“Of course, Prince Navi,” the clerk said loudly. He nodded toward the four tough lads who, likewise, had not yet noticed the great Volonsky.
Nick rapped on the counter with his six-carat diamond ring. “How about a little service here, comrade?”
“One moment, comrade,” the clerk said nervously.
“What you mean, one moment?” Nick roared. “I haven’t flown all the way from New York to have a two-bit clerk tell me to wait. I represent Super-San Oil and I’m here to meet a Persian Prince Navi.”
“Quiet, Amerikaner, till—Oh, Your Excellency Comrade Vychy Volonsky!” The mouth of the astonished clerk fell open. Then, fearful of making a wrong move in the Red game of dirty politics, he failed to guess why the great one should act as a miserable capitalist. “A thousand pardons, Your Excellency Comrade. What can I do for the beloved comrade? I didn’t recognize you—”
“Hush, fool!” Nick looked toward Cletus just then gazing into the blonde’s blue eyes.
The four MVD agents went into a quick huddle, then the one with a broken nose bowed to the fake Volonsky. “If Your Excellency Comrade will step aside with us, we’ll explain this fool’s mistake.”
“Put him in the can and question him tomorrow,” Nick snarled. “Anybody can see he’s working for the filthy capitalists.”
“Of course, Your Excellency Comrade.” Broken nose and his three pals escorted Nick to a chair beside a column. “I’m Lieutenant Putov of the MVD,” he whispered. “We picked up this Prince Navi the instant he entered, and have been watching him.”
“Skip the commercial,” Nick said, almost laughing as he gave Moloch’s favorite expression. “How come you didn’t spot him at one of our airports?”