Malone shook his head. “I’m not kidding now,” he said. “She is sick, and I want a doctor for her.”
“Why didn’t you bring one with you?” the pilot said. “Or wasn’t the disguise big enough for three?”
“Four,” Malone said. “We’ve got three now; me and Miss Garbitsch and Miss Thompson. Lou—Miss Garbitsch is the one who’s sick. But I want a doctor from the American Embassy.”
“I think we could all use one,” the pilot said judiciously. “But you’d better tell me what’s the matter with the girl.”
Malone gave him a brief and highly censored version of the melee at Trotkin’s, particularly omitting the details of the final escape from the MVD men.
When he had finished, the pilot gave a long, low whistle. “You have been having fun,” he said. “Can I go on your next adventure, or is it only for accredited Rover Boys?”
“You have to buy a pin and a special compass that works in the dark,” Malone said. “I don’t think you’d like it. How about that doctor?”
The pilot nodded wearily. “I’ll send my navigator over to the airfield phone,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I’ll tell him to tell the doctor I’m the one who’s sick, so the Russians don’t get suspicious. It may even be true.”
“Just so he gets here,” Malone said. The pilot was flagging his navigator through the viewport as Malone went out, closing the door gently behind him. He went back down the plane corridor to Her Majesty and Lou.
Lou was still lying on the makeshift bed, her eyes closed. She looked more beautiful and defenseless than ever, and Malone wanted to do something big and terrible to all the Russians who had tried to take her away or dope her. With difficulty, he restrained himself. “How is she?” he asked.