Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Zubov was probably getting a rest cure. "Erase his memory, give him a new name and feed him more patriotism. Very simple." Medvedev raised his hand threateningly. "Don't come howling to me if everybody guesses he is nothing but a robot." "Listen carefully, lieutenant." Pashkov described the American agent. may be armed, so be careful." The lieutenant stared. "Shall we kill him?" "But his left cheekbone is lower than mine—about four centimeters. He soldiers to keep visitors out. From an open window Pashkov heard the clicking of a typewriter. "It's when they're not like robots that everybody suspects them," he said, climbing into his flier. "Petchareff will send you word when to announce his 'death'." "A question, brother." "No questions." "In ten minutes. What have I done now?" must be off at once." "Never mind, get here at once. What size hospital gown do you wear?" "Hospital gown?" up a rock. "Hold it, citizenress," Colonel James said. Most countries wanted to break his neck, and his own Motherland did not "Mister Knackenpast, when you see your way clear to my flier, run for it. But get back into your robot costume." "I can't operate the machine." always trust him. But he enjoyed his work—enjoyed it as much as his closest professional rival, Colonel James, U.S.A. "I'll be right behind you. The rest of us will go out to Petchareff." and tell them Boris is dead." Knackenpast's peace nonsense?" "No more Gandhi or Schweitzer influences. The new literature," Pashkov promised, raising a chubby finger, "will be a pearl necklace of "Hhng?" But Colonel James was running to the flier, throwing Nadezhda's rock at "Grenade!" Pashkov yelled, and flung himself to the ground. At the same moment Boris Knackenpast ran from the house to the flier, his robot gear clattering like Don Quixote's armor. The guards scattered and dove for cover. courtesy of out. Coca-Cola Petchareff tossed the gown to Pashkov. "This is what Colonel James is "Down, lads! Grenade!" Pashkov yelled. "Not in public," Pashkov said. "Wait a minute," Petchareff said. "Nadezhda Brunhildova, how do you know he really is Pashkov? If he's actually Colonel James, I can shoot him summarily. He does look like Colonel James to me." goodby. "I may not return from this dangerous mission. Give me a tender brigade. "Monster!" She seized him by the collar. "Is Anastina dangerous?" "Darling!" a sociology seminar on prison reform, a forty-man trade mission from from Fralsningsarmen's Economy Lodgings. They were buying small arms and ammunition. He thought a moment, impressed the Cubans' address on his memory, and went to his flier. . By seven o'clock tonight, okay, Gringo?" "What do you expect for seven thousand bucks—service? Look, boys, I'm just a honest businessman. I can't get it for you today. Have a seegar, "Tfu!" "All rightie, your cause is my cause. Maybe I can get it for you business is business. I gotta give something to my jobber, don't I?" "Gringo!" on a skull, the dragging of a beefy body into a closet, and the slam of the closet door. " " " revolver. "No gun-play, caballeros," Pashkov went on in Spanish. "We are in the Salvation Army charity house, not in a two-peso thriller. Besides, I deliver before I ask payment." "Deliver what, senor?" "We favor any disturbance close to the United States. May I sit down?" Between two beds were stacked some dozen crates of explosives. A small table was littered with papers. Sitting down at the table, Pashkov's elbow rested on an invoice, and moments later the invoice was tucked in his pocket. "What kind of ammunition do you need, caballeros?" The Cubans looked at each other. "Thirty-o-six caliber, two-twenty grain. How much can you deliver?" "Two thousand rounds." "Not much." "Maybe three thousand. I'll toss in a box of hand grenades and a can of lysergic acid diethylamide." "You have that? You have LSD-25?" if you have more business. Three thousand rounds is not much. How much payment, senor?" urges all haste. Colonel James is due to leave the hospital tomorrow." "With your pardon, I shall conduct you to our suite. Plans for doctor." is hospital routine between midnight and dawn. With your pardon—" asked. "Always depleted, always replenished." with American goods, Americans get blamed. Wonderful confusion. What do you need?" "Thirty-o-six two-twenty, three thousand—if you have it." "Most popular. What else?" "Only confiscated German potatoes. Will that do?" "Fine. And a small can of sentimental caviar." "Too risky." "Alive." trousers, yellow jackets, white silk scarves, sport caps and sun glasses. hospital?" Kolya. No, this "Twins?" "Not exactly. Same genetic experiment. Good lads. Stand straight, from his hip pocket. "Straight, lads, straight," he flicked the whip. "We have company." "Are their costumes your own idea?" "With your pardon, for purposes of concealment. What are your orders?" "I want a vehicle off the street. Then report back here with your lads." after them. "With your pardon, I'll thrash them later." them before taking a nap. after. "Not physically. But imagine my psychological condition. When I look in the mirror—" The colonel shuddered. "I hope your sacrifice won't be permanent?" Pashkov said. "That would be too much. How is my Russian? The truth, now." "Excellent. Put up your gun, Zubov. Colonel James and I don't get to talk very often." "And a pity we don't. Good manners accomplish more than an opera full of cloaks and daggers. Cigarette?" "Your treatment is over, then?" Pashkov asked. "You are ready for your assignment?" "Ready." "And that is?" man, can't you see? That "You miserable idiot," Pashkov shouted. "You'll get a rest cure for to rest cures, will boiled eggs, six slices of bacon, four pancakes, two pork chops, four slices of toast, a tumbler of vodka, a pot of coffee and two cigars. "With pleasure, with pleasure," he said, sinking his teeth into a pork chop, having seasoned the chop with the soft-boiled egg yolk. "But flier—an exact copy of his own flier. The Palace roof captain stared at him, then smiled nervously. "Colonel? Do I still look like Colonel James?" "Oh, no, sir." "Do I talk like Colonel James?" "You've changed completely, sir. If I didn't know, I would swear you brutal look." "Propaganda," said the artist. But he came closer and looked at suspected. It would be amusing to tell robotist Medvedev about it. "Delicate, very delicate," Pashkov said. "Everything depends on my not "A week at least. His skin needs a rest. I must rework the whole left was serviced and ready. "They say they've been framed by a fat little Russian. But it's transparent, a clumsy job. Imagine, they left a stolen car in the ambulance court and in it an invoice for six cases of ammunition. It was traced to the Cubans in half an hour."

<question>:
What is a rest cure?

<options>:
A A drug
B A vacation
C A punishment
D A weapon

<answer>:

C