100
since we had an easy way to do that, why, we took it, that's all, and shipped them here."
"I see," Petkoff said. "And the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics is properly grateful."
"My goodness," Her Majesty put in, apparently out of an irrepressible sense of fun. "Maybe we'll get medals."
"Medals," Petkoff said sternly, "are not given to capitalist agitators."
"We are not agitated," Her Majesty said, and folded her hands in her lap, looking quite satisfied with herself.
Petkoff thought for a second. "And why," he said, "did you feel that such elaborate precautions were necessary in returning these men to us?"
Malone shrugged. "Well, we couldn't have them just running around all over the world, could we?" he said. "We felt that here they'd be properly housed and fed, in their own homeland, even if they didn't get a job."
"They will be properly taken care of," Petkoff prophesied darkly.
"Now, wait a minute--" Lou began, and then stopped. "Sorry," she said.
Malone felt sorry for her, but there was nothing he could say to make things any better. "Exactly," he told Petkoff with what he hoped was a smile.
"Ah, well," Petkoff said. "My friend and colleague, we should cease this shoptalk. Shoptalk?"
"Quite correct," Malone said.
"I have studied English a long time," Petkoff said. "It is not a logical language."
"You're doing very well," Malone said. Petkoff gave him a military duck of the head.
"I appreciate your compliments," he said. "But I fear we are boring the ladies."
The major had timed his speech well. 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. The sign said something incomprehensible in Cyrillic script. Under it, the building entrance was gilded and carved into fantastic rococo shapes. Malone stared at the sign, and was about to ask a question about it when Petkoff spoke.
"Trotki