The Russian Staff car reminded Dawson of a Ford. As a matter of fact, he was pretty sure that it was a Yank Ford made under license in a Soviet factory. However, he didn't let his thoughts dwell on the car too long. For one thing, the uniformed driver seemed to be attempting to smash every existing speed record. And for another thing, the instant Freddy and he had climbed down out of the Wellington things had happened like exploding firecrackers.

Colonel General Vladimir had stepped forward, introduced himself, and greeted them warmly. Then almost before they could return the greeting, the Russian had steered them right by the other officials and into the Russian-made Ford. At a word from the Colonel General, the uniformed chauffeur had shifted gears, and away they had gone.

At first, Dawson hadn't minded these strange actions very much because the car roared through the heart of Moscow and he was able to get his first view of the Kremlin, and Red Square. But that had been half an hour previously, and by now the car was approaching empty country that held no interest or attraction for him. And so he began to wonder in earnest why this sudden mysterious move, and also why the Colonel General, seated between Freddy and him on the back seat, was content to stare out through the windshield in stony silence.

Suddenly, though, as the car spun around the corner of some woods and onto a long straight road, the Russian official seemed to let go a little sigh of relief, and relaxed slightly. He barked an order in his native tongue to the driver, and immediately the speed of the car was reduced by a good third. The Colonel General looked at Dave and Freddy each in turn, and smiled pleasantly.

"Your heads are crammed full of questions?" he said with a chuckle. "Is it not so?"

"Well, I was wondering just where the fire was," Dawson replied. "I mean, of course, why all the hurry?"

"Yes, quite," Freddy Farmer murmured. "Has something unexpected happened, Colonel General?"

"That is the reason for the haste," the Russian replied with a little gesture. "So that the unexpected would not happen, you see? In the Soviet we do not take unnecessary chances. It is stupid to do such things. So when you arrive we do not give ears the chance to hear much, or eyes the chance to see much. I would swear that there is not one Gestapo secret agent in all of Moscow, but I am not content with just believing so. All men can be wrong. So I take no chances, in case I am wrong. This mission you are on means much to Russia. There is no telling how much it will mean. So it is only natural that we do all in our power to give you the aid you need, and to protect you as long as we can. Your pardon one moment, please."

The Colonel General leaned forward and rapped out some obvious orders to the driver. The man at the wheel nodded his head to show that he had heard and understood. Then the Russian sat back on the seat again, and addressed himself to the two boys.

"Tomorrow, I am afraid," he said, with an odd little half-smile, "there will be harsh things said about Russia by her allies. Your England and your United States will not be pleased to learn that you two died while under our care."

"Huh?" Dawson gulped out as the other paused, and seemed waiting. "I mean, what did you say, Colonel General? Something about Farmer and me getting killed?"

"Exactly," the other nodded with the odd little smile still on his lips. "Burned alive in an automobile wreck. Fortunately, though, I will manage to escape with my life. I will be most brokenhearted when I give out the statement to the representatives of the Foreign Press in Moscow. And there will be an expression of deep sorrow from Premier Joseph Stalin, too. It will, indeed, be a sad affair, that meeting with the press tomorrow."

The Russian lapsed into sudden silence again, and Dawson wasn't sure whether he should take it just as a cockeyed dream, or jump out of the car in case the world had actually gone upside down all of a sudden. He did neither, of course. Instead he shot a quick hard side glance at the Russian, and caught the faint grin that tugged at the corners of the officer's mouth. Then he found himself looking straight into a pair of twinkling black eyes.

"I am what you call in America a mad Russian, eh, Captain Dawson," the Colonel General suddenly boomed out. "Forgive me, but it is like me to say strange things and watch people's faces. However, it is a little true. You and your gallant comrade are to die in a burning automobile wreck. That is, as far as the rest of the world is concerned. It is like this. Our enemies know more about this mission of yours than we would like them to know. Twice they have done what they could to remove you and your friend, Captain Farmer. Oh, yes. I know about that train affair in Scotland. Since then Air Vice-Marshal Leman has communicated with Soviet Intelligence. And your recent air battle was no accident, either."

"And but for the very welcome arrival of your planes, it might have ended the wrong way, too!" Dave spoke up quickly.

Colonel General Vladimir nodded, and beamed his thanks.

"A compliment twice over, coming from a war pilot of your record, Captain Dawson," he said gravely. "Ah, yes! Once many people laughed at the mention of Soviet planes, and Soviet pilots. But they are not laughing any more. Particularly the Nazi Luftwaffe. But, as I was saying, twice the Nazis have tried to remove you, and have failed. They know that you have reached Moscow. Your next destination perhaps they know, and perhaps they don't. However, we will attempt to cause them to lose interest in you both. Lose interest because they believe you are both dead. The results of crude Soviet bungling, they will no doubt scream over their propaganda radios. But let them! It does not matter if it all helps you to complete your delicate mission successfully."

The Russian paused, nodded for emphasis, and lapsed into silence again. Freddy Farmer didn't like that, and did something about it.

"Just how are you to arrange for us to burn up in a car wreck, Colonel General?" he asked bluntly.

The Russian shrugged, and gestured with both of his hands, palms upward.

"That will be very simple," he said. Then, nodding ahead, he continued, "In a few moments, now. Just around that turn you see up ahead. There will be a car waiting for us, just off the road. You will change to it, and this one will be driven into a tree so that it will be suitably wrecked, and then touched off with a match. This driver will then continue on with you in the hidden car, and leave me to explain things to the first car that passes by."

"I see," Dawson grunted after a moment's thought. "Three of us to burn up, eh? But what about three fire-charred bodies in the wreckage, so there'll be sure to be no questions asked?"

"Also simple," the Russian replied in a grim voice. "Three Nazis will take your places. Three dead ones. They were shot yesterday. They served their mad Fuehrer in life, so they will serve our cause in death. Well, we approach the point where we part for a few hours. I will see you again tomorrow, or the next day."

"Next day?" Dawson echoed sharply. "Where? What do you mean by that remark, Colonel General?"

"For two days it is best for you to remain dead, and safely hidden," the Russian officer explained. "The English Agent Jones has not yet completed even a third of his long journey. It is best for you all to arrive at Urbakh the same day. To arrive ahead of him, and be forced to wait around for his arrival, might not be good. So you will rest for a few days in our care. I do not think that you will find it too unpleasant. Well, we are almost there."

There were a whole lot more questions that Dave wanted to ask, but the Colonel General sort of gave the impression that the question period was over. Besides, the car was cutting around the turn in the road and slowing down toward a full stop. So Dave held his tongue, and left his questions hanging in his brain. He looked ahead but did not see any second car. That is, for a moment or two he didn't see one. But suddenly, as the Russian Ford came abreast of a narrow dirt road leading off through the woods, there he spotted the second car pulled well up under the trees.

When their car came to a final halt, the Colonel General was out of it in a flash and turning around to smile and motion for them to follow.

"Come with me," he said. "He will take care of everything. He used to smash cars for a living before the war, like the dare-devils in your Hollywood. It will be amusing to watch him."

It wasn't particularly amusing to Dawson and Farmer so much as it was fascinatingly gruesome. The Russian chauffeur hauled three dead Nazis out of the car hidden under the trees and placed two of them in the rear seat of the Ford. The third he wedged in behind the wheel. Then, squeezing in on top of the dead German, he got the Ford tearing along at high speed down the road. The instant the car was going full out he gave the wheel a sharp twist, and seemed virtually to shoot his body up out from behind the wheel. He landed lightly on his feet on the road like a highly trained acrobat, and the Russian Ford went tearing at terrific speed straight into a couple of giant tree trunks.

Colonel General Vladimir said that they were to touch a match to the wreck, but a single split second after the Ford struck the tree trunks it became instantly evident that no match would be needed. A great glob of smoke belched up from under the crumpled engine hood, and was followed by a tongue of hissing orange-red flame. And by the time Dawson could blink the car was completely enveloped in flame.

"And so that is finished," he suddenly heard the Colonel General break through his thoughts. "Now, into this car, please. There is no time to loiter here. You must be on your way. A pleasant journey, Captains. And we will meet again tomorrow, or the next day. Do not be alarmed. I would trust him as I would trust my own son—if I had but been blessed with one."

Even as the Russian talked he guided Dawson and Freddy Farmer into the rear seat of the half hidden car, and then stepped back to allow the driver to get in behind the wheel. And no sooner had the driver settled himself than he kicked the engine into life, shifted gears, and started off. Both Dawson and Farmer glanced back at the Colonel General, but the Russian seemed no longer aware of their existence. He was busy tearing shreds of cloth from his uniform, and smearing rich Russian soil on his face and hands. And then he faded from view around a bend in the wooded road. Dawson turned to the side and looked into Freddy Farmer's saucer-sized eyes.

"Sweet tripe!" he grunted. "In this neck of the woods they sure do things fast, and let you find out later, don't they?"

"Not half, they don't!" Freddy exclaimed with a bewildered shake of his head. "Well, love a duck! What a bloke that Colonel General is! Why, I hadn't half begun to ask questions. Where in the world is he going to hide us out, I'd like to know?"

"Me, too!" Dawson said with a grim nod, and leaned toward the driver's seat. "Where are we headed, driver?" he called out.

The Russian chauffeur slowed up a little and turned to give them a blank smile and a blanker look. Then he seemed to guess the meaning of Dawson's question, and opened and shut the fingers of one upraised hand three times. Then he smiled and nodded and returned his attention to driving. Dawson made sounds in his throat and sank back on the seat.

"And that helps a lot, I don't think!" he growled. "No speak our lingo. But I guess he guessed the question, and was telling us we'll get there in fifteen minutes, or fifteen hours, or maybe fifteen years. But there's nothing we can do about it, anyway. And how do you like being a dead man, pal?"

The English youth glanced up at the sky that seemed to hold the hint of coming winter, and shuddered slightly.

"In this country I don't fancy it a bit," he said. "Not even a little bit. But it is a clever trick by the Russians. And I wish I could hear the Nazi propaganda chaps scream about it over the radio. It'll almost make us famous, you know."

"I'll take vanilla, thank you!" Dawson grunted, and stared at the winding road ahead. "After, and if, we finish this job, I hope I can get a few days off to really see Moscow, and these parts around here. But right now I want to keep going, and get the darn thing cleaned up. Two days, he said? Not so good. A lot of things can happen in two days."

"Well, as you said, there's nothing we can do about it," Freddy Farmer said with a shrug. "So that's that. Just the same, I'd like to know what that chauffeur chap meant by his crazy hand signals."

Dawson didn't bother trying to answer that question, and Freddy Farmer didn't bother to repeat it. Both youths simply lapsed into brooding silence, and absently stared at the winding road that seemed to go on winding forever through endless woods. However, at the end of ten minutes they came out of the woods and onto a road leading to a small peasant village. And at the end of exactly fifteen minutes from the time of the chauffeur's finger signals, the car was halted in front of a rough two-story wooden house. The chauffeur got out, bowed to them, and motioned for them to get out too. They did, and followed him up the three steps to the front door of the house.

The chauffeur knocked on the door, and he had no more than taken his knuckles away than it was opened and they saw a uniformed figure just inside the doorway. The chauffeur saluted smartly, rattled something off in his native tongue, and then hurried past Dawson and Farmer, and down the steps to the car. In less than nothing flat he had the car rolling at a fast clip off up the village street. Dave and Freddy glanced at each other and mutually wondered, what next?

They didn't have to wait long. The dimly outlined uniformed figure just inside the doorway spoke to them in a low, rich voice.

"Come in, please, Captains Dawson and Farmer. I am happy that you have arrived safely in Russia. And I am honored to be able to share with you the adventures that lie ahead. Come in, please."

A crazy conglomeration of mixed thoughts and emotions raced through Dawson as he stepped through the door and into a very shadowy hallway. Freddy Farmer followed right at his heels, and the sudden change of light threw the eyes of both out of focus for a few seconds. But when they were able to see clearly again, they found themselves looking at a very young and very good-looking Russian Senior Lieutenant of Intelligence.

Yet very good-looking was not quite correct. Very pretty would have been a little better, because, like bombs exploding in their heads, they both realized in the same instant that the Senior Lieutenant was a girl of just about their own age! That bit of truth just about topped off all of the high speed action they'd witnessed since arriving in Russia, and for a long minute both were too stunned to do anything but salute smartly and just stand there practically gaping at the girl. She glanced from one to the other, then gave a little low laugh.

"So you are surprised, eh?" she echoed. "Well, there are a lot of women like me fighting for Russia. But let me introduce myself. I am Senior Lieutenant Nasha Petrovski, of Soviet Intelligence. Until Colonel General Vladimir says it is time to leave for Urbakh, you are honored guests of my mother and myself. And later we will be comrades in arms for a great and worthy cause. But I keep you standing here while I chatter. Come and meet my mother. And then I will show you to the room that has been made ready for you. This way, please, Captains."

And like a couple of dumbfounded wooden Indians, Dave Dawson and Freddy Farmer followed her into the ground floor parlor.