Supermind
“I suppose we could,” Burris said, “if we really wanted to get
complicated about it. What with Garbitsch’s false declaration, I
haven’t the faintest idea what his daughter’s status would be—but she
_was_ born here, Malone, and as far as we can tell she’s perfectly
loyal to the United States.”
“Fine,” Malone said. “So you’re sending her to Russia. This is making
less and less sense, you know.”
Burris rubbed a hand over his face. “Malone,” he said in a quiet,
patient voice, “why don’t you wait for me to finish? Then everything
will make sense. I promise.”
“Well, all right,” Malone said doubtfully. “Luba Garbitsch is going
along to Russia, in spite of the fact that she’s perfectly loyal.”
“True,” Burris said. “You see, Malone, she loves her traitorous old
daddy just the same. Family affection. Very touching.”
“And if he’s going to Moscow—”
“She wants to go along,” Burris said. “That’s right.”
“And you’re going to send her along,” Malone said, “out of the
goodness of your kindly old heart. Just like Santa Claus. Or the
Easter bunny.”
Burris looked acutely uncomfortable. “Now, Malone,” he said. “It’s not
exactly that, and you know it.”
“It isn’t?” Malone said, trying to look surprised.
Burris shook his head. “If we send Luba Garbitsch along,” he said,
“that gives us a good excuse for Her Majesty. As a chaperone.”
“Are you sure,” Malone asked slowly, “that anybody with a name like
Luba Garbitsch could plausibly need a chaperone? Even in a den of
vice? Because somehow it doesn’t sound right: Luba Garbitsch,
chaperoned by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth I.”
“Well,” Burris said, “it won’t be the Queen. I mean, she won’t be
known as the Queen.”
“Incognito?” Malone said.
Burris shrugged. “In away,” he said. “What do you think would be a
good name for her to travel under?”
Malone considered. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “But no more
Lubas.”
“I was thinking,” Burris said carefully. “How about Rose Thompson?”
There was a long silence.
“I don’t know whether she’ll go for the idea,” Malone said. “But I’ll
try it.”
“You can do it, Malone,” Burris said instantly. “I know you can. I
just know it.”
“Your faith,” Malone said with a sigh, “is going to be too much for me
one of these days.”
Burris shrugged. “Just take it easy, Malone,” he said. “You said you
wanted to have Her Majesty over there to read a few minds, and you’ve
got her. But remember, don’t get involved in anything complicated.
Don’t start any fireworks.”
“I hope not,” Malone said.
“Stay out of political arguments,” Burris said.
Malone blinked. “What do you think I’m going to do?” he said. “Bring
along a soapbox?”
“You never know,” Burris said. “Just keep quiet, and don’t go prowling
around where you’re not wanted.”
“That,” Malone said decisively, “would keep me out of Russia
entirely.”
“Damn it,” Burris said, “you know what I mean. We don’t want any
international incidents, understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Malone said.
Burris nodded. “All right, then,” he said. “Your plane leaves from the
airport in an hour. You’d better go and talk to Her Majesty first.”
“Right,” Malone said.
“And I hope you know what you’re doing,” Burris said.
_So do I_, Malone thought privately. Aloud, he said, “I just want to
get the feel of things over there, that’s all, sir. I won’t cause any
more trouble than an ordinary tourist.”
“Malone,” Burris said, “don’t be an ordinary tourist. They’re
empty-headed morons and they do make trouble. Be an invisible tourist.
Be nice to everybody. Be polite and kind. Don’t step on any toes, no
matter whose and no matter why.”
“Yes, sir,” Malone said.
“Remember, they’re going to know who you are,” Burris said.
“It’s not as if we could keep it a secret.”
“Yes, sir,” Malone said. “I’ll remember.”
“All right.” Burris extended his hand. “Good luck, Malone,” he said,
with a deeper feeling of sincerity than Malone had experienced from
him in months.
Malone shook the hand. “Thank you, sir,” he said.
* * * * *
A little less than an hour later, Malone sat on the steps of the
landing ramp that led up to the open door of the big Air Force
transport plane on the runway. The plane was waiting, and so was
Malone. He didn’t feel confident, or even excited. He felt just a
little bit frightened. Burris’ complicated warnings had had some
effect, and Malone was fighting down a minor case of the shakes.
Next to him, her face wreathed in happy smiles, sat a smartly-dressed
grey-haired woman in her sixties. She wore an unobtrusive tailored
suit and a light jacket, and she looked as if she might be one of the
elder matrons of the society set, very definitely an upper-crust type.
In spite of the normality of her clothing, Her Majesty looked every
inch a Queen, Malone thought.
“And that, Sir Kenneth, is only natural,” she said sweetly. “Even when
traveling incognito, one must retain one’s dignity. And I don’t object
at all to using the name of Rose Thompson in a good cause; it was used
for so many years it almost feels like part of me.”
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” Malone said mildly.
A voice from above and behind him interrupted his worried thoughts.
“Mr. Malone!” it said. “Mr. Malone?”
Malone screwed his head around and looked up. An Air Force colonel was
standing in the doorway of the plane, looking down with a stern,
worried expression. “Yes?” Malone said. “What is it?”
“Takeoff, Mr. Malone,” the colonel said. “We’re due to go in fifteen
minutes, and our clearance has been established.”
“Fine,” Malone said.
“But your passengers,” the colonel said. “Where are they?”
Malone tried to look calm, cool and collected. “They’ll be here,” he
said. “Don’t worry about a thing.” Privately, he hoped he was right.
Boyd hadn’t shown up yet, and Boyd was bringing the musical-comedy spy
trio. It wasn’t, Malone thought, that Boyd was usually late. But with
Brubitsch, Borbitsch and Garbitsch in tow, almost anything could
happen, he thought. He hoped fervently that it wouldn’t.
“It won’t,” Her Majesty said. “At least, it hasn’t so far. They’re all
in a car, and they’re driving right here. Boyd is thinking that he
ought to be here within five minutes.”
Malone nodded, wiping his forehead. “Five minutes, Colonel,” he called
back to the figure at the door. The colonel nodded efficiently at him,
turned and disappeared inside the plane. Malone looked at his watch.
The second hand was going around awfully fast, he thought. He wondered
if it were possible for time to speed up while he waited, so that by
the time Boyd arrived he would be an old, old man. He felt about eight
years older already, he told himself, and a minute hadn’t even passed.
He forced his eyes away from the moving second hand. Looking at it, he
knew, would only make him more nervous. Maybe there was some scenery
around that he could stare at. He raised his eyes and looked out
toward the gates that led to the interior of the air terminal.
Scenery, he told himself in sudden wonder, was no word for it.
He stared. He wanted to blink, but at the same time he felt that it
would be a shame to close his eyes for even a tenth of a second. He
held his eyelids apart by main force and went right on staring.
The girl walking toward him across the field was absolutely beautiful.
She seemed to make everything light up and start singing. Malone was
sure that, somewhere, he could hear birds plugging their favorite
numbers, and the soft rustle of the wind through pine branches. He
could feel the soft caress of the wind on his face, and he could smell
the odor of lilacs and honeysuckles and violets and whatever all those
other flowers were. They had all different colors and shapes, and he
couldn’t remember many of their names, but he could tell they were all
around him. They had to be all around him. Especially all the red
ones.
The girl had red hair that tossed gently in the wind. The bottom
two-thirds of her figure, Malone was happy to note, was not only as
good as the top third but a good deal better. It took him several
seconds to reach this conclusion, because at first he was willing to
swear that he had never seen such a beautiful girl before.
But, he told himself with a shade of apprehension, he had.
As she approached, he stood up. “Well, well,” he said brightly. “If it
isn’t the Lady That’s Known as Lou. Did the Psychical Research Society
give you the day off, or are you here to see about a misplaced broom?”
The girl beamed at him. “My, my,” she said. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Malone said. “And—”
“And how are the others?” she said.
Malone blinked. “Others?” he said.
She nodded. “Grumpy, Sleepy, Happy, Dopey, Bashful and Doc,” she said.
Malone opened his mouth, shut it again, and thought for a second.
“Now, wait a minute,” he said at last. “That’s not fair. I—”
“Oh,” she said. “And I nearly forgot. I owe you one from last time:
_gesundheit_.”
“And many happy returns,” Malone said. “Seriously, what are you doing
out here?”
“Talking,” the girl said. “To you. Or hadn’t you noticed?”
“I mean in general,” Malone said desperately.
“In general,” she said agreeably, “I’m here to take a little trip.”
“Oh,” Malone said. “By plane?”
She smiled sweetly and shook her head. “Not at all,” she said. “I’m
waiting for the next scheduled broomstick.”
Malone took a deep breath. “When does your plane leave?” he said
doggedly.
“In ten minutes or so,” she said.
“Then you’d better hurry and get on,” he said.
She nodded. “That’s what I thought,” she said.
A second passed.
“Did you want to say something?” Malone said uncomfortably.
She shook her head. “Not particularly,” she said.
“Well, then—”
“The time _is_ growing short,” she said.
“Isn’t it, though?” Malone said, feeling a little mystified. “Well,
now. Goodbye. I’ll see you soon.”
“Goodbye,” she said.
Another second passed.
“Your plane—” Malone started.
“How about yours?” she said.
“I’m all right,” Malone said nervously. “But if your plane’s leaving
in ten minutes you’d better get on it.”
“I intend to,” she said, without moving.
“Well—” Malone started.
“As soon as you quit blocking the ramp,” she said. “Would you mind
terribly if I climbed over your head? Because I do have to get on
board.”
“Now wait a minute,” Malone said. “This isn’t your plane.”
“How do you know?” she said. “Do you own it? Are you flying it away?”
“Well,” Malone said helplessly, “it’s my plane, and there’s nobody
going on it but—”
He paused. A great light seemed to burst in his mind, shedding a
perfectly horrible glow over the wreck of his mental processes. “You
know,” he said in a tentative tone, “we never have been properly
introduced. I only know your name is Lou.”
“That’s what people call me,” the girl said. “For short. I’m Luba
Garbitsch.”
“And I’m Kenneth Malone,” Malone said. “Kenneth J. Malone. Of the
FBI.”
She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “I know.”
“Your father—”
“My father is going to Russia,” she said, “and I am going along with
him.”
“Oh,” Malone said. “Sure. Sure. Oh.”
There was a longer silence.
“Can I get on board now?” Luba said.
“There isn’t any hurry,” Malone said. “We’re still waiting for—for
passengers. And this is one of them.” He turned and indicated the
Queen. “This is Her—Rose Thompson. She’ll be traveling along with
us.”
Her Majesty was wearing a broad, broad grin, Malone noticed nervously
as he turned. Undoubtedly she had been tuned in to the whole
conversation, and knew just what had gone on in both minds. But she
only said, “I’m very pleased to meet you, my dear.”
Lou blinked, smiled and stretched out her hand. “Well, then,” she
said. “Hello. And let’s all have a happy trip.”
“By all means,” Malone said. “And the trip seems to be about to
start.”