 For one adventurer, K-7, form a United States secret agent who operated in 22 countries on land, on sea and in the air, brings you a story of today. Here is K-7. Again, I bring you a story that is different. Few people realize that in the world of today, secret agents often influence international diplomacy by supplying information. What movements are the aggressors planning? What are their colonial aspirations? The answers are important, but the answer to what lies in the people's hearts is more important, knowing as meant the difference between war and peace. To illustrate a different type of work performed by secret agents, an imaginative story of world crisis is now introduced by John Holbrook. Thank you, K-7. In this story, let us assume that recently the world waited with bated breath for a speech that all feared would mean war. In such an atmosphere, special agent, M, answered a call by radio telephone. He talked to a great diplomat. As he finished, he hung up the receiver. That was a guarded conversation, M. Who was it? The ambassador to a great nation. Well, M, what's the matter? Ivan, that brief conversation was more important than any car we've ever had. A statesman has called upon us for vital information. We've got to go into a country and find out how its people feel, what they think. World peace may hang on the accuracy of our report. You mean we are not on the trail of any particular group of spies? No, Ivan. The man we're after this time is the head of a great state. We've got to pierce his censorship, overcome the fear his secret police have put into the hearts of his subjects. We've got to find out what men and women are thinking, and we've got just 48 hours to accomplish that task. Start packing, Ivan. We fly tonight. Agent M and Ivan crossed the border that night. The next morning found them mingling with the people whose thoughts, hopes, and fears were carefully guarded secrets. They were not a hostile people. Instead, they wanted to talk. They wanted news from the outside world. Agent M and Ivan separated once they were in the country. Their problem was to overcome fear. They interviewed many people, but three of them told the whole story. You're an officer in the army, sir. I hesitate to ask you this. But you think there will be war? Do your people want war? We ask that of each other. No one knows. I wish I could answer you frankly. Surely no one can hear us. The very walls of the years, they're spied upon constantly. We don't dare speak our mind in public or in our homes. You can't realize what that means. No, I can't realize it. We don't know what the world thinks. We have no newspapers except the controlled press. Would you believe that news is being smuggled into us? What do you mean? Many of us have relatives and friends in other countries. They read the world news and condense the stories into a few words. Some of this condensed news reaches us. And when it does, we meet in little groups, read it to each other. Then each man makes a copy of the stories and goes out to read the news to other groups. It is our way of getting information. Well, certainly you don't enjoy living under such oppression. Would you? We have always been a proud people. Now we are treated like criminals, spied upon from every quarter, someday. You were going to say? Only that it will not always be the same. Now tell me of the outside world. What do your leaders think? They want peace. They believe international problems can be settled by comfort. And they're right. They're right if only my people could know that. Our government wouldn't dare lead us blind into useless sacrifice. If war comes. Now what's the matter? They're watched. You should repeat what I have said. I would be seized, separated from my family. I must leave you, my friend. Goodbye. I hope your visit is a pleasant one. You are a mother. Are your sons in the army? Yes, all of them. And I have three. One is 19. He is with his regiment. One is 17. He is in military school. My youngest son is 10. Surely a boy of 10. Yes, Paul too. He and other boys his age drill each afternoon. They wear uniforms. They carry wooden guns. You are a woman. You've been in other countries. Tell me what is the world coming to? Iron man, all of us, please. Some way we'll be found. You, you can say that. But what hope have we? You don't understand. You can't. Each morning I watch little Paul start for school. He doesn't run and jump the way boys used to when I was his age. He marches. Marches. Do you understand what that means? He marches to school just as he will someday march away to war. I want my little boy to be a little boy, not a soldier. Perhaps you exaggerate. Oh, no. No, I know what's coming. I was 16 during the Great War. I remember. Why do we have to stand in line with a ration card now to buy food if war isn't coming? It was so in 1917. Look at this card. I can buy meat for my family once each week. I can have just so much butter, so much flour. What does it mean? I'll tell you. Our money goes for airplanes, for guns to feed these soldiers whose tramp we hear even in our sleep. Are you taxed heavily? Almost half of the money my husband makes. Each year we have less money, but each month my husband has to work longer hours. He goes to work before dawn, comes home at night, eats his dinner, then puts on a uniform, and goes to a party meeting. Is it like that in your country? No, of course not. Our citizens don't wear uniforms. Only our soldiers and sailors. Why can't it be like that here? Why doesn't some world leader speak? Perhaps one will. Yes, probably, but he will speak too late. I lost a brother during the World War. He fought for greater empire, for empire. Must I now lose a husband of three sons? Must I see my little Paul, my baby, marching, marching, marching? He's my baby. He's another soldier. They can't have him, not yet. Someone has got to tell them. Someone has got to. And at night I must drill for the party. I don't want to be a soldier. I just want my work, my family. Why can't it be like the old days? Perhaps it will be again soon. I've given up hope. I remember when I was a boy, we had a lovely flower garden. In the evening when my father came home from work, he would sit there with us and talk to us and smoke his pipe. But perhaps he would go to the music garden and hear women and men laughing and sing. Surely men and women laugh and sing yet? Yes, but suddenly the laughter stops. We must sing about a man none of us remembers. Some man who died in a riot. You can't understand. I'm working for nothing. I'm sick of military music, of parades. I'm sick of the party. We're all sick of it. We're on a different world. The party is wrong. I listen to speeches and say over again lies, lies, lies. Why doesn't some man speak? Why doesn't he say we want peace? Down with the party, down with their lies. You will come with me. Who are you? Not the police. No, I didn't mean what I said. I didn't mean it. Let me explain. Why are you arresting this man? Because he is a traitor to the state. Now come on out. Let me explain. I didn't mean what I said. What I did. The next day, Agent M and Yvonne met again at the flying field and prepared to leave the country. Both looked haggard, worn. What will happen to him? What will it all lead to? No man knows. Perhaps as a result of the information we're taking back, a voice will ring out across the world. Perhaps a proposal will be made that these people will hear. And if that happens, their leaders will turn pale. War will at least be put off. That's all that we can hope for. May simmer in the mind of a people's leader. But if peace lies in a people's heart, a successful war of aggression is impossible. History has taught this lesson many times. But when men are mad for power, the lessons of the past are forgotten. Pray for peace in the name of humanity. Listen for my next story. This is K7 Speaking.