The fox-trot went to its conclusion. Malone saw Petkoff, chatting animatedly with Lou, lead her off to a small bar at the opposite side of the room. “Some people,” he muttered, “have too much luck. Or too much diplomacy.”
Her Majesty was tugging at his arm. That, Malone thought, was going to be more bad news.
It was.
“Sir Kenneth,” she said softly, “do you realize that this place is full of MVD men? Of course you don’t; I haven’t told you yet.”
Malone opened his mouth, shut it again, and thought in a hurry. If the place were full of MVD men, that meant they probably had it bugged. And that meant several things, all of them unpleasant. Her Majesty shouldn’t have said anything—she shouldn’t have shown any nervousness or anxiety in the first place, she shouldn’t have known there were so many MVD men in the second place—because there was no way for her to know, except through her telepathy, a little secret Malone did not want the Russians to find out about. And she should definitely, most definitely, not have called him “Sir Kenneth.”
“Oh,” Her Majesty said. “I am sorry, Sir—er—Mr. Malone. You’re quite right, you know.”
“Sure,” Malone said. “Well. My goodness.” He thought of something to say, and said it at once. “Of course there are MVD men here. This is just the place for good old MVD men to come when they go off duty. A nice, relaxing place full of fun and dancing and food and vodka....” And he was thinking, at the same time: Are they doing anything odd?
“Russian, you know,” Her Majesty said, almost conversationally, “is an extremely difficult language. It takes a great deal of practice to learn to think in it really fluently.”
“Yes, I should think it would,” Malone said absently. You mean you haven’t been able to pick up what these people are thinking?
“Oh, one can get the main outlines,” Her Majesty went on, “but a really full knowledge is nearly impossible. Though, of course, it isn’t quite as bad as all that. A man who speaks both languages, like our dear Major Petkoff, for instance—so charming, so full of joie de vivre—could be an invaluable assistant to anyone interested in learning exactly how Russians really think.” She smiled nervously. Her face was suddenly set and strained. “I find that—”