d have been a Californian
city, filtered every nation of the West, from every section of Common
Europe, the Americas, the Soviet Complex. If any city in the world is
a melting pot, it is Tangier, where Africa meets Europe and where East
meets West.

He passed through the teaming Grand Zocco market, and through the
gates of the old city. He took Rue Singhalese, the only street in the
medina wide enough to accommodate a vehicle and went almost as far as
the Zocco Chico, once considered the most notorious square in the
world.

For a moment the man called Anton stood before one of the Indian shops
and stared at the window's contents. Carved ivory statuettes from the
Far East, cameras from Japan, ebony figurines, chess sets of water
jade, gimcracks from everywhere.

A Hindu stood in the doorway and rubbed his hands in a gesture so
stereotyped as to be ludicrous. "Sir, would you like to enter my shop?
I have amazing bargains."

The man they called Anton entered.

He looked about the shop, otherwise empty of customers. Vaguely, he
wondered if the other ever sold anything, and, if so, to whom.

He said, "I was looking for an ivory elephant, from the East."

The Indian's eyebrows rose. "A white elephant?"

"A red elephant," the man called Anton said.

"In here," the Hindu said evenly, and led the way to the rear.

The rooms beyond were comfortable but not ostentatious. They passed
through a livingroom-study to an office beyond. The door was open and
the Indian merely gestured in the way of introduction, and then left.

Kirill Menzhinsky, agent superior of the _Chrezvychainaya Komissiya_
for North Africa, looked up from his desk, smiled his pleasure, came
to his feet and held out his hand.

"Anton!" he said. "I've been expecting you."

The man they called Anton smiled honestly and shook. "Kirill," he
said. "It's been a long time."

The other motioned to a comfortable armchair, resumed his own seat.
"It's been a long time all right--almost five years. As I recall, I
was slung over your shoulder, and you were wading through those
confounded swamps. The ..."

"The Everglades."

"Yes." The heavy-set Russian espionage chief chuckled. "You are much
stronger than you look, Anton. As I recall, I ordered you to abandon
me."

The wiry Negro grunted deprecation. "You were delirious from your
wound."

The Russian came to his feet, turned his back and went to a small
improvised bar. He said, his voice low, "No, Anton,