 I was a communist for the FBI. Starling Dana Andrews in an exciting tale of danger and espionage. I was a communist for the FBI. From the actual records and authentic experience of the incident to this unusual story. Here is our star Dana Andrews as Maths Svetic, who for nine fantastic years lives as a communist for the FBI. Sometimes I still wake up trembling, clothed in icy sweat and goose flesh. And I listen as though it's all still happening. The ghosts of those events walk from time to time. Ghostly phones jangle shatteringly. Whispers, plottings, counterplottings, cold message, secret drop, deceit, trap, paralyzing, doubt, fear. I still wake up trembling. It hardly seems over, my nine years of being a communist for the FBI. In a moment, listen to Dana Andrews as Maths Svetic, under cover man. Maths Svetic, under cover man. This story from the confidential file is marked, The Black Doffle. I've ordered ice water sent up. There's the door. Here at the hotel, I'm Bob Stanton. But my communist chums know me only as Maths Svetic. And they wouldn't like it if they knew I was registered here under a false name. I'm being pretty serious trouble. I go to the door. Ice water, sir? It isn't a bell boy. It's a dapper guy in a smart suit and a humbug hat and a funny smile, holding the tray of water and glasses. I get ice water all right, right through my veins. Ice water? Who are you? I heard the bell captain pick your order downstairs and I met the bell boy in the corridor. I told him I was just going to visit Mr. Bob Stanton, right? I asked who you are. Shall we talk about it inside, Mr. Svetic? Come in. Thank you. I tipped the bell boy very handsomely. He'll get it back. No obligation, comrade Svetic. Comrade? My name is Alexis Ravanol, a communist, yes. But the commune is tomorrow, the red wave of the future. A void of emotion or sentiment dedicated impassively to one thing only. The end. Whatever that means. Disruption, total annihilation without mercy of the corrupt society we despise. And whatever that means. I must ask you, Svetic, why do you live here under a false name without the knowledge of the party? There's no reason. Suppose I tell your chief or the control commission of this rather singular secret you've been keeping from them. What will they think? What do you think they'll think? They might strongly suspect FBI. Why are you here? I want recruits. Recruits for what? For special duties. Is it cleared with the Kremlin? I am not obligated to reveal secret data to anyone, let alone you. Remember, Svetic, you are in a highly compromising situation in which you would have serious trouble in explaining to the control commission. In other words, you're blackmailing me into this special and secret work you're talking about. It's not blackmail if you can prove you are not engaged in espionage against the Communist Party. Maybe I can prove just that, rather than all. And maybe not. I ask no embarrassing questions. Why did you trust me? Your success in keeping your other life here, shall we say, secret from the party for so long is a sure proof of your genius for secrecy and intrigue. That is all I ask now. You'll be long with me and the hard, tough nucleus of the red future. You'll take a chance on me? Let me worry about that. And discuss this with nobody. When do you have to have an answer? Tonight. Very fast, isn't it? You really have no choice, Svetic. All right. Here, you'll hear from me. Suppose I don't work out the way you hope. You will have lost nothing. You will perish with the others in the general conflagration of the earth and all that is corrupt in it. Night. Night, I say. Night and the dark river will engulf you. And everything on earth will be cleansed and purified in the grand and total annihilation. You have nothing to lose? Good decision by nightfall then. Good morning, Mr. Stanton. Yeah. When I pluck at the front of my shirt, cold sweat clashes it to my chest. I've seen cold-blooded half-mad zealots before, but this is something that makes my scalp crawl. There's something that's powerfully terrible in that rubbish man who calls himself Alexis Ravinal. I sit down to sit in my legs. Then I go to the door to make sure nobody's listening. Then I call the FBI. Make a fast, urgent rendezvous. In my contact's car, pulled off the road in the suburbs. It's strange, Matt. Very disturbing. You don't think this Ravinal is just a lunatic, then? I don't know. I just have a feeling that something pretty awful is represented by this Ravinal person. But what? Matt, I want you to make an appointment with Professor Miriam Katsapari at the University, right away. Professor Miriam Katsapari. Tell her what Ravinal said about the red wave of the future. Yes, I'm a communist. No, and don't say I sent you. Avoid any questions. I'll drive you to a pay station where you can call Professor Katsapari. Professor Miriam Katsapari is a large, strong-looking woman with a stern, almost wooden face. She wears a severe suit and does nothing whatever about her hair. But she knows her business, which is political science. She opens her ears when I start quoting Ravinal on his doomsday talk. Alexis Ravinal? Well, I'm relieved that it amuses you. It scared me. It's funny. So simple. Simple is how I like it, but I don't get there. First, I do not even have to open a book to tell you that Alexis Ravinal is simply Ravinal Alexis Revers. A prisoner that is part of the Great Peter and Paul Prison in Russia. Are you saying our man was a prisoner there? No. The man he sounds like died there in 1882. He died leading a revolutionary legacy, and many of his spiritual heirs are alive today. He's pre-blessed. In communism, that is. Communism owns much to him. Then he admired him. At 21 years of age, Sergei Natshaya wrote the revolutionary cataclysm. Natshaya? Listen. One, every revolutionary must be a dedicated man. Oh boy, Ravinal. He could have no personal life, no emotion, no attachment, no property, no true name. His object is perpetually the same. The quickest and sure way of destroying our whole filthy order from top to root. That's enough. Disturbing? Disturbing. Where can I get that book? Any good library has it. Oh, thank you, Professor. Listen, pathetic. Who told you to look me up on this? Why, I've heard of your work in political science. I see. Mr. Czarek, when you look up the cataclysm, it'll be under the heading of a chaos monster. Good day, Mr. Czarek. I find a book in the public library, and I find a cataclysm and make another appointment with my FBI contact. I tell him what I've learned, and we read the rest of the revolutionary cataclysm in a small, obscure hotel across town. And that sickening dread that started in my own hotel room earlier in the day goes deeper and more terrifying. When a comrade is in danger, it may be necessary to determine if he is expendable. And I tell him, the revolutionary must not hesitate to destroy any position, any place, any prison in the world. He must hate everyone and everything with equal hatred. A revolutionary must penetrate everywhere. He must be prepared to kill and to perish himself. As he must be prepared to destroy with his own hands all those who stand in his way to the destruction of the empire world. There's a lot more. All are saying, kill, destroy. The earth is rotten, destroyed. Man is corrupt, kill him. No distinction, no exceptions or exemptions. Kill. Now I'll tell you what I've been finding out, Matt. Sergene Achev, born 1847, died Peter and Paul Prisoner, 35. But not before he looked at torches that may bring the world down in ashes. The credo of nothingness, of nihilism, of pure and shattering terror for its own sake. This is what I've gotten myself into. Stay with it, Matt. We need you badly now. Why doesn't Ravanaugh seem to mind if I may be an FBI plant? He's up to something. We don't know what yet. Let's find out. I'm in a spot. We've got to stop Ravanaugh. Get something specific on him. Because the next logical step from communism is nihilism. And that's the finish. What about this Professor Kaspari man? What about it? Is he okay? We have to consult experts sometime, Matt. Okay. Stay close to Ravanaugh. Stay close to me. Don't worry. And good evening, Mr. Matthew Syvetech. Keep walking, Syvetech. We'll go up to your room. To the boss. Have a good day. Hedling. And what does the FBI think of all this? I wouldn't know, Ravanaugh. Very well. I can tell you this. I was going to research at the university. Okay. And what did Professor Milliam Kaspari tell you? Oh, the devil did you know. Keep walking, Syvetech. You see, Syvetech, we are everywhere. Yeah. Everywhere. Don't rub it in. This is your hotel, isn't it? You ought to know. We'll go upstairs and reach the prison. Professor Kaspari. You come in and close the door. Syvetech, why is this woman here? I'm surprised you don't know. I am Professor Milliam Kaspari, long a disciple of the master, N'Chayef. N'Chayef. And since the believers are two to one here, if not unanimous, I can put this gun away now. Can't I, Mr. Syvetech? Powering as Matt Syvetech and the second act of our story. Ravanaugh and I have walked into my own hotel room and there's Professor Milliam Kaspari, large and wooden, and she puts it away when it's plain that she and Ravanaugh have a lot in common, the black gospel of the N'Chayef monster. So you're on Ravanaugh's payroll? I had a faint feel. The Revolutionary has not paid except in the results he fight for. But the comrade Ravanaugh accepts me if for him to pay. I hope so. Comrade Syvetech came to you today for information. He did. I read him part of the catechism. You can greatly upset. I'm convinced he came to me at the suggestion of the FBI. Not that it at all matters. But can you risk the possible informer among you? Have you taken it upon yourself to shoot Syvetech here? At least to find out if he is an FBI informer. Believe me, good friend, that it does not at all matter. The hardest converts often become the most jealous revolutionaries. And I think comrade Syvetech is elected to cast his fortunes with mine. True? I'm in. You will receive your first assignment very soon. You may go now. This is my room you're telling me to leave, you know. Dr. Kaspari shows a kindly point of view to our cause. If Dr. Kaspari would care to stay for a chat. Gladness. And if comrade Syvetech will excuse himself. Okay. Oh, comrade. Yeah? Don't bother to invite the FBI into the next room with listening devices. We'll only be here a matter of minutes and then go elsewhere. Sound worry. I walk around the block a couple of times waiting for Ravinal and Kaspari to clear out of my room. I'm confused and scared and that's bad. When I get back to the hotel on, I lie down on the bed breathing deeply, trying to unclench my hand. Trying to relax. Roll with the punches. It's small time Syvetech versus the, the chair of month. And it's rocky going. Yeah? Well. Oh, why should I? Is he there? 15 minutes? Okay. I'll be there in 15 minutes. Professor Miriam Kaspari lives in a pretty nice place. Woke up or not. I come to five and go to the only door on the landing. The sounds of a terrific struggle come through the heavy door. It's locked and I pound on it, but they don't hear me inside or they're just too busy staying alive. I pound again. I stop. Become dead quiet in time. And then suddenly the door twitches open and a man about my size lambs past me and down the steps. Hey, you! I go inside. The place is a wreck. No sign of whoever was fighting with a disheveled man who ran out of here. And I thought, I thought. Comrade. Raveno. You are looking for Professor Kaspari? Yes. I just got here. I heard a struggle. A man rushed out and down the stairs. Yeah. Looks very much like you, don't you think? I'll come to think of it. He was about my size and... Yeah. Where's the professor? Where was that man fighting there? Through the window. It's closed. Open it. You see? He pushed her out of the window. I wasn't here. You were. I know, but I was out... What? A man like you would be leaving the building after the accident. I saw him. Still did other witnesses, I'm sure. You can be linked with the professor, setting. You're telling me I've been trained. You see how rotten the world is? How corrupt. How it must be cleansed and purged. Look, the police will be coming up to investigate twice. We can go out the back way. Tom Raib, sit down. So this is how it goes. This is how the spoilers work and then point and say, look how rotten and corrupt the world is. This then is machiave monsterism in action. All or nothing at all. Those are the only alternatives. I have my alternatives. Stick with Ravanol for whatever it's worth. Or go to the police. Or the FBI. We know how you feel, Matt. We won't let you down. We're going to do better than crack your knuckles and frown. I'm in a big, big jet, Matt. Talk about traps. Talk about being caught between the devil and the deep sea. We're working on something, Matt. You better work fast and good. We'll do our best. Frame me with a red, frame me with a police. Quite an operator, yes, indeed. I can't win. We're working, Matt. Good night. Keep in touch. Ravanol? Yes. Hurry, get in. Have you been following me again? Sit between us. Hurry, I may have been followed. Here. What's this? Very heavy. Looks like a money belt. Under your coat. Hurry, I say. That's a load. Cars need money. Gold is the only money we completely have seen. That's the belt. It locks. Yeah, good. Driver, head for the waterfront drive. If you're being followed for this money, wouldn't it be shrewd of me to get out, separate, totem? Dirty yellow fog on the river tonight. The cold dirty fog. The weird yellow river. Listen. The river's pretty close now. A man dies. What of it? Thousands, millions, billions die bitterly in squalor and defeat. You're not important. You, pathetic, are nearly another casualty of life. We're all casualty. Yeah, you're right, Ravanol. We are all casualty eventually. You're lucky. It'll soon be over for you. The rest of us, the walking wounded, go on living for a while. What are you talking about? What are you talking about? You haven't heard? But what? The radio. No. What? Professor Casparle wasn't killed. Telephone wires broke or fall. He's going to give a statement confirming the attempt on a life. Pretty embarrassing for you, isn't it? Indeed. You can't black me on a murder rep now, can you? No. And you just might be an FBI informer. You trust me with this money belt? Because it is loaded with lead. Lead? And it locks on and cannot quickly be removed without the key which goes out the window. I see something burnt out of the window and I know the truth well enough now. A river and a 30 pound dead weight locked around my waist. I try to run out of my seat. Ravanol and his goon and a boat of lead pull me down again. And caught good. There is no escape today. You are crazy. Perhaps the new breed shall spawn out of the clean ocean. But we must die to the last man. You're crazy. You're all secure and safe. The escape is a dream. It's too late. Stop here, driver. The car stopped from a pier 15 feet above the roof. And I'm shoved and pushed out of the car. A nightmare got to end. This can't be. Here I am a yard on the edge of the pier but like water lapping below it. The yellow fog pulling around. Be a dream. Be a nightmare. End. You do understand the need for all this to better. No. No. We are dedicated to this. And in the end even our own. So that's your philosophy. Death for everything. The only goal is death. All else is the need to that end. The destruction of this stupid society. Ready Georgie. Listen now. Oh you're not going to murder me. Stop. Stop with fire. Hurry. Help. The hands let go of me. Nobody's hit but rather not as a gun out of a shoulder holster facing the roadway where I see my FBI man and police uniform. Having all things to be picking his target. You think you have me. No. I have you. The end is in preparation for all of you. You should go down in fire and start. Night. Night. And the river should follow everything. And then Ravinal puts his gun back into the holster. And. Night. And the river. And jumps. Ravinal. After. All of it though. We had to do it this way man. We had to force Ravinal into an act of overt violence. His attempt to liquidate you was our out. Crazy. Insane. A complete fanatic. What about Professor Caspar? She suspected too much about him. She didn't fool him very much. Was she an FBI undercover woman? All I can say is she wasn't a communist. Ravinal pretended to accept her only to murder her. We gave out the story that she'd survived the fall and would talk so that Ravinal would have to get rid of you then. He took the bait. We moved in. But Professor Caspar is dead. She played it awfully straight. And awfully good. Yeah. This has been a real rough one, Matt. Yeah. We had to stop Ravinal now. Later it might have been too late. I know. One man dedicated to the destruction of the world. Well. That's that. Thanks a lot, Matt. Nice work. We can stand it long enough. I'll see you around. I leave the police and the FBI on the pier with Ravinal's goon in the driver. We had to stop Ravinal. Sure. Because the Nachaev monster can come alive very easily. The insane men who have faith in this doctrine can be among us. We must guard against anything that can allow this creeping death to engulf our world. That kind of a stark, savage fight I'm in. I'm a communist for the FBI. I walk alone. This will return in just a moment. This is Dana Andrews. I want to remind you that the play you've just heard is based on history and facts. Places, people, and other data have been changed to protect the innocent. But you can read Nachaev's grim revolutionary catechism in your library. Many of these stories are based on incidents in the experience of mathematics who were undercover for the FBI. Next week, another exciting adventure. Thank you very much for you to be with me.