"You should have asked us for assistance," Leonov said, grinning. "We would have been happy to help you save your command-and-control satellite."

"You sure would," Colt snapped. "You'd tote it back to Moscow with you."

Leonov shrugged elaborately, "Wouldn't you, with one of ours?"

A waitress appeared at their table: very young, miniskirt showing smooth strong thighs, low-cut blouse showing plenty of bosom, long blond hair, and a pretty face with placid cow eyes.

"Service is improving," said Durban.

"The ceremonies are breaking up," Colt told him. "This place'll be jammed in a few minutes."

The waitress took their order and flounced off to the bar.

"Nothing like that in Cosmograd, eh, Piotr?" Durban nudged the Russian.

"My dear Frederick," Leonov countered, an enigmatic smile on his bony face, "just because you did not see any of the beautiful women of our city does not mean that they do not exist. Being good Soviet women, naturally they hid themselves from the prying eyes of capitalist spies."

"Hid themselves? Or were hidden by others?"

Leonov shrugged. "What difference? The important fact is that I know where they are and you do not."

As the girl came back with their drinks, Colt asked Kinsman quietly, "How's it going?"

Kinsman jabbed his thumb toward the floor. "Lousy." 158

"I still wish you'd let me help. We can go over Murdock's head. The other astronauts will—"

"You don't want to get involved in this, Frank. It won't do you any good."

Colt made a disgusted face.

"A toast!" Leonov called, raising his glass. It looked like a tumbler of water. Kinsman guessed that it was at least four ounces of straight vodka. "To international cooperation in space. An end to all military secrets. Peace and total disarma- ment. Brotherhood throughout the cosmos. Friendship among all . . ."

"Is this a toast or a speech?" Colt grumbled.

"Nazdrovia!" Leonov snapped back and tossed down half his drink in one gulp.

"I've got a toast," Durban said. "May the work that is done here, underground, result in the four of us meeting underground again ... on the Moon."

They drank again. And again. The waitress brought fresh drinks. Through it all Kinsman kept wishing he could get away, escape. The whisky was not making him drunk. It couldn't. He would not let it.

"Frank, my friend," Leonov said over their glasses, "why are you scowling? It is no crime to be drinking with a Russian."

Colt hunched his shoulders and leaned forward over the table. "Pete, I'm just drunk enough to tell you to go to hell. You know I don't believe a word of this peace and friendship bullshit."

"And I am drunk enough to know capitalist brainwash- ing when I hear it."

"Come on now," Durban said, relighting his pipe for the nth time. "Let's not get into a political squabble."