“I think you can,” the doctor said. “The ambassador mentioned that he’d try to arrange it with the Russians. I don’t know what he’ll tell them—but then, that’s why he’s an ambassador, and I’m a doctor.” He straightened up and handed Malone an envelope containing three green capsules. “Give her these if she wakes up with a headache,” he said. “If she feels all right, just forget all about them.”
“Sure,” Malone said. “And thanks, Doctor. Tell the ambassador we’d appreciate it if he got us out of here as soon as possible.”
“Certainly,” the doctor said. “After all, I might as well take on the job of a diplomatic courier.”
Malone nodded. “Well,” he said, “goodbye, Mr. Courier.”
The doctor went to the door, opened it and turned.
“Absolutely,” he said, “Mr. Ives.”
9
Lou didn’t wake up until the plane was dropping toward the Washington airfield, and when she did awaken it was as if she had merely come out of an especially deep sleep. Malone was standing over her, which was far from a coincidence; he had been waiting and watching virtually every minute since takeoff.
During his brief periods of rest, Her Majesty had taken over, and she was now peacefully asleep at the back of the plane, looking a little more careworn, but just as regal as ever. She looked to Malone as if she had weathered a small revolution against her rule, but had managed to persuade the populace (by passing out cookies to the children, probably) that all was, in the last analysis, for the best in this best of all possible worlds. She looked, he thought, absolutely wonderful.
So did Lou. She blinked her eyes open and moved one hand at her side, and then she came fully awake. “Well,” she said. “And a bright hello to you, Sleuth. If it’s not being too banal, where am I?”