“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.