“Not exactly,” Malone said cheerfully. “But you’re getting warm.”
Boyd shut his eyes. “I’m not going to stand for it,” he announced. “I’m not going to take any more.”
“Any more what?” Malone said. “Tell me what you have in mind.”
“I won’t even consider it,” Boyd said. “It haunts me. It gets into my dreams. Now, look, Ken, I can’t even see a pitchfork any more without thinking of Greek letters.”
Malone took a breath. “Which Greek letter?” he said.
“You know very well,” Boyd said. “What a pitchfork looks like. Psi. And I’m not even going to think about it.”
“Well,” Malone said equably, “you won’t have to. If you’d rather start with the Russian-spy end of things, you can do that.”
“What I’d rather do,” Boyd said, “is resign.”
“Next year,” Malone said instantly. “For now, you can wait around until the dossiers come up—they’re for the Senate Office Building technicians, and they’re on the way. You can go over them, and start checking on any known Russian agents in the country for contacts. You can also start checking on the dossiers, and in general for any hanky-panky.”
Boyd blinked. “Hanky-panky?” he said.