In spite of Nadine Haer's protests, Joseph Mauser insisted that they
abide by the Sov government's expulsion order on the following day. A
special plane took them to London, and they there caught the regular
shuttle to Greater Washington. At least, Joe, Nadine and Max did,
General Armstrong remained on in London.
The flight itself was largely uneventful, Joe having retreated into
his thoughts. He had a great deal to think about. Not only in regard
to the immediate collapse of his mission, but both of the past and
future, as well.
Max, looking out the plane's window as they took off, bore an air of
nostalgia. "Look there," he pointed. "You can see that big statue of
the Magyar warriors, there in front of the Szepmuveszeti Museum,
like." He sighed. "I had a date with a Croat girl, to meet her there
tomorrow night. I was making good time with Carla. She thought it was
romantic, me being from the West, and all."
"Max, my friend," Joe growled. "Save us the lurid details of your
romances."
But his voice hadn't really borne irritation. Max went on, "You know,
you kind of get used to these people. They aren't much different,
like, than us. Take fracases, for instances. They don't have them like
we do, but they got their Telly teams out there in Siberia, with the
lads that go chasing the rebels and all. And they got their duels they
cover on Telly. But I was thinking, why don't they get modern and have
real fracases, like us? And then we could have, like, international
meets, and they'd send a division, and we'd send one, and have it out.
Zen! That'd be really something to watch."
Joe winced.
Nadine said, "Max, it took the human race ten thousand years to put
even a temporary halt to the international war, now you want to bring
it back for the sake of a sadistic Telly show."
"Yeah, but gee--"
Joe Mauser said, "Max, go on back to the bar and have yourself a
drink. I want to talk to Nadine."
When the little man was gone, Joe said, in a conversational tone, "We
can be married tomorrow, right after we've reported to Phil Holland
and the others."
Her eyes widened, "Well, really! Don't you think you might ask me
about it?"
He shook his head. "No, we've covered all the preliminaries. The
trouble with me has been that I've continued to look _up_ at you. I
suppose the caste system is too deeply ingrained in me. But now ...
you're my woman. Period. I suppose you've actually been wondering why
I've been such a slow clod."
"Do you think you're looking _down_ at me now?" She countered
indignantly.
"No. Just evenly. We'll be married as soon as possible."
Her voice went strangely demure. "Yes, Joe," she said.
They drove immediately from the airport to the office of Philip
Holland, stopping only long enough for Joe to make a phone call.
They retraced the route over which Nadine had taken him that day that
seemed so long ago, but actually wasn't. Through the long corridors,
and eventually to the small office with the receptionist.
Miss Mikhail said, brightly, "Dr. Haer, Major Mauser, Mr. Holland is
expecting you. Go right in."
Just before pressing through the door, Nadine put her hand on Joe's
arm and looked into his face ruefully. "Darling, you've had so much
hard luck in your time, I'm sorry this first assignment for the
organization had to be a failure."
Joe wet his lips, carefully, "Why'd you think it was?" he said,
opening the door.
Nadine could only stare as he ushered her into Phil Holland's
presence.
* * * * *
That crisp, efficient operator made much the same motions he had the
first time Joe had met him here. Holding a chair for Nadine, shaking
hands briskly with Joe and motioning to another chair for him. While
they were getting settled, Frank Hodgson sauntered in, seemingly as
lackadaisical and disinterested as ever. After a minimum of exchanged
pleasantries, he subsided onto the couch and fished for pipe and
tobacco.
Holland took in Joe's arm, still immobilized in a sling, and the other
signs of his wounds. He said crisply, "I thought that we had removed
you permanently from the field of combat, Joe."