Supermind
skull fracture, a broken arm, two bitten hands, and a large and varied
assortment of dental difficulties and plain hysteria. No dead,
however. I really don’t understand why not.”
“Well,” Malone said, “nobody wanted to create an international
incident.”
“Hmf,” the doctor said. “I see. Or I think I do, which is as far as I
care to go in the matter. The Russians suspect, by the way, that
you’ve managed to get aboard the plane. They do know, of course, about
the girl, and when the pilot called for me they put two and two
together. In spite of his story about being sick. What they can’t
figure out is how you managed to _get_ aboard the plane.”
“Neither can I,” Malone said at random. The doctor gave him a single
bright stare.
“Well,” he said at last, “I suppose you know your own business best.
By the way, my examination accords pretty well with our unofficial
information about the girl—that she was given some sort of drug in a
drink. Is that what happened?”
Malone nodded. “As far as we know,” he said. “She did get rid of a lot
of it within a few minutes, though.”
“Good,” the doctor said. “Very sensible.”
“Sense had nothing to do with it,” Malone said.
“In any case,” the doctor went on doggedly, “there can’t be too much
left in her system. Her pulse is good, she’s breathing easily and
there don’t seem to be any complications, so I should doubt strongly
that there’s been much damage done. Besides all which, of course, the
Russians would hardly have wanted to hurt her; what they gave her
would probably have done little more harm even if she’d ingested it
all, and kept it down.”
“Good,” Malone said sincerely.
“I’ll give you some pills,” the doctor said, fishing in his bag again,
“and you can give them to her when she wakes up.”
“Is that all?” Malone said, vaguely disappointed.
The doctor eyed him keenly. “Well,” he said, “I could give her an
injection, but I’d be a little afraid to. If it had a synergistic
action with the drug, she might be worse off than before.”
“Oh,” Malone said. “By all means. Just the pills.”
“I’m glad you agree,” the doctor said. “Oh, and about leaving—”
“Yes?” Malone said. “We want to get out of here in a hurry, if we
can.”
“I think you can,” the doctor said. “The ambassador mentioned that
he’d try to arrange it with the Russians. I don’t know what he’ll tell
them—but then, that’s why he’s an ambassador, and I’m a doctor.” He
straightened up and handed Malone an envelope containing three green
capsules. “Give her these if she wakes up with a headache,” he said.
“If she feels all right, just forget all about them.”
“Sure,” Malone said. “And thanks, Doctor. Tell the ambassador we’d
appreciate it if he got us out of here as soon as possible.”
“Certainly,” the doctor said. “After all, I might as well take on the
job of a diplomatic courier.”
Malone nodded. “Well,” he said, “goodbye, Mr. Courier.”
The doctor went to the door, opened it and turned.
“Absolutely,” he said, “Mr. Ives.”
9
Lou didn’t wake up until the plane was dropping toward the Washington
airfield, and when she did awaken it was as if she had merely come out
of an especially deep sleep. Malone was standing over her, which was
far from a coincidence; he had been waiting and watching virtually
every minute since takeoff.
During his brief periods of rest, Her Majesty had taken over, and she
was now peacefully asleep at the back of the plane, looking a little
more careworn, but just as regal as ever. She looked to Malone as if
she had weathered a small revolution against her rule, but had managed
to persuade the populace (by passing out cookies to the children,
probably) that all was, in the last analysis, for the best in this
best of all possible worlds. She looked, he thought, absolutely
wonderful.
So did Lou. She blinked her eyes open and moved one hand at her side,
and then she came fully awake. “Well,” she said. “And a bright hello
to you, Sleuth. If it’s not being too banal, where am I?”
“It is,” Malone said, “but you’re in an airplane, coming into
Washington. We ought to be there in a few minutes.”
Lou shook her head slowly from side to side. “I have never heard any
news that sounded better in my entire life,” she said. “How long ago
did we leave Moscow?”
“Our trip to Beautiful Moskva,” Malone said, “ended right after they
tried to get you to the hospital, by giving you a drugged drink. Do
you remember that?”
“I remember it, all right,” she said. “I’m never going to forget that
moment.”
“How do you feel?” Malone said.
“Fine,” Lou said. “And how are _you_?”
“Me?” Malone said. “I’m all right. I’ve _been_ all right. Don’t worry
about _me_.”
“Well, one never knows,” Lou said. “With your cold and all.”
“I think that’s better,” Malone said hastily. “But you’re sure you
feel fine?”
Lou nodded. “A little tired, maybe, but that’s all.” She paused. “I
remember Miss Thompson taking me to the ladies’ room. I got pretty
sick. But from there on, I’m not sure what happened.”
“I came in,” Malone said, “and got you out.”
“How brave!” Lou said.
“Not very,” Malone said casually. “After all, what could happen to me
in a ladies’ room?”
“You’d be surprised,” Lou murmured. “And you came and got me, and took
me to the plane and all. And I—” She hesitated, and for a second she
looked very small and wistful. “Do you—do you think they’ll do
anything to Dad?” she said.
“I don’t see why,” Malone said confidently. “After all, the only thing
he did wrong was to get caught, and that’s an occupational risk if
you’re in the spy business. Lots of people get caught. Happens all the
time. Don’t worry about it.”
“I—all right,” she said. “I won’t, then.”
“Good,” Malone said. He fished in his pocket. “I’ve got some pills
here,” he said, “in case you have a headache. The doctor said I could
give them to you if you had a headache, but otherwise I should just
forget about them.”
Lou smiled. “I think you’d better just forget about them,” she said.
Malone’s hand came out of his pocket empty. “I just want to make sure
you’re okay,” he said. “Probably very silly. Of course you’re okay.”
“Of course I am,” she said. “But I don’t think you’re silly.” She
smiled again, a very warm smile. Malone took a deep breath and
discovered that he hadn’t been breathing at all regularly for several
minutes. Lou’s smile increased a trifle in intensity and he stopped
breathing all over again. “All things considered,” she said, “I think
you’re pretty wonderful, Ken.”
Malone’s voice sounded to him as if it were coming from a great
distance. He wondered if the strange feeling in his stomach were the
pangs of love, or the descent of the plane. Then he realized that he
didn’t care. “Well, well,” he said airily. “Well, well, well. Frankly,
Lou, I’m inclined to agree with you. Though I’m not sure about the
qualification.”
“Fine thing,” she said. “Tell a man he’s wonderful and he just nods
his head as if he knew it all along.”
Malone swallowed hard. “Maybe I did,” he said. “And how did you come
to this startling conclusion?”
It was Lou who broke the light mood of their speech first. “Look,
Ken,” she said seriously, “I’m the daughter of an enemy spy. You know
that. You’re an FBI agent.”
“So what?” he said.
“So,” she said, “you don’t treat me like the daughter of a spy. You
treat me just like anybody else.”
“I do not,” Malone said instantly.
“All right,” she said, and shrugged. “But I’m sure none of this is in
the FBI manual for daughters of convicted spies.”
“Now, you look,” Malone said. “Just what do you think this is? The
McCarthy era? Any way I treat you, it has nothing to do with your
father. He’s a spy, and we caught him and we sent him back to Moscow.
That’s our job. But all this about the sins of the fathers being
visited on the heads of the children, even unto the seventh
generation—this is just plain silly. You’re you; you’re not your
father. You haven’t done anything—why should I treat you as if you
have?”
“How do you know I’m not a spy, too?” she said.
“Because,” Malone said flatly, “I know.”
“Really?” she said softly. “Do you really?”
Malone opened his mouth, shut it and then started again. “Strictly
speaking,” he said carefully, “I don’t know. But we’re in the United
States now, where a person is considered innocent until proven
guilty.”
“And that,” Lou said, “is all you’re going on, I suppose.”
“Not all,” Malone said.
“I didn’t think so,” Lou said, still smiling.
“Don’t ask me how,” Malone said, “but we’re pretty sure you knew
nothing about your father’s activities. Forget it.”
Lou looked suddenly slightly disappointed. Malone wondered why. Of
course, there was one more reason, and maybe she’d thought of that.
“It does make it easier,” he said, “that you happen to be a beautiful
girl.”
She smiled again, and started to say something, but she never got the
chance. The landing gear of the aircraft bumped gently against the
runway, and the ship rolled slowly in to a stop.
A second passed. From the back of the plane a voice said: “Are we back
in Washington, S—Mr. Malone?”
“That’s right, Miss Thompson,” Malone told the Queen.
“And Miss Garbitsch—”
“I’m fine, Miss Thompson,” Luba said. She swung her feet around to the
deck.
“Wait a minute,” Malone said. “Do you think you ought to get up?”
Lou’s smile seemed to reduce him to small, very hot ashes. “Ken,” she
said, “the doctor said I was fine, so what are you worrying about? I
can get up. I’ll be all right.”
“Oh, okay,” he said, and stepped back. Her Majesty had already left
the plane. Lou got up, and wavered just a little. Malone held out his
arms, and found her in them before he had thought about it.
A long time seemed to pass. Malone wasn’t sure whether he was standing
still because he wanted to, or because he was absolutely incapable of
motion. Lou didn’t seem in any hurry to break away, either.
Then she put her arms around his neck.
“Sleuth,” she said, “don’t you ever follow up a hint?”
“Hint?” Malone said.
“Damn it,” Lou said in a soft, sweet voice, “kiss me, Ken.”
Malone had no answer to that—at least, no verbal answer.
One didn’t seem to be needed.
When he finally came up for air, he said: “Lou....”
“Yes, Ken?”
“Lou, where are you going from here?”
Lou stepped back a pace. “What?” she said.
“I mean, back to New York?” Malone said. “Or someplace else? I mean—
well, what are you going to do?”
“Oh,” Lou said. “Oh, yes. I’ll be going back to New York. After all,
Ken, I do have a living to make, such as it is, and Sir Lewis is
expecting me.”
“I don’t know,” Malone said, “but it still sounds funny. A girl like
you working for—well, for the Psychical Research people. Ghosts and
ectoplasm and all that.”
Lou stepped back another pace. “Now, wait a minute,” she said. “You
seemed to need their information, all right.”
“But that was—oh, well,” Malone said. “Never mind. Maybe I’m silly.
It really doesn’t matter.”
“I guess it doesn’t, now,” she said. “Except that it does mean I’ve
got to leave for New York almost at once.”
“Can you cut out that ‘almost’?” Malone said. “Because I’ve got to be
there myself, and right away. If you hurry, we can get the same
plane.”
“That would be great,” she said.
“Okay, then,” Malone said. “Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll take
care of reservations and everything.”
“My, my,” Lou said. “What it must be like to have all that pull and
influence.”
“What?” Malone said.
Lou grinned. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing.”
“Then it’s all settled. I’ll take care of the reservations, and we’ll
go in together,” Malone said.
“Fair enough,” Lou said, “my fine feathered Fed.”
* * * * *
Actually, it took Malone nearly three hours to get everything set in