The Greatest Works of Randall Garrett. Randall Garrett

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."

      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