The Only Thing You Have to Fear or The Fiction of the Fix

Connor sat uncomfortably in front of the commissioner's desk, hands clasped tightly in his lap.

"It says here you're studying International Affairs at Columbia," the commissioner said.

"Yes sir. It's a new field, you see, just started back in 1946." Connor cleared his throat. He felt he was offering up too much information.

"What are you going to do with that degree, son?"

Connor scratched back of his neck, and then shrugged. "Work for some intelligence agency, fight the Reds?"

The commissioner smiled. Connor did not like the man's smile one bit. "How'd you like to start fighting the Reds now, Mister Browning?"

"I'm not sure I'm qualified," Connor replied.

"Think of it as an apprenticeship. You get hands on experience, and we get some fresh thinking out in the field."

Connor shifted in his seat. "What do I have to do?" he asked finally, and the commissioner nodded.

"That's the spirit," he said, standing up. "Come with me, I've got some people I want you to meet."

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