"Malone," Burris said, in a voice of steel.

"Sorry," Malone mumbled. "But, really, I'm not some young, innocent
girl in a Victorian novel."

"No," Burris said, a trifle sadly, "you're not. But there is one going
along on the trip with the rest of you."

"There is?" Malone said. "Who is she? Rebecca?"

"Her name's Luba," Burris said. "Luba Garbitsch."

"Garbitsch's wife?" Malone said.

Burris shook his head. "His daughter," he said. "And don't tell me
there isn't any such name as Luba. I know there isn't. But what would
you pick to go with Garbitsch?"

"Wastepaper basket," Malone said instantly. "Grapefruit rinds. Lemon
peels. Coffee grounds."

"Damn it, Malone," Burris said, "this is serious."

"Well," Malone said, "it doesn't sound serious. What are we doing,
deporting the entire family?"

"I suppose we could," Burris said, "if we really wanted to get
complicated about it. What with Garbitsch's false declaration, I
haven't the faintest idea what his daughter's status would be--but she
_was_ born here, Malone, and as far as we can tell she's perfectly
loyal to the United States."

"Fine," Malone said. "So you're sending her to Russia. This is making
less and less sense, you know."

Burris rubbed a hand over his face. "Malone," he said in a quiet,
patient voice, "why don't you wait for me to finish? Then everything
will make sense. I promise."

"Well, all right," Malone said doubtfully. "Luba Garbitsch is going
along to Russia, in spite of the fact that she's perfectly loyal."

"True," Burris said. "You see, Malone, she loves her traitorous old
daddy just the same. Family affection. Very touching."

"And if he's going to Moscow--"

"She wants to go along," Burris said. "That's right."

"And you're going to send her along," Malone said, "out of the
goodness of your kindly old heart. Just like Santa Claus. Or the
Easter bunny."

Burris looked acutely uncomfortable. "Now, Malone," he said. "It's not
exactly that, and you know it."

"It isn't?" Malone said, trying to look surprised.

Burris shook his head. "If we send Luba Garbitsch along," he said,
"that gives us a good excuse for Her Majesty. As a chaperone."

"Are you sure," Malone asked slowly, "that anybody with a name like
Luba Garbitsch could plausibly need a chaperone? Even in a den of
vice? Because somehow it doesn't sound right: Luba Garbitsch,
chaperoned by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth I."

"Well," Burris said, "it won't be the Queen.