The Charm School

by Nelson DeMille

  “That’s my old Burov. How’s the jaw today?”

  Alevy smiled.

  “A constant reminder,” Burov replied. “You know, Sam, from what I know of you, you’ve led a charmed life. But your luck may run out.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No, a prophecy. I wouldn’t make a threat over the phone. You people record everything.”

  “Well, let’s record your answer to my next question. Where is Mr. Fisher’s car?”

  “That’s a question for the Moscow police.”

  “They claim they don’t have it. A team of forensic experts has arrived from America to examine the car. Where is it, Colonel Burov?”

  “I’ll look into it.”

  “Please do. And try to be more helpful than you’ve been with other things I’ve asked you for. Well, Colonel, I have to get back to the spy satellite photos, if you have nothing further. The new solid-fuel rocket plant outside of Kaliningrad is coming along nicely, but I see a lot of loose material lying around. Tell someone to get it squared away out there.”

  Burov ignored this and said, “By the way, a friend of mine in London told me your wife spends half her days in Bond Street. I hope she doesn’t have your credit cards. Or perhaps the man she’s with is paying. He looks prosperous from what I’m told.”

  Alevy whispered, “Drop it, Sam. You can’t win that game.”

  Hollis nodded. “Okay, Burov, I’ll keep you informed about Major Dodson.”

  “I’ll do the same for you. Incidentally, another friend of mine, from the Foreign Ministry, called and told me the disturbing news of your unscheduled departure. I enjoyed working with you. Perhaps we can have lunch before you leave, Monday. Would you consider Lefortovo restaurant again?”

  “Of course. I’ll try to work it into my schedule.”

  “Good. Who will I be dealing with after Monday?”

  Alevy pointed to himself.

  Hollis said into the phone, “Seth Alevy. You remember him.”

  “Oh, yes. We all know Mr. Alevy here. I’m very much looking forward to meeting him again. Send him my regards.”

  “I most certainly will.”

  “If I don’t see you, Colonel, or don’t speak to you, have a very safe trip home.”

  “I plan to.”

  “Good evening.”

  “Good evening to you, Colonel Burov.” Hollis hung up. “You son of a bitch.”

  Alevy said, “Jesus, that guy has a command of English, doesn’t he?”

  “He’s been hanging around a lot of Americans.”

  Alevy nodded. “Well, you got him exercised about Dodson. He’s wondering now if we know only a little bit about the Charm School or if we know everything. Sometimes it’s good to beat the bush and see what comes out. Sometimes it’s rabbit, sometimes it’s bear.”

  “Bear’s okay. I’m loaded for bear.”

  Alevy smiled. “This is bear country.”

  “No sweat, Seth. You can handle it. Write me about it.”

  Alevy laughed. “You bastard. You piss him off, then leave me to face him.”

  “You volunteered. I’d hand him over to my replacement.”

  “No, I’ll take charge of Burov. He’s a good contact. I think I might even get along with him down the road after this business is resolved. I could work with him.”

  “Birds of a feather.”

  Alevy didn’t respond.

  “I have to go.” Hollis opened the safe-room door and left. Alevy followed him down the hallway.

  In the living room Alevy said, “I have some sending and receiving to do tonight. Come back here at one A.M.”

  Hollis moved toward the top of the stairs. “Why?”

  “I might have more answers by then. I know I’ll have more questions. Think about what goes on in the Charm School.”

  Hollis went down the stairs, retrieved his coat, and let himself out. He said aloud to himself, “What the hell do you think I’ve been thinking about?”

  21

  Sam Hollis looked for a dish towel, couldn’t find one, and wiped the kitchen counter with his handkerchief, then threw the handkerchief in the trash can.

  Hollis missed the Russian maids, but the number of FNs inside the embassy was down to about a dozen. While security was improved, housekeeping was hit or miss. The American couple who did the cleaning now, Mr. and Mrs. Kellum, were more thorough than the Russian women had been. But then, the Kellums were looking only for dirt, whereas the Russians had had other things to look for. Unfortunately, the Kellums got around to his place only about once every two weeks, and it showed. Hollis threw coffee cups and beer glasses into the dishwasher and slammed it shut. The doorbell rang. “Damn it.”

  He went into the living room and kicked magazines and newspapers under the couch, then scooped up three ties and dumped them behind the books on his bookshelf. The doorbell rang again. “Hold on.” He placed an ashtray over a scotch spill on the coffee table and bounded down the stairs. He opened the door. “Hello.”

  She came inside wearing an ankle-length white wool coat, a Russian blue fox hat, and carrying a canvas bag. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, which he thought was more intimate than on the mouth. She stomped her boots on the rug and handed him the bag. “Snowing,” she said.

  He helped her off with her things and put the hat and coat in the foyer closet. Hollis saw that under the stylish coat she’d worn into the city, she was wearing a black velour sweat suit.

  She sat on the stairs, pulled off her boots and socks, and massaged her feet. “Where were you?” she asked.

  “I was in the kitchen.”

  “No, I mean earlier this evening.”

  “Oh, I was sending and receiving.”

  “Boy, I wish I had a secret room where I could tell people I was, even if I wasn’t. That could come in handy sometimes.”

  He led her up the stairs.

  “Captain O’Shea got all shifty when I asked him where you were. I looked for you in the lounge.”

  “I was in the radio room. Sending and receiving.”

  They stepped into the living room. She asked, “Are you seeing anyone else? I never asked you that, because I am naive. But I’m asking you now.”

  Hollis was momentarily nostalgic for a wife who didn’t care where he was. “There’s no one else. What’s in the bag?”

  “The best that Gastronom One has to offer.” She walked into the center of the living room and looked around at the eclectic collection of Asian, South American, and European furniture. “Is this your wife’s taste?”

  “We picked up pieces all over the world.”

  “Really? Does she want it back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where are you having it moved?”

  “My next duty station, I guess. Do you want this stuff in the kitchen?”

  “Yes.” She followed Hollis into the kitchen and unpacked the canvas bag. Hollis looked at the jars and cans—pickled vegetables, horseradish, salted fish, canned sausage, a piece of smoked herring, a box of loose tea, and a carton of cookies labeled cookies. The Russians were into generics. Hollis had tried those cookies once and thought they smelled like rancid lard and pencil shavings. He said, “Where’s the beef?”

  “Oh, they don’t carry real food at that Gastronom. Only specialty items. I’ll just make a platter of zakuski, and we’ll pick. I’m not very hungry.”

  “I am. I’ll go to the commissary.”

  “There’s enough here. Make me a vodka with lemon while I put it together. Where’s your can opener?”

  “Right there.” Hollis got his Stolichnaya out of the freezer and filled two frozen glasses. “I don’t have lemon. No one has lemon.”

  Lisa reached into her pocket and produced a lemon. “Got this in the lounge. The bartender is in love with me.”

  Hollis cut the lemon and put a wedge in each glass. They drank, opened cans and jars, and looked for bowls, plates, and serving pieces. Hollis found that he didn’t know his kitche
n very well.

  “Go sit on the couch,” she said. “I’ll serve you there. Go on.”

  Hollis went into the living room and found a magazine under the couch.

  She came in with a tray of food and placed it on the coffee table, then sat beside him and tried to push the ashtray aside. “This is stuck.”

  They ate zakuski, drank vodka, and talked. Hollis asked her about her work.

  “I’m a fraud. I write what I know they want, in the style they want, the word length they want—”

  “Who is ‘they’?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the scary thing. Do you know?”

  “In the military you know.”

  She nodded. “Actually, I’m a good writer. I can do some good stuff. But I like the glamour of the Foreign Service. What should I do?”

  “Stay with the service. Write the good stuff on the side, under a pen name.”

  “Good idea. Do you think they’ll reassign us together?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Have I been too subtle, or are you dense?”

  He smiled. “I’ll work it out.”

  “Can you?”

  “I think so.”

  She took out her cigarettes. “Do you mind?”

  “No.”

  “Want one?”

  “Later.”

  She drew the ashtray toward her. “Why does this stick?”

  Hollis poured himself another vodka.

  She lit her cigarette and said, “How have the last six months gone, Sam? You miss her?”

  “No, but my bachelorhood hasn’t been too thrilling either. There aren’t many social opportunities in merry Moscow and fewer here on the compound. I can’t play bridge with the marrieds anymore, and I don’t hang around with you unmarrieds in the lounge. I’m in limbo.”

  “You’ve been horny.”

  “It’s been a hard half year.”

  “So the stories I heard about your amorous adventures were not true?”

  “Well, maybe three of them were.” He smiled.

  “Am I the first woman who’s been up here?”

  “You’re into counting, aren’t you?”

  She gave him a look of mock anger and grabbed his tie. “You remember how I kicked Viktor in the balls? Answer me, Hollis.” She pulled his tie.

  “You’re making my tie hard.”

  She suppressed a smile. “Answer me.”

  He laughed. “Yes, yes. I told you. I’ve been alone.” He grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the couch. They kissed.

  She moved away. “Later. I have a videotape in my bag.” She stood, retrieved the tape, and put it in his VCR. “Doctor Zhivago. There was a month wait for this, so we have to see it.” She went back to the couch and lay down, putting her bare feet in his lap. “Are you into feet?”

  “I never gave it much thought.”

  “Would you mind rubbing my feet?”

  “No.” He rubbed her feet as they watched the tape and drank vodka.

  “I’ve seen this movie four times,” she said. “It always makes me cry.”

  “Why don’t you run it backwards? The czar will be on the throne at the end.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Oh, look at him. He’s gorgeous.”

  “Looks like a used-rug salesman.”

  “I love ‘Lara’s Theme.’”

  “I love Lara. I could eat that woman.”

  “Don’t be gross. Oh, Sam, I wanted to go out to Peredelkino and put flowers on Pasternak’s grave and listen to the Russians read his poetry in the churchyard.”

  “It seems you won’t do many of the things you wanted to do here to satisfy your Russian soul.”

  “I know. It’s sad. I almost got home.”

  “Watch the movie. This is where Lara shoots the fat guy.”

  They snuggled on the couch and watched the videotape. A cold wind rattled the windowpane, and a few flakes of snow fell.

  They made love on the couch and fell asleep. At one A.M. Hollis awakened and put on his trousers. She opened her eyes. “Where are you going?”

  “To the Seven-Eleven for a pack of cigarettes.”

  “Whom are you meeting?”

  “The ambassador’s wife. I’m going to break it off.”

  “You’re meeting Seth.”

  “Correct. Jealous?”

  She closed her eyes and rolled over.

  Against his better judgment, Hollis said, “You never told me he lived like a czar. Did he give you the icon?”

  “I told you it was my grandmother’s.”

  “That’s right. And you sounded so appreciative when I said I could get it out in the diplomatic pouch. Christ, your friend Alevy could get the Kremlin’s domes out for you.”

  “Don’t be a postcoital beast.” She closed her eyes and rolled over.

  Hollis left, slamming the door behind him.

  PART III

  The Russian is a delightful person till he tucks in his shirt. As an Oriental, he is charming. It is only when he insists on being treated as the most easterly of western peoples instead of the most westerly of easterns that he becomes… difficult to handle.

  —Rudyard Kipling

  22

  The background music on the tape deck in Alevy’s apartment was the Red Army Choir singing patriotic songs.

  Hollis asked, “Could you change that?”

  “Sure.” Alevy opened the door on the sideboard and stopped the tape. “Sometimes I play things they like to hear too.”

  Hollis looked out the window toward a ten-story apartment building across the street. The top floor was where the KGB manned its electronic gadgets aimed at the embassy compound. He wondered just how much they saw and heard.

  “Tina Turner or Prince?”

  “Whatever turns you on, Seth.”

  Alevy put the Prince tape on and hit the play button. “That should send them to their vodka bottles.” He turned to Hollis. “So to pick up where we left off, what are those three hundred American fliers doing in that prison to earn their keep? To keep from being shot?”

  “Let’s back up a minute,” Hollis said. “If we know that American POWs are being held at that place, why isn’t our government doing something about it?”

  Alevy poured brandy into his coffee. “We didn’t know until Friday night.”

  “You people knew something before then.”

  “What were we supposed to do about it? If the president made discreet inquiries or demands of the Soviet government, they would say, ‘What are you talking about? Are you trying to wreck the peace again?’ And you know what? They’re right. And if the president got angry and made a public accusation, he would have to recall our ambassador, kick their ambassador out, and cancel the summit and arms talks. And we still wouldn’t have a shred of evidence. And the world would be pissed off at us again. This guy they’ve got in the Kremlin gets good press, Sam. He says he wants to be our friend.”

  Hollis observed, “Then he shouldn’t let his K-goons kill and harass Americans.”

  “Interesting point,” Alevy conceded. “And that’s part of the complexity of the problem we face. This new guy has inherited three hundred American POWs. But it’s the KGB who runs that camp. How much has the KGB told him about the camp? How much have they told him about what we know about the Charm School? For that matter, we’re not telling our government much, are we, Sam? The KGB may be looking to hand the Kremlin an embarrassing and serious problem at the last possible moment. The KGB and the Soviet military have pulled that stunt before. They don’t want peace with the West.”

  “Don’t your people sabotage peace initiatives?”

  “Not too often.” Alevy gave a sinister laugh. “How about your folks at the Pentagon?”

  Hollis replied, “No one’s hands are clean.”

  “And you personally, Sam?”

  “Peace with honor,” Hollis replied. “How about you? You’re no fan of the Soviets or of détente.”

  Alevy shrugged. “I’m just g
iving you the party line. I do what they tell me. They tell me not to embarrass the Soviet government with revelations that they might be holding American citizens as prisoners.” Alevy sprawled on the couch. “So I don’t. Then Burov moves the camp or just shoots all those airmen.”

  Hollis said, “That’s why we have to move fast, Seth.”

  Alevy stared up at the ceiling. “Right. Those men would be dead right now, if it weren’t for Dodson. Dodson is living evidence, and Dodson is on the loose. So Burov has the Charm School and its population on hold. If Burov gets Dodson before we do… I keep waiting for Dodson to show up here.”

  Hollis said, “I keep thinking about the thousand missing fliers and the three hundred we know are in the Charm School. I suppose there were more, but through attrition… natural causes, suicide, executions… Three hundred. I think it’s up to us, Seth, to save them. Screw the diplomats.”

  Alevy regarded Hollis a moment, then spoke. “You know, Sam, in the two years I’ve been working with you, I never understood where you were coming from.”

  “Good.”

  “But now I’ve got a handle on you. You’re willing to break the rules on this one, risk your career, world peace, and your very life to get those fliers out. Cool Sam Hollis, Colonel Correct, is a wild jet jockey again, ready to bomb and strafe anything in his way.” Alevy smiled. “Yet everyone still thinks you’re a team player and I’m the rogue. They don’t know what I know about you. That could be useful. Welcome to my world, Sam Hollis.”

  Hollis made no reply.

  Alevy said, “Think of the downside of your goal. Let’s say we got those men out, through negotiations or otherwise. Christ, can you imagine three hundred middle-aged American POWs landing at Dulles airport on a flight from Moscow? Do you know what kind of public outrage that would produce?”

  “Yes, if my outrage is any gauge of American public opinion.”

  “Right. Scrap the summit, the arms talks, trade, travel, the Bolshoi, the works. We might have our honor intact, but I wouldn’t give odds on the peace.”

  “What are you saying, Seth? Washington doesn’t want them home?”

  “You figure it out.” Alevy got up and poured more coffee and brandy from the sideboard. He shut off the tape. “What do you want to hear?”