One of the two silent men leaped out and opened the back door, and Her Majesty, Lou and Malone climbed out and stood blinking on the sidewalk under the sign. "Come," Petkoff said grandly, and got out of the car. "The finest restaurant in all the world-in Moskva, this is what they say of it." Malone stared at the sign, and was about to ask a question about it when Petkoff spoke. Under it, the building entrance was gilded and carved into fantastic rococo shapes. The sign said something incomprehensible in Cyrillic script. At that moment, the ornate Volga pulled up to a smooth stop before a large, richly decorated building that glowed brightly under the electric lights of a large sign. "I appreciate your compliments," he said. Petkoff gave him a military duck of the head. "I have studied English a long time," Petkoff said. "My friend and colleague, we should cease this shoptalk. "Exactly," he told Petkoff with what he hoped was a smile. Malone felt sorry for her, but there was nothing he could say to make things any better. "Now, wait a minute-" Lou began, and then stopped. "They will be properly taken care of," Petkoff prophesied darkly. "We felt that here they'd be properly housed and fed, in their own homeland, even if they didn't get a job." "Well, we couldn't have them just running around all over the world, could we?" he said. "And why," he said, "did you feel that such elaborate precautions were necessary in returning these men to us?" "We are not agitated," Her Majesty said, and folded her hands in her lap, looking quite satisfied with herself. "Medals," Petkoff said sternly, "are not given to capitalist agitators." "My goodness," Her Majesty put in, apparently out of an irrepressible sense of fun. "And the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics is properly grateful." "So, since all we wanted to do was get rid of them, and since we had an easy way to do that, why, we took it, that's all, and shipped them here." There was no point, really, in putting them in prison-what for? What good could it do us?" "The capitalist countries think only of money." The slight delay had apparently allowed him to recover his own mental balance. "So," Malone went on when he had straightened out, "we decided to save ourselves the expense of a trial." The sensation was so pleasant that all conversation was delayed for a couple of seconds, until the car had righted itself. The car took a wide curve and swayed slightly, and Malone found himself nearly in Lou's lap.
"Of course not," Petkoff said, shifting slightly in his seat. Of course, we had no idea of what foreign government might have employed them." "We questioned them, but their stories were nonsense, absolute nonsense. "That's what we finally realized," he said. "A foolish conclusion," Petkoff said uneasily. "You see, at first we thought they were espionage agents."
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"But, after all, a trial would not make sense," Malone said, now busily attacking from the side. "That," Malone said, sidestepping neatly, "is a matter of governmental policy, Major Petkoff. The only steps we could take, as a matter of fact." "And when we found that they'd lied on their naturalization papers, why, naturally, we took immediate steps. You see, we didn't want them in our country, either." "Then there was no reason to send these men back to us," Petkoff said. "We're not warmongers," Her Majesty put in. "The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics," Petkoff said, "has no extradition treaty with your capitalist warmongering country." Then Major Petkoff turned to Malone again with a frown.
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"Of course not."Īfter that, there was silence for almost a full minute. "After all, we don't want to cause any trouble." Your government has done a good deal of thinking in this matter." "Therefore," Malone said smoothly, "the three are criminals and not political refugees." Petkoff took his eyes off Lou with what seemed real reluctance. We have the word of your government on that." "You see, Major," he said, "these men are all embezzlers, as you've said yourself. "Well," she said, "I guess this isn't the time to argue about it. Lou opened her mouth and started to say something.
"Let me assure you that no offense has been intended." "That is exactly what I think," Petkoff said. Malone," Petkoff said pointedly, "we do not find it the policy of the American government to send back political refugees." "But Dad's not an embezzler," Luba broke in. "That's what your ambassador in Washington said, when we told him about the deportation order." Wondering vaguely what else you could be an embezzler of, Malone nodded. "You realize, of course, that they are criminals? Deserters from Red Army, embezzlers. Getting along, coexistence, that sort of thing. "Anything we can do to preserve peace and amity between our countries-we'll do it. Malone's expression conveyed nothing but the sheerest good will.
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