IWCF 063 Fifteen Minutes to Murder

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. I was a communist for the FBI. From the actual. Records and authentic experiences of Matt Svetik, come many of the incidents in this unusual story. Here is our star, Dana Andrews, as Matt Svetik, who for nine fantastic years lived as a communist for the FBI. For nine phantasmal years, I was the man who looked into the dark mirror and wondered, which is the reflection and which is me? For nine years, I lived my double life so intensely that sometimes I wondered, Which is the real Svetik? What is reality and what is the dream? It's over now. It all fades back into memory and merciful unreality. It's hard to believe it happened. So fantastic, so stunning were the events and their implications. Sometimes I wonder, is it really over or is this a lull in the nightmare? In a moment, listen to Dana Andrews as Matt Svetik, undercover man. Now here is Dana Andrews as Matt Svetik, undercover man. This story from the confidential file is marked 15 minutes to murder. I've been out of sorts for weeks, and I know what it is. The steady, grinding burden of intrigue and vigilance and double-dealing and just plain, raw, unvarnished fear are getting me down. I go to a doctor, and he tells me exactly what I want to hear. At last, I have a good, legitimate reason to be excused temporarily from party duty. I make my routine telephone check-in with my chief, Comrade Revchenko, from a pay telephone full of the glad news from my doctor. Nothing right now except continue with your routine duties until further notified. About those routine duties... And be a little more prompt in reporting. Well, I can explain that delay. I've been to my doctor. Why? It was nothing serious. Routine check-up. He did say I ought to take a rest... I see. You wouldn't want me to go haywire in the middle of an assignment, would you? Did he find anything wrong with you? Oh, nothing serious, really. Oh. I could go back and have him pin a stiff cardiac wrap on me. That'll make you any happier. What did the doctor discover? A little high blood pressure, but that's only... Good enough. What? Report to headquarters at once. Look, I'm supposed to take it easy just for. Report to headquarters. The doctor said... At once. At once. Sit down, Comrade Svetik. Before we go much further, I want to point out that. Point out nothing until I've finished, Comrade. That's all right. I've been doing some work while you were on your way over here. Concerning me? I have rearranged matters to provide for you, yes. Provide for me? You need a rest, Comrade. All right. Could use one. I have arranged everything. Oh, how do you mean? Arranged what? A private room at Angel of Mercy Hospital. Well, look, I'm not really sick. You need a rest in bed. Well. I had assigned somebody else to this, but your mild hypertensive condition makes you more logical for the job. Oh, it's work then. A rest in bed at party expense. We expect some return for our generosity and complete idleness would soon bore you. Good enough. What's the job? Directly across the street from the room I've reserved for you, some 200 feet away, is the back of a row of fashionable apartment houses. I know the place. From your bed, you will keep a constant lookout on. One of those apartments. Which apartment is marked on this simple diagram? 12th floor. All five windows. You will need this pocket telescope, small enough to keep on your person. Allow nobody to realize that you are watching the apartment. What's the object? Oh, shouldn't I ask? You should very definitely know, comrade. We are out of patience with the FBI. Oh? Tired of their spying, tired of their undercover burrowing into the very core of our party apparatus. It is time we serve notice that this is war and that espionage and war is punishable by extreme measures. And then the man I'm watching is an FBI spy? Study every move he makes. He knows he's a marked man. He does not expose himself where we can Punish him. That's understandable. Now repeat this number after me. Shoot. Elmwood 4-1-1-3-7. Elmwood 4-1-1-3-7. Again. Elmwood 4-1-1-3-7. Mark nothing down. Of course not. Watch the apartment. Notice Benedict's actions. Well, that's his name then, huh? Benedict. Call it that. Go ahead. Report to Elmwood 4-1-1-3-7 closely. It may take a week or two weeks or a month, but keep at it. What may take that long, exactly? For Benedict to decide it's safe to leave his stronghold. When he does, give our men half an hour's notice. They will do the rest. Check. Informers and contemptible stool pigeons. Time may squirm. What else? That's it. Everything's prepared for you. All right. I'll pick up a few things and report at the hospital. Benedict. Yes? We will leave for the hospital directly from here. I'll come back here, then. We are leaving from here immediately. But I. Secrecy, Comrade Sepetik. Secrecy. Absolute and impenetrable secrecy. We will go to the hospital from here in a car I have waiting for us. They are all over the FBI spies and informers. You seem disturbed, Comrade. It's just this. I'm to be the accessory to a man's murder. An FBI informer? Some vacation. You did not join the party to sip pink lemonade, comrade. In the hospital, you will under no circumstances attempt to contact the party. Do you understand? I understand. It is out of our hands. Whatever occurs must be credited to the ordinary underworld retaliation. Right. Forget us. Simply call Elmwood 4-1-3-3-7. 1-1-3-7, isn't it? Hmm. Just testing. We will go now. We walk several blocks and hesitate at a corner to be picked up by a nondescript car driven by a man I've never seen before. Silence. All the way to the Angel of Mercy Hospital. Absolute silence. I'm being whisked away to a private hospital room secretly. Incommunicado. spy on another FBI undercover man like myself, and send him to his death. And I can't even get to a telephone to call my FBI contact and report what happened. I've got to report to them. I've got to get to the FBI. All I get is to the hospital, though. Revchenko stands by wordlessly while the registrar checks me into my room, 1216. Then he goes, and I'm on my own, isolated, marooned. Can I get you anything, Mr. Svetik? Oh, thank you, nurse. Dr. Anatole will be in to see you soon. Who? Well, your doctor, Dr. Anatole. Fine. He'll be in directly. Okay, he'll be in in a flash. Oh, you're not going to be a bad patient, are you now? Oh, I'm just going to be the sweetest thing ever happened to this little old temple of mercy. You don't have to be cross, do you? I want to be left alone. Just as you say, Mr. Svetich. Absolute minimum of solicitous attention. What are you angry at me for? I'm not angry at you. Oh, I'm sorry, miss. I'm not angry at you. I know you're nervous and upset, but... Oh, nurse. We'll take care of that, though, won't we? Just remember, I'm not mad at you. Oh, is the telephone connected? Oh, yes. Go right ahead and use it. Dr. Anatole will be right in. The second I'm alone, I take the pocket scope from under my pillow and peer out the window. I cross 200 feet of street and a backyard terrace to the rear of those stylish apartment buildings. I pick out Benedict's suite. That's it, all right. A sportsman's apartment. Rifles on racks. hunting trophies on every wall, a couple of other trophies on a mantelpiece. I reached for the telephone. Communique number one. At your city. Your order, please. Elmwood 4-1-1-3-7. Thank you. Never mind the opera. Yeah? Yeah? Elmwood 41137? Yeah. I'm in. Oh, yeah. You know who's talking, don't you? Keep talking. You may have to move fast. Move fast is what we do best. Stay close to the phone now. I got a permanent poker game right in the room. That's all for now. Check. Now... Your order, please. Evergreen 65542. The FBI. Somehow, somehow I've got to let them know where I am, at least. And what I'm up to. And what one of their boys is in for. Disco. That's my contact's code name. I'm O'Neal. Disco. O'Neal. Disco. O'Neal. Disco. Come on, answer. Get with it, boys. Get on the... Hello? Uh, Disco? Disco, please, right away. I beg your pardon? Driscoll. Driscoll, right away. Hurry. There's nobody by that name here. Yes, there is, I tell you. Who is this? O'Neill. Tell him I'm O'Neill, he'll know. Oh, yeah. Uh, this is Driscoll. Who? Go ahead. How's your mother? Fine. How's yours? I know that voice on the wire isn't Driscoll. Then who is it? I have to reach the FBI. I don't know what I've got on the line. I've got to take a chance. Calculated risk. I've got to stay on the phone. If I am talking to the FBI, I've got to talk a gibberish that makes some kind of sense to them and sounds harmless enough to anybody who might be tapping my wire. Maybe this guy who says he's Driscoll is the wiretap. I don't know. I've got to play it cozy. But I've got to play. Hello? Hello, are you there, O'Neill? You know, I was just thinking, Driscoll. Yeah? Those mysterious telephone calls your wife's been getting, some crank or something. Yeah? The next time this bum calls, why doesn't she play up to him and have her sister run next door and have the cops trace the call? We had exactly the same idea. That's what we're going to do. Well, have her keep him on the line long enough, though. I know. That way the cops can trace the call and close in on Mr. Mysterious. That sounds very conspiratorial. What? Oh. Hello? Somebody just walked in. I am Dr. Anatole. Who? I think you'd best ring off for now. Oh, I feel all right. Better hang up. Sure. So long, chum. I've got to ring off. Yeah. You should not have a telephone until a staff physician examines you and decides you may have one. I'm all right, doctor. Then why are you here? Oh, just a little hypertension, that's all. You should not have a telephone until I have okayed it. I'm surprised. Now, if you'll cooperate, I shall examine you. THE END. Now back to Dana Andrews, starring as Matt Siverik in I Was a Communist for the FBI and the second act of our story. I Was a Communist for the. FBI How much did Dr. Anatole hear? What does he know besides medicine? I'm afraid of that mucilaginous voice and that cold, nothing smile of his. Is he there to watch me? That phone made him pretty mad in his cold-blooded way. Or maybe I'm imagining it. I don't know. In my position, I've got to assume that the walls have ears and that a strange voice that isn't Driscoll's could be a trap. Meanwhile, I've got to study Benedict across the way, find out when he gets up, when he has his meals brought in, how much time he spends on his two telephones. He never goes out. But when he gets up his nerve to try it, he's dead. And I would have killed him indirectly. And it looks close now. Elmwood 4-1-1-3-7. Thank you. Yeah. Yeah? Any time now. Oh, it's you. I hate to disturb your poker game. What's the matter? It's you? Never mind. Wise guy. Stand by to go on fast notice. Yeah, I'm all tensed up. I mean it. Listen, what are we, kids? We know what to do. All right, then. But are you stupid or something? He's taking stuff off the walls and packing them. That means he's ready to go. When he goes, we'll come. All right. Stand by. Check. That's all. I keep watching Benedict. All the signs point to his making a break for it. I think of taking a chance on the pretty nurse, who looks too crisp and fresh to be a comrade. But how does one know... Send it with a sealed note to the FBI address, or no. Write a note and send it through the mails. Maybe special delivery. That's it. Take a chance, that's all. Take a chance that whoever I give the letter to, to mail, is on the level. Everybody can't be a spy. But it only takes one. I'll do it. Oh, nurse! Oh, nurse! Yes, Mr. Seddon. I might have a letter for you to mail. When do you go off duty? At four o'clock, Mr. Seddick. All right, I'll have it ready for you at, uh... No. What? Never mind. Forget it. Never mind. Well, uh. All right, Mr. Seddick. Just as you said. Too late. I waited too long, hesitating, being scared. Because I can see that Benedict across the street is getting ready to clear out By the time the nurse got to the FBI headquarters, it'll be all over anyhow. I've got to report to Revchenko's goon squad. If I don't want to, I've got to. And then, maybe figure some way out for Benedict. And for myself, too. Helmwood 411. I've got to. Hello? Your order, please. Helmwood 411. Helmwood 4-1-1-3-7. Thank you. No. I can't do it. I won't. Good afternoon, Mr. Siverik. Anatole. Or Dr. Anatole. I don't... I didn't hear you. Perhaps you were preoccupied. Miss Christopher says you seemed quite upset a moment ago. Who? Your nurse. Upset? Something about changing your mind about some letter. Oh, that. A small affair of the heart, you know. That's probably for me, so that takes surgery. Yes. Thank you. Yes? you hung up, Mr. Svetik. Well, I don't think I... Go right ahead, Svetik. Don't mind me. Oh, operator, I don't want... Yeah? Hello? Oh, you again. Hold on just a second, will you? Thanks. Will you excuse me, doctor? Oh, of course. I'll come back later. Hello? Talk up, sport. Talk up. I can't. Somebody may be listening outside. Oh, what is it now? He's ready to leave. Oh, okay. Give it to me faster. He's wearing a light gray suit with a gray tweed topcoat and a pearl gray snap brim hat. I figure he'll be out any time now, so better to get there early than late. Gray suit, gray tweed topcoat, pearl gray snap brim hat. Check. The entrance to the apartment is on the other side, not facing the hospital. Yeah, check. Have you got enough? Oh, we can't miss. Is that all? That's all. Well, here we go. You're happy about it, aren't you? How long will you be? Fifteen minutes, Dobbs. So long, mister. No time to kill. No time to kill. But fifteen minutes to murder. May I, pathetic? Come in. Well, you're having a rather hectic time of it, aren't you? It's going all right. Let's just try your pulse. I'm fine. Mm-hmm. You don't want to excite yourself too much, Svetik. I don't. Can't fool the pulse rate, you know. I'll settle down. I'm sure of it. In fact, I've signed your discharge. Miss Christopher will be up in a moment. With your clothing and effects. I'm discharged? You'll be out of here in ten minutes. Fine. I won't see you again, so... Goodbye. Goodbye, Doctor. I lie in bed trying not to think, then trying to think of some way out for Benedict across the street. Fascinated, I stare at him across the way, preparing to clear out and walk right into those Tommy guns. Then I sit up sharply in bed. The man across the way is holding a pair of binoculars to his eyes, looking straight at me, it seems. I know they're binoculars, and I should have known he'd have binoculars, when all that other sporting paraphernalia around. And then, all at once, I understand. I know. I'm not watching him. He's watching me. And if he is watching me, then my wire's probably been tapped, and they know all about that call to the FBI. They wanted me to try that call. And I bit her. I fell for the whole tricky trap to make me show my hand. I'm the dirty stool pigeon, unquote, that Revchenko hoped would reveal himself. I'm the patsy. Tag. I'm it. Let it get dead. Because here comes the nurse with my clothes and effects. So I can walk out of here. To be mowed down by gunsels that I've called myself. Oh, beautiful. Here you are, Mrs. Pettis. Your things. You can be out of here in ten minutes, we hope. Well, what's the rush? How about an hour? Oh, no. Dr. Anatole said ten minutes. Can I have half an hour? I'm afraid not. Why not? Well, there's another patient coming in in ten minutes. All right. Okay. Get out. You can have a wheelchair to the curb if you like. I don't like. Will there be a car. Waiting for you? Yeah. A big black sedan. Oh, fine. Yeah, fine. Get out. I get dressed. I look across the street. Benedict is gone. I go over to the window and draw the shade. But it doesn't mean anything now. They know I'm coming out and that I'm FBI. I try to think of how I can get out by other exits. Not that it matters. If they don't get me now, they'll get me later. Now would be better for them. It'll be an example of quick, bold vengeance for other informers to notice. I'm dead all right. But I have one small satisfaction. At least I wasn't putting the finger on a fellow FBI undercover man. And then the door snaps open and the big man who wasn't there is there. O'Neill. Matt. Driscoll. Driscoll it is, Matt. Let's get out of here fast. Where were you? I tried to call you at the FBI, but some strange voice answered. I know. You know? Yeah, I instructed him to accept calls for Driscoll from O'Neill. Well, I took a chance and talked some jabberwocky at him, hoping he'd catch on and trace the call back here to the hospital. Yeah, smart boy, Matt. And we're smart little fellas, too. Because that's how I knew you were in this room. Where have you been all the time? Two rooms down the corridor, watching that commie across the street. You, too? They told me he was an FBI agent they wanted to knock off. I thought I was killing our own man. You almost did. What? I'm the guy. But it's me they're after. They're going to mow me down on the street. They've been watching me, testing me. I'm dead. Look, I was watching him first, getting a line on the people who visit him. They caught on after two days and said him to watch me. But they had to get the information about me from you. How do you know that? Well, look at me. Remember the clothes that gent across the street was wearing? Gray suit, gray tweed top coat, pearl gray hat, right? Yeah. Well, he was watching me and mimicking whatever significant things I did for you to see and report. By reporting on him, you were reporting on me. Sort of a carom shot. They're after me, Matt, not you. They trust you completely as of this assignment. Or they wouldn't have let you act for them. Now, look, you leave first, and I'll follow in five minutes. Watch out for that Dr. Anatole, though. Anatole? He's one of us. Oh, brother. Have I got a headache. Get going. Say, what about the killer car? It's on the way. Nah, it'll never get here. As soon as we found out where you were, thanks to your call, we put a tap on your phone. We've had Elmwood 4-1137 staked. Out for two days. Oh, then you've picked up those gunsles. Ten minutes ago, with all kinds of raps against them. They've all got records we can put them away for. Quite a haul, huh, man? Yeah. And you're in the clear. The Reds will blame me for everything. Nice haul. Terrific. Vacation in bed. Ha! When I get downstairs... Sure enough, no black sedan bristling with Tommy guns. My head is still whirling, and it isn't blood pressure. It's pressure, all right, but not blood pressure. I shake my head to a taxi driver at the curb. Walk it off, Semetic. Walk it off. Rest cure. Oh, sure. I ought to be resigned to the pressure by now. Resigned? Maybe. Maybe. But there's no rest and there's no peace. Just resignation to being marooned among enemies. Forbidden from acknowledging my friends. I'm a communist for the FBI. I walk alone. Dana Andrews will return in just a moment. This is Dana Andrews. I can drop my role of Matt Svetik after each show, but there's a real Matt Svetik from whose fantastic adventures these stories all stem. The story you've just heard happened in all its basic details. The constant silent warfare between the FBI and the Communist Party never ceases. This story told one small phase of that bitter fight. Names, places, and incidents have been disguised naturally, but the spirit of fact remains untouched. Next week, another exciting adventure from the journal of Matt Saverick, who worked undercover for the FBI. It's a landmark, and you're listening, so mark it. See you then.