The Greatest Works of Randall Garrett. Randall Garrett

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ 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."

      He could hear the tramping of a lot of feet coming across the field toward them. He looked and saw that the feet were all neatly attached to bodies, two to a body. There were Thomas Boyd's feet, the assorted twelve feet of six FBI agents, and three pairs that belonged to Alexis Brubitsch, Ivan Borbitsch and Vasili Garbitsch. Brubitsch looked even fatter than ever, Borbitsch even thinner. Garbitsch was of an indeterminate middling shape; he had grey hair and a pair of pince-nez, and he walked a trifle unevenly, like a duck, with his hands clasped low in front of him. He was looking down at the ground as the crowd shoved him along.

      When the crowd neared the steps, Luba went over to him. Garbitsch looked up, with a pleasant, somehow wistful smile on his face. "Hello, Luba, my child," he said.

      Luba smiled, too. "Hello, Dad," she said. "All ready to go?"

      "Certainly I am ready," he said. "I am all packed. We take off in a few minutes. And you, Luba, my child?"

      "Fine, Dad," she said.

      She looked down. "They've got handcuffs on you," she said. "Why, that's--"

      Garbitsch shrugged. He looked even more wistful. "A formality," he said. "It makes no difference."

      "Okay," Boyd said suddenly. "We've got to get out of here pretty soon, and you'll be taking off. Let's break it up. Miss Thompson, you and Luba go aboard. Malone, you follow with the others."

      Malone rounded up Brubitsch, Borbitsch and Garbitsch and followed the ladies aboard.

      He came back to the door then, and stuck his head out. "The keys," he said.

      Boyd stared. "What?"

      "The keys to the handcuffs," Malone said. "I'll need 'em."

      "You're going to take them off when they get to Russia?" Boyd said.

      Malone shook his head. "No," he said. "Now."

      "But--"

      "I think we'll have plenty of warning if they decide to try anything, Tom," Malone said quietly. "Her Majesty, after all, is keeping them under surveillance."

      Without another word, Boyd tossed up the keys. Malone caught and pocketed them. "I'll be back as soon as possible," he said. "Meanwhile, you can keep digging on other stuff--what we've discussed and anything it seems to lead into."

      "Right," Boyd said. "Stay out of trouble, Ken. So long."

      Malone nodded and ducked back into the plane. He unlocked the handcuffs, and Brubitsch and Borbitsch immediately went and sat down mournfully together at the back of the plane. Malone looked for Lou, but she was already seated--with Her Majesty, naturally. He sighed briefly and sat down, at last, next to the wistful Garbitsch.

      "It will be nice to see Russia again," Garbitsch said. "I hardly hoped to do so."

      The plane shuddered, roared and took off. Then it settled down to its normal state of unnatural quiet. Malone sat back and tried to relax.

      It was impossible.

      Chapter 7

       Table of Contents

      Red Square was, somehow, disappointing. It was crowded with men and women, all looking very Russian in an undefined sort of way, and the big glass windows sparkled from every side. "I know it's silly," Luba said in a baffled voice, "but, somehow, I always expected Red Square to be red."

      "And why should that be?" the MVD man next to her said. He was a burly man with a sour expression, as if he had eaten too many onions the day before.

      "Well," Malone said, "it is Red Square, after all."

      "But red is symbolic only," the MVD man said surlily. "Is not color. Only symbol of glorious Russia."

      "I suppose so," Luba said. "But it's still disappointing."

      "You expect, perhaps, that we recruit our glorious Red Army from American Indian tribes?" the MVD man said sourly. "You are literal-minded bourgeois intellectual. This is not good thing to be."

      "Somehow," Malone mused, "I didn't think it was."

      "But this is different," Luba said. "The Red Army is made up of Russians. But this is just a square. You could paint it."

      "After all," Malone offered, "the White House is white, isn't it?"

      "White is cowardly color," the MVD man pointed out with satisfaction.

      "Never СКАЧАТЬ