The Prepper Broadcasting Network - IWCF 053 Forged Faces

Episode Date: July 25, 2026

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I was a communist for the FBI. Bruce and an exciting tale of danger and espionage. I was a communist for the FBI. The incidents in the story you're about to hear are based on the actual records and authentic experiences of Matt Savatic. Who for nine fantastic years lived as a communist for the FBI. Here is our star, Dana Andrews, as Matt Savatic. Nine years, from citizen with nothing to conceal,

To spy, conspirator, confident of rogues and traitors, fugitive and decent men and tormentor of the righteous, then free citizen again. Nine years of fear and desperation, but of service too, and sometimes inspiration, new beliefs in a human family. I'm glad it all happened. In a moment, listen to Dana Andrews as Matt Sabatic, undercover man. Dana Andrews as Matt Savatic, undercover man. This story from the confidential file is marked, forged faces. I make my hourly check with communist headquarters from a good sound-proof pay station.

I get Comrade Rivchenko on the phone, as usual, abrupt and insulting self. I'm in the middle of a counter-insult, which I've found the best defense against Revchenko's insolence, when he interrupts me to put another comrade on the phone. I wait, preparing a cold and hostile manner. I've got to do that to preserve some self-respect among the commoners. I wonder who this new comment will be to have inspired tones of respect from Revchenko. I wait, and then...

Comrade Svetik? Oh? What do you mean by O? A lady, comrade. I suppose I should be flattered that you distinguish me as a lady. Something in the voice. I want you to meet me tonight. Say when, say,

They where? Are you familiar with the suburbs? Ottawa Heights. Some of my best friends are Ottawa. Meet me at the Circle. My car will be parked about 100 feet south of the Circle traffic light. When? Our appointment is for 10 p.m., so...

Meet me at my car at 9.30. What appointment at 10 p.m.? A suitable one for a lady and her gentleman. Goodbye, comrade, Fed. Goodbye to you, comrade, question, Mark. Benedetta. Benadetta. Ladylike?

Comrade's static? Oh. A strange, almost affected name, but one that goes with a liquid voice on the telephone. At 9.30, I'm cruising slowly through the better area of our best suburb. I locate the circle and the dark shadow of a single car

parked this side of the traffic light. I stop behind the dim car and turn off my lights and get out, walk to the other car. The woman is behind the wheel. Overhanging trees block off the light from the corner. The woman is nearly a form and an outline in a darkness, a veiled face without detail. Only an exquisite voice named Benedetta.

Get in. That's very. Yeah. We'll talk a moment and then keep our appointment. Go ahead. With Dr. Victor Curvience. A professional visit? Yes.

At this hour? At this hour. Special appointments. You're the boss. Dr. Pervian's specialty is one that may be very useful to the party one day. Also, access to the case history files of a high-ranking doctor like Pervians could be invaluable to us. Blackmail, et cetera. Yes.

Do we invite him to join the party? We can tell him to join us. Or else what? A few years ago, Dr. Pervience operated on a man whose face had been badly injured in a settlement explosion. A man named Macklin. Then he performed a miracle of surgery to restore humanity to Maclin's shattered face. Oh, plastic surgery. Dr. Pervience didn't know that Maclin was a dangerous criminal.

You and I are now prepared to present proof that he did not. And that for a large fee performed the operation for a shotgun wound without informing the police. Black man. Et cetera. In order to use him and to blackmail others through his files. I present myself as a patient. He will come out to talk to my anxious and attentive husband, namely you.

And while you detain him, I plant certain incriminating papers in his file. Ah, miss. You're Mrs. Matthew Savetti? Yes. I was involved in an accident with fire. Where are you? Why do you suppose I was chosen for this job?

Why do I wear a veil and go out on me at night? I'm sorry. you'll find it difficult, if not impossible, to discuss it. Even with my physician, he'll understand. I'll have done most of the explanation. Shall we go? I'm ready when you are, wife. A housekeeper admits Benedetta to Dr. Pervian's elegant office while I wait in the reception room.

My mind remains obsessed and possessed with an image of Benedetta, tall and graceful and somehow electric in her almost totally black costume. I wait ten minutes, then Dr. Pergents comes out, straight, gentle, and serious. Mr. Svetig? Oh, yes, Doctor. Please sit down. Thank you. If I may have a word with you before Mrs. Svetti comes out.

Please, Doctor. I've already shown your wife this book with some of the restorations I've succeeded in making. Oh? I don't make very broad claims, Mr. Svetti. You mean, for us not? My wife is concerned? In anything. Oh, I understand completely.

No promises, no claims. Only the record of performance. I think the cases represented in this book are a fair example of what you may have some right to expect. If you'd care to glance through it. Oh, yes, I would. It's very pretty, you see. No. But if one turns the page, you see?

Well, that's not the same woman. It is. And thank you. Well, what's the next step with... with us, doctor. That's for you and Mrs. Fettick to discuss. Oh, I see. Well, uh, what do I owe you this far? Uh, Mrs. Fettick took care of that, thank you. So much we took it after him later. We've been too good as you're here, Dr. Well, I'm here to be helpful. I know. You'll hear further from us, doctor. And remember about the photograph

if you decide, won't you? Yes, sir. Well, good night, Dr. Perlian. Come dear. The enchantment of a romantic situation supported by some of my early reading in the fragrance of dark perfume at one time The witch's broth of blackmail that I've helped start bubbling is another that I have no taste for Part of Pervience is a decent and useful and gifted citizens and a comrades

I figured a way to turn his art and his mercy to their corrupt ends And where does it ever stop? Who's safe? Not you, not me, not Tom, not Dick, not half, not Harry, not anyone great or small. I tell my FBI contact of progress to date.

You all finished eating, Matt? No appetite after eating my heart out. It's an unusually interesting case, Matt. Frame up and blackmail? What's a sparkling? Yeah, it presents an interesting question, and maybe some answers. Why is a communist? Why do they fall for it? You take this Benedetta. Because of some mysterious accident, fire, she says.

Why not? All right. An outcast from society, she thinks. She turns to communism for self-justification, revenge on society. I don't know. But that fire or whatever it was, was sure a dirty break for Dr. Victor Pervience. Yeah?

There? Benadena. Where have you been? Long time, no see. Never mind. I'll see you tonight. Say when, say where, say how. Pick me up in front of my hotel at 10 tonight.

The graveyard just again. What do you know about photography? What do you want me to know about it? Can you take pictures at night? Indeed I can. Bring whatever you need. Okay. Important.

Understand. Bye. A fairly decent camera beside me on a gadget bag full of impressive attachments I pick up Benedetta at the agreed time. Then with Benedetta navigating, we steer for the suburbs again. This time to a broken, abandoned place

overlooking the sea, and always there. But I'm wondering now, what's the point? Pervience knows what you look like now. What's the point? My lady in black tells me to stop the car in a nubby dirt road, and we go up creaking steps into the cavernous house, haunted by us. In here.

What about a light? No. Is this your beach house? No. Then I won't ask if it's your furniture, especially if there isn't any. A book tape against the wall. No books. But no books go perfectly when no life. Don't think of fools.

How foolish is it for me to ask if Comrade Revchenko considers this in line of party duty? The ocean is so beautiful, especially by moon. Especially if you have clear tidal to the house. A Gulf of maple, terrain sea, sapphire by day. Darkest space by now Magic B, B, B, B, Bore, if I could only forget I left.

About this photography now, it's... Behind the bookcase. I will hold a flashlight for me. I go to the bookcase and gop behind it. I pull out a large, flat portfolio. The kind of artists keep their work in... Open it. I open it.

There's nothing in time. It goes. Whatever it was. It was there. I know it was there. I put it there. Well, tell me what. Benedetta!

Benedetta! It's been missing from the museum for days. I took it. You took it? Stole it then, but it was me. And what's me is mine? Isn't that so? Isn't that true?

Benadetta, listen to me. Gone! It's no good to me. Gone. It's useless to me. Useless. It's hopeless. I was going to put it back.

I just wanted a picture of it. That's all. That's all. You believe. Believe me? Yes. There are no photographs of it. A condition.

A condition of the gift, you understand? Yes, I just. We better get out of this place, Benedict. It's badly haunted. I was a communist for the FBI. And the second act of our story. Missed boys began when I drop her off at her hotel. I watch her from a car as she ducks her head,

tapping the desk clerk. Still trying to hide her veiled face from the elevator man as the elevator doors hide there from sight. Then, I break a strict FBI rule. I call my FBI contact at his hotel, covering up as much as we can with our pre-range double-talk, but adding up to a midnight conference in his room.

Shouldn't have come here, Matt. You know that. I shouldn't have to shake here, but I had. Anything you on Dr. Peruvian? Whatever new torment the comrades have figured out for him is in other tormentors' hands. I'm personally grateful for that. Tell me about the girl now.

Well, she dragged me out to a lonely beach house. Apparently, the photograph a painting of herself. But she'd stolen from the local museum. She must have been quite a girl in her pre-veil wearing day. Phone call. Uh, Shelly 938. Who? Kimpton Boyd.

Who? Director of the Arkansas Games. I want to know if that painting of Benedetta's really been stolen. If it exists at all, it could have been fantasy. We get Kimkin Boyd out of bed, and we get an embarrassed admission that establishes one thing at once. Benedetta isn't out of her mind yet.

In his study, Voigt tells me about Benadetta. Richard Warner painted it years ago. His incredibly beautiful and fascinating wife, he was. Oh, if Richard Warner had only lived... Why didn't he? He was taking his wife to... the desert for her health, and his private plane crashed in Arizona. Richard Warner died in the wreck.

What about his wife? Vanished. Bill A. Now, I have kept the theft of the painting from the newspapers until Seville Warner arrived. Richard's surviving brother, the donor of the painting. Is he arriving? He's here. Where?

Why? Do you want the painting back or not? Well, certainly I want it back. Invite Warner for dinner tomorrow. No, I have not spoken to him in years. Now I'm afraid to You don't want the painting back, is that it? Yes

Well, invite him for dinner So he'll be away from home When I want to get in And let's have his address The door is unlocked The deal isn't there But the door is unlocked Sent it because somebody has been there before me

With a key I look all over for any portfolio That might hold a smallish-foil painting Nothing Seville Warner's personal effects Pay off better In a worn leather darkiness case, I find a note written on blue paper in a woman's graceful but strong hand. My dear Richard, you know by now of the accident and of the tragedy.

I am well, but I must never see you again, and this is why. We were not flying here for my help. We were in love. We were running away. And now that he is dead, I can not return to you. I know how this will shock him to him. forgive me who turned off the light

who is it did you find the painter no did you you were here before weren't you no i didn't find it where is it now wait listen to me where is it this will be about a private plane that crashed and burned in arizona

years ago i take it easy you and your husband crashed and burned yes i see it now only the papers made a natural mistake no there was no mistake the man with you on that trip wasn't your husband It's a lie.

Uh-huh. The authorities positively identified the body as Richard. For ten days after the wreck, you write a note to your husband, who was supposed to have been killed in the wreck. No. Who was really the man in the plane with you? You've no right to insult me, so the authority... Quiet.

And wait, understand? Yes. Yes. Oh, thank you for the light, Mr. Warner. Who? You broke in, you took it. Simple. Why?

Simple. It was mine. The painting is at this moment safely back to the museum. If it is, you took it back. Of course. Why? Who's the veiled lady you followed to the beach house? Why can't you let the past library?

Well, I can't let it just lie. Sit down. Yes. Benadetta was your wife? Yes. You are not severe, Warner. Brother of the man who married and who painted Benadetta. But that man himself, you're Richard.

Benedetta's husband? Yes, yes. The man killed in the wreck was your brother. It was my inspiration. Benedetta. She became ill. Nothing serious. I was painting in the titans.

I told Seville to take her to the desert for a few weeks. They crashed. I received that note from Benedetta, saying she'd been running away with Seville pleading for forgiveness. The authorities took the charred body in the wreckage for you. Yes. And you just left it that way. You became your own brother.

And something else. When I gave up my own identity, I shed a reptile skin. Richard Warner had been a communist, hating communism, praying for escape. When I took the identity of my dead brother, I was free of communism. They would let me alone. What good to communists is a dead, comrade. I had lost my beloved wife. I had also shed the reptile skin.

The very cream of the jest, eh? Perhaps. When the painting vanished, I knew she must have taken it. Did you know why? She always loved it, so. Is that a good bourgeoisie motive for robbery? I couldn't let the police hunt her down like a beast. I came back to find the painting and returned it.

Welcome to it and... Welcome back. Comrade Warner? No. welcome get out or i'll kill you good night comrade my soul were dead enough to shoot you phil it's hard to take awful hard but i take it somehow i've got to keep warner lost to the party and use it to lose benedetta to the party as well but keep myself covered all the time if my plans misfired i don't want benedetta reporting me to the control commission but she's in the kitchen

in her husband's apartment. No, no, she isn't. There's a tall, veiled figure at the elevators, and I start running and pulling her away, just as she's about to press the button for the down car. Vinodetta! Let me alone. Please, please, let me alone.

Listen, you've got to go back here. How can I? You don't understand. How can I? Wait, go back, but don't fall to his talk. He'll tell you he loves you. Richard? Still loves me? But don't listen to it for his forgiveness.

Don't listen to him. A traitor and a renegade to the party. What? Go back, yes. But tell him you're in the party now and summon him to return to the party or face the consequence. He loves me.

He forgives me. But a renegade to the party. And there's nothing to forgive. I never betrayed him. That letter was a lie for his sake. He loved my beauty, so, and look at it. You wanted to see? See, my Burns' beauty,

the most beautiful Benedetta, to face my husband loved. Look. A gloved hand ripped away the veil. My stomach jumped and late cold and still. It wasn't a face. It was something dead and ancient, something volcanic. Something that had been white hot and fluid once,

and then had cooled and glazed and tortured planes and ridges. Benedict's face was a horror. But her eyes were beautiful. And they were crying. That's why you lied into your husband. The beauty he loved. You're gone. I became this shadow.

I understand. Go to him. I want you to see how a traitor to the party deserts everything. Abandones everything. You are a swan. I will go. I'll go with you. We'll see.

Loves you, he says. If I'm wrong about this, I think, God help us all. Man's soul is worth us and his pledges or mockery. And love is a sneer and treachery and corruption or in the thesis of judgment. If I'm wrong. Richard. You've been hurt.

Hurt? Yes. That's not. Only hurt. You should have told me. Only... There's a little. There are doctors now for this.

I know. We'll find one for you. Darling. Richard, I have one. I'm not wrong. When I leave them, they don't know I've left. They're weeping in each other's arm. In love, never out of love, come fire and part of this pleasure.

And Richard Warner, ex-communist, can tell Dr. Pervin's plastic surgeon the contours of a new and living portrait of Benedetta, ex-communist. Shield clear, Pervin. Me? I can't help it, can I, if. The party can't hold its members against bourgeois sentiment and faith and the fireproof qualities of man's soul. After all, the party still has me.

Oh, yes indeed. I'm a communist for the FBI. I walk alone. Cruz will return in just a moment. The play you've just heard is only one of many, just as unusual. All based in facts. Places, people, and other data are changed to protect the innocent. Like other stories in this series, this story was based on incidents in the experience and knowledge of Matt Savetic, who works undercover for the FBI.

Be with us next week for another exciting adventure in this amazing series. Thanks.