Bela Kossuth laughed gently. “Ah, ha, but this led to one of the ironies of fate, my friend. Because as the Sov-world expanded its borders it assimilated peoples of far more, ah, sharpness, shall we say? than our somewhat dour Russkies. In time, bit by bit, inch by inch, intrigue by intrigue—”
“I know,” Joe said. “The capital of the Sov-world is now not Moscow, but Budapest.”
“Correct!” the Hungarian beamed. “At the very first, we Hungarians tried to fight them. When we found we couldn’t prevail, we joined them—to their eventual sorrow. However, the central problem has not been erased. We have finally achieved, here in the Sov-world, to the point where we have the abundant life. The affluent society. But we have also reached stagnation. The Party, like a living organism, refuses to die. Cannot even admit that its death is desirable.”
He held his hands out, palms upward, as though at an impossible impasse.
Joe said, suddenly, “What’s all this got to do with me, Colonel Kossuth?”
The Hungarian pretended surprise. “Why, nothing at all, Major Mauser. I was but making conversation. Small talk.”
Joe didn’t get it. “Well, why come here at all? Max said you were rather insistent about seeing me, in spite of doctor’s orders.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” The Sov officer came to his feet again and clicked his heels. “My superiors have requested that I deliver this into your own hands, as well as copies to the West-world Ambassador, to General Armstrong and Dr. Haer.” He handed a document to Joe.
Joe turned it over in hand, blankly. It was in Hungarian. He looked up at the other.
Lieutenant Colonel Bela Kossuth said formally, “The government of the Sov-world has found Major Joseph Mauser, Dr. Nadine Haer, and General George Armstrong, persona non grata. As soon as your health permits, Major, it is requested that you leave Budapest and all the lands of the Sov-world, never to return.”
He clicked his heels, bowed again, and started for the door. Just as he reached it, he turned and said one last thing to Joe Mauser.
XXII
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
