. Stay with me, huh? I've got to ring off. Here comes the gal. So long. So long. Buffalo American Products Corporation? Baxter and Baxter Law Offices. Fantasy and Arbogast. Stop here. Yes, will you tell Mr. Arbogast that Miss Black is here? Oh yes, Miss Black. He's expecting you. Go right in. Thank you. Will you wait out here, Matt? What else have I got to do? Give me your revolver please. What? Your revolver. Why? Because I ask for it. Don't you trust me with a gun? Perhaps I don't trust Mr. Arbogast without a gun. I have definite orders from Revchenko to go armed. You have definite orders from him to take orders from me. Your gun please. All right. Don't shoot yourself on the foot. Thank you. Wait here. I sit in the small waiting room of Fantasy and Arbogast advertising. Waiting. The typewriter thumps louder. My heart begins to stumble crazily. A needling perspiration chills my whole body. Panic takes charge. I stand up. Get out of here. Run for it. If I did, would that crisp PK blouse reach for a gun and stop shooting? Nonsense. That best girlfriend of the bride wouldn't shoot anybody. But I don't try to go out. Thanks for waiting. It's been a joy. Here's your revolver. Thanks. Come on. I thought you were making plane reservations to New York. How come the bus? The object is to deceive. Deceive who? The FBI. Yeah? Just for example. Good example. You know they have stool pigeons among us? Yes. Then why do you ask such stupid questions? I happen to be stupid. I wonder. I'm especially stupid about that gun in the waiting room. We won't discuss it. All right. You do all the talking. I want to go to sleep now. I'll take care of that briefcase for you. I'll take care of it. Thank you. Good night, Mr. Svetic. It's gone. Huh? The briefcase is gone. When? I don't know. I thought you might be able to tell me. I was fast asleep. What kind of a lopsided remark do you call that? Never mind. Never mind. You sit there and imply that I may... We both can't sit here and argue about it. What are we supposed to do about it? Well, I'll have to go back and report to Repchenko and then call Washington. See if you can get a new set of data. Yes. You go on to New York. Without the briefcase? We haven't got it, have we? What happens to me? Arriving empty-handed. It'll be worse if you disobey orders. Hold the door, driver. I'm getting off here. The briefcase is gone. We're underway again. In the gloom of the bus, I checked the chambers of my gun. A gun is still loaded. That's something. And another thing is that I'm still safe. It's still dark when we roll into New York. I go to the hotel. There's a note waiting for me. Meet me, Pier 11, East River, urgent. No signature. I go outside. My throat is dry and my palms are moist. Meet whom? Why on a dark, lonely waterfront? Taxi! A bulldog edition of a paper on the driver's seat. The headline says, FBI plant takes stand against accused Reds today. Now. Now, if the Reds suspect me, they can knock me off. And no bearing on the case, whatever. Here goes. And a stack of packing cases. Waiting. One for my shoulder holster. Slept the safety catch. A beam of light spears my eyes and I go blind. Blind and wild and my finger tugs at the trigger. Nothing happens. The gun won't fire. Hold it, Smedic. Who is it? One of the cartridges might be good. Oh, Oxford. I'll take the gun now. You left that note in my box. Sure, I didn't know if you or your comrade contact would check in first. In fact, I couldn't be sure it was you until just now. You can get killed that way. Not with your gun. It's full of blanks. That's why Laura took my gun away. Now I'll take it, Matt. They do suspect me, then. If they did, they wouldn't have loaded your gun with blanks. I don't get it. I give up. Our agents checked all landings at Buffalo until they latched on to you and comrade Laura. They tailed you to Phantas and Arbogast. Advertising. Go on. After you left, we picked up Arbogast on the long-standing illegal immigration rat. They can't possibly connect his arrest with you. And while we were there, we found out that Phantas and Arbogast advertising is a cover for a microfilming laboratory up there. That tiny, tiny film thing? Tiny enough to roll up and fit into a cartridge, emptied of powder and the lead replaced. Yeah. Are you telling me they microfilmed the stuff on that briefcase and put it into the cartridges of my gun? Here they are. And they didn't go off, did they? I'm in trouble. Comrade Laura never lost the briefcase on that bus. Our agents were on board watching. She slipped it to a Confederate while you slept. We let them. We'll get them in Washington when they try to put the data back in the files. Yeah, and I'm in trouble. I've got to go back to the hotel and give Mr. Penrose, whoever he is, my gun with those microfilm bullets in it. Right. You've got it. Here's your gun back. What about their bullets? It's got bullets with doctored microfilm in them. I've reloaded your gun with SDI, prepared ammunition. It'll make the Kremlin very, very happy with you, Matt. And it won't do them any good at all. Ha ha ha. Feel better? Ah, clever, you bourgeois bloodhounds. Oh, you got to be or we'd all be in the doghouse. Get going, Matt. You don't want to keep the Kremlin waiting. I leave Pier 11 feeling great, exhilarated. The card game in the clouds has come down to earth with plenty of inside stuff for high stakes. And I've won. And then I think, no, the game isn't over yet. I've just won the deal. The long gamble is still ahead of me. And when the final chips are down, I'll be on my own. I'm a communist for the FBI. I walk alone. Our star, Dana Andrews, will return in a moment. This is Dana Andrews with a word about the story you've just heard. In this story, as in all others, names, dates, and places are fictitious to protect innocent persons. Many of these stories are based on incidents in the life of Matt Sevettik, who worked undercover for the FBI. Next week, another fantastic adventure. Join us, won't you?