The Charm School

  Burov seemed not to take offense. He rubbed his finger over his lips thoughtfully, then nodded. “All right. There’s no use denying some of the details that you possess in this matter. But what you conclude from those details is probably erroneous. This matter is quite beyond your understanding, Colonel Hollis, and certainly yours, Miss Rhodes. It is, I admit, somewhat beyond my understanding as well. It is a matter that concerns the higher-ups.”

  Lisa replied, “Then why kill the little people, Colonel?”

  Burov ignored this and continued, “Yes, I’ll satisfy your curiosity. It’s like this: the Major Jack Dodson, who the late Mr. Fisher referred to in his phone call to you, was a turncoat. While a prisoner of war in the People’s Republic of Vietnam, Major Dodson sent a message to the Soviet embassy in Hanoi requesting an interview. It was granted, and during the discussion with a Soviet military attaché, Major Dodson said he would welcome the opportunity to come to the Soviet Union and exchange his military knowledge for his release from the prison camp. He felt bitter and betrayed by his country. He stated that America was not waging the war properly, that the limited air war had endangered his life, wasted his talent, and caused the deaths of his friends. Perhaps you yourself felt that way, Colonel. So, anyway, Dodson asked if we would get him out of the Vietnamese POW camp. We did.”

  Neither Hollis nor Lisa spoke. Finally Hollis said, “And why didn’t the Soviet Union announce his defection for propaganda purposes?”

  “Dodson didn’t want that. That was part of the deal we struck with him.”

  Lisa asked, “And he let his family think he was dead?”

  Burov shrugged. “Major Dodson spoke of his wife’s past infidelities. He was childless, I believe.”

  Hollis said, “Sounds like bullshit to me.” Hollis added, “What was Dodson doing in the pine forest at night when Gregory Fisher came upon him? Picking mushrooms?”

  “And,” Lisa added, “why did Gregory Fisher leave the Rossiya, after Colonel Hollis told him to stay there, and go back to Borodino, where he got himself killed in an auto accident? Come now, Colonel Burov.”

  Burov helped himself to some wine. He said, “Mr. Fisher’s accident is not relevant to the subject of Major Dodson. However, as I did have the opportunity to listen to the tape of Mr. Fisher’s conversation with you and Miss Rhodes, I think we can all agree that he sounded agitated. The militia report says that he was also drunk. My theory is he panicked and got back in his car with the idea of… well, who knows what a drunk man thinks? As for Major Dodson, he was hiking, as was his custom. He met Mr. Fisher, quite by chance, and out of nostalgia perhaps, told him something about himself. But he did not tell Mr. Fisher he was a prisoner, because he is not.”

  Burov took a sheet of folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Hollis. “This is a letter in Major Dodson’s hand, dated January of 1973, requesting asylum in the Soviet Union. Your government has now been made aware of this, and what both governments are trying to do is to avoid any embarrassment that Major Dodson’s defection would cause. It was a silent defection, and that is the way we all want it to remain.”

  Hollis pushed the letter back without looking at it. Hollis said, “I want to speak to Major Dodson and hear all this from him.”

  Burov nodded. “Yes, all right. If he’s agreeable.”

  “I don’t care if he’s agreeable or not. You will make him speak to me. Tomorrow. Here in Moscow. I suggest the International Trade Center hotel as a somewhat neutral site.”

  Burov lit a cigarette and exhaled. “Well, I’ll take it up with the proper authorities.”

  “Lacking a prompt decision, which is not unusual here, I want to see a photo of Major Dodson holding tomorrow’s Pravda.”

  “That’s very clever.”

  Hollis leaned toward Burov. “If you can’t produce the man or a picture of him, I’ll conclude that you’ve killed him or that he is not under your control. In fact, I believe he is on the run from you and may surface soon in his own way.”

  Burov looked at Lisa, then at Hollis. “Westerners who come to the Soviet Union are often paranoid, filled with the drivel they read about us. They observe things through yellow eyes and misinterpret what they see. However, I expected more sophisticated judgment from people such as yourselves.”

  “You’re blowing smoke,” Hollis said. “Call me at my office tomorrow regarding Major Dodson.”

  “I’ll try. But tomorrow I’ve got other things on my agenda, as you Americans say. Specifically, I’m involved with the investigation of a murder of two guards in that restricted area I told you about. Two young men, shot in the chest, left to die in agony. Who would do such a thing?” He stared at Hollis, then Lisa.

  Hollis poked Burov in the chest and said through clenched teeth, “Two young men”—he poked Burov again—“left to die in agony? You bastard. You and your thugs have murdered a million young men, women, children—”

  Lisa held his arm. “Sam. It’s all right. Easy.”

  Every head in the restaurant was turned toward them, and Burov’s face seemed frozen. No one spoke or moved for a full minute, then Burov said softly, “What a fool you are. To come here like this… accuse me of murder—”

  Hollis interrupted, “By the way, who was the man who answered the door of Mr. Fisher’s room at the Rossiya?”

  “How do I know?”

  “That man,” Hollis said, “looked and talked like an American. He was, in fact, a Russian, a KGB man working in the First Chief Directorate, probably the Service A section. He was a graduate of the Institute of Canadian and American Studies in Moscow, among other schools.”

  Burov stared at Hollis.

  Hollis continued, “The guy was perfect, Burov, so don’t fire him. But he was too perfect. Better than your schools usually put out. I knew he didn’t belong in that room, so I concluded he was one of yours. But at first I figured he was a real American working for you. Then I got to thinking about Mrs. Ivanova’s Charm School and Major Jack Dodson and such. And I started coming to some mind-blowing conclusions.” Hollis poured wine in Burov’s glass. “You look like you need a drink, Colonel.”

  Burov cleared his throat and said stiffly, “I would like you both to accompany me so we can continue this talk in private.”

  Hollis said, “I think we’ll finish our dinner. Good evening.”

  “Come. A short walk to my office.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Burov said tauntingly, “Are you frightened? There are two ways to go to Lefortovo. One is voluntary.”

  Hollis glanced around the dining room and saw several men rise. Some of the seated men were smiling.

  Lisa said, “Our embassy knows where we are tonight.”

  “No, Miss Rhodes. They knew where you were headed. Do they know if you arrived?” Burov stood. “Come with me. Stand.”

  Hollis put his napkin on the table, stood, and took Lisa’s arm. They followed Burov to the door. Three KGB men fell in behind them. They retrieved their coats in the foyer and stepped out into the cold. Burov said, “To the left.”

  Hollis replied, “I think we’ll say good-bye here.” He took Lisa by the arm and turned away.

  Burov motioned to the three men, one of whom was Viktor. Viktor shoved Hollis, sending him slamming into a parked car.

  Lisa shouted, “You bastard!” She kicked Viktor in the groin.

  One of the other KGB men slapped Lisa across the face and pulled her to the ground by her hair.

  Hollis spun around and caught Burov’s jaw with his fist, then went for the man who still had Lisa by the hair. The man drew a pistol and barked, “Stoi!”

  Hollis stopped.

  Burov got to his feet, and Viktor, somewhat recovered from the kick to the groin, drew his pistol. Burov dabbed at his bleeding jaw with a handkerchief and said calmly, “You are both under arrest.”

  Hollis helped Lisa to her feet. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes…”

  Burov snapped, “Start walking. You kn
ow where you’re going.”

  Lisa and Hollis walked down the dark, quiet street toward Lefortovo prison, Burov and the three KGB men behind them. Burov said to the men in Russian, “Viktor got kicked in the balls, so he gets to search her.”

  They all laughed.

  About a hundred meters from the prison a car turned into the street and put on its bright lights. Another car came from the opposite direction. Hollis identified the cars as medium-sized Volgas. They drew close and stopped. The doors opened, and four men in black ski jackets and ski masks got out.

  Seth Alevy, not wearing a ski mask, stepped onto the sidewalk, passed by Hollis and Lisa, and went directly to Burov. “Good evening. Colonel Burov, I presume.”

  Burov looked at the black-clad men who had deployed around him.

  Alevy said, “They’re all carrying silenced automatics. I wanted you to know that.”

  Burov’s eyes came to rest on Alevy. “You’re under arrest.”

  Alevy added, “I’d like to kill your three friends and kidnap you right here, in front of Lefortovo. However, if you want to be reasonable, we’ll call this one a draw and part company until we meet again. Don’t dawdle. Yes or no?”

  Burov nodded.

  “Tell them to put their guns away. Now.”

  Burov told them.

  Alevy stared at Burov’s face as though committing each feature to memory. Alevy said, “Do you know who I am?”

  “Oh, yes. You’re the dirty little Jew who is the CIA station chief here.”

  “Well, we won’t quibble about definitions. I just want you to know that you’re having a serious career crisis. You understand the idiom?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Hollis joined Alevy and said to Burov, “I still expect a call from you tomorrow regarding Dodson.” Hollis and Alevy ushered Lisa into the backseat of one of the Volgas. The other security men piled into the cars, and they all headed back toward the center of the city.

  Lisa said, “I need a cigarette.”

  “Crack the window,” Alevy said.

  Lisa lit the cigarette with a shaky hand. “Jesus… .”

  “You okay?” Hollis asked.

  “Yeah. Want a cigarette?”

  “Not right now.”

  Alevy said to Hollis, “I don’t think punching a KGB colonel in the face was a good idea.”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  The two security men in the front laughed. The driver said, “That was for Brennan, right, Colonel?”

  “Half for Brennan, half for me.”

  Alevy said curtly, “It’s best to avoid physical violence. This is not personal.”

  Hollis thought it was and knew that Alevy was sure it was.

  Alevy added, “That’s how these things start. Now he’s going to break your jaw next chance he gets.”

  “If he gets a chance, I deserve to have my jaw broken.”

  Lisa interjected, “They were manhandling us, Seth. We had a right to defend ourselves.”

  Alevy snapped, “Not here you don’t. You are on their list too. I couldn’t see exactly what you did—”

  “I kicked fat Viktor in the balls.”

  Again the two men up front laughed. The man in the passenger’s seat said, “Way to go, Miss Rhodes.”

  Alevy shrugged. He said to Hollis, “I’ll bet you thought for a moment there I was going to let them take you inside.”

  “I think your timing was a bit slow,” Hollis replied. “I expected you sooner.”

  Lisa said, “This was all planned?”

  No one answered.

  “You two are crazy. Now I really feel used. I’m not bait.”

  Again no one responded.

  Lisa sat back and drew on her cigarette. She said, “Look, I’ll help. But in the future I want to be kept informed or it’s no deal. Agreed?”

  Alevy and Hollis both agreed. Hollis said, “I’m convinced now that Burov is a main player.”

  Alevy nodded. “I didn’t recognize him, but I’ll go through our mug shots. Did you learn anything else?”

  “I learned that when you say Mrs. Ivanova’s Charm School, you go to jail.”

  “Interesting.”

  “These are desperate men, Seth. I’ve never seen them get so agitated and take so many risks, like trying to kidnap Americans with diplomatic immunity, not to mention murder.”

  Alevy nodded again. “Very desperate men.” He added, “They’re breaking the rules, so we can do the same. Things are going to get hot in old Moscow. Unfortunately we can’t match their resources. We have to resolve this soon, before we wind up expelled or dead.”

  Hollis replied, “If we go public, that will buy us a little protection.”

  “Yes, but the word from Washington is for the diplomats to work it out quietly.”

  “Work what out?” Lisa asked.

  Alevy answered, “The repatriation of Major Jack Dodson.”

  “What if he doesn’t want to be repatriated? Burov said he was a defector.”

  Hollis replied, “We’ll want to speak to him about that.”

  The car approached the embassy gates, and Hollis saw there were three Fords parked on the street near the Chaikas. He said, “We’re on full alert.”

  “Oh, yes,” Alevy answered.

  Lisa said, “There’s more to this, isn’t there? It’s not just Dodson. What is the Charm School? A place where they brainwash people? Does Burov really have Dodson, or is Dodson on the run? Is anyone going to answer me?”

  No one was.

  Lisa announced, “I have ways of making men talk.”

  18

  Hollis, Alevy, and Lisa stood in the lobby of the chancery.

  “Come in for a drink,” Lisa offered. “I need one.”

  Alevy replied, “I have to do some night sending before five, D.C. time. See you tomorrow.” He turned and headed for the elevator.

  Lisa said to Hollis, “How about you? Night sending?”

  “No. I’ll have a quick one.”

  “Quick drink?” She smiled.

  “Whatever.”

  They walked out onto the rear terrace, then along the path to the housing units. She opened her door and put their coats in the hall closet, then showed him upstairs to the living room. “What can I get you?”

  “Scotch, neat.”

  Lisa made the drinks.

  Hollis looked around. The apartment was modern, a living room-dining room combination, and a galley kitchen. Upstairs would be the bedroom. The furniture, like most of the odds and ends, was from Finland, the closest and easiest Western country from which to import quality consumer goods. It was the apartment of a mid-level American government employee, but it would be the envy of any senior Soviet bureaucrat.

  Lisa gave him his drink, and she toasted, “Another good date.”

  She put Rachmaninoff on the tape deck and they talked. Hollis examined an icon on the wall. “Is that real?”

  “Yes. My grandmother’s. I’m going to have a tough time trying to get it back out of the country.”

  “I’ll put it in the diplomatic bag.”

  “Would you? Thanks, Sam.”

  “You planning on leaving?” he asked.

  “No… but somehow I have the feeling my days here are near an end.”

  Hollis nodded.

  Lisa sat on the couch, and Hollis sat at the far end. She said, “It’s not just Dodson. There are hundreds of them, aren’t there? That’s what you were saying… when we… in Pavel’s bedroom.”

  Hollis glanced at her. He finally replied, “I might have said too much.”

  “I don’t repeat what you tell me.” She asked, “Don’t you and Seth compare notes?”

  “We trade notes. You don’t get nothin’ for nothin’ in this business. My outfit, Defense Intelligence, is sort of junior to the CIA. So I have to protect my turf. All very petty. But competition is very American.”

  “But you do get along. Personally.”

  “Yes. He’s my fr
iend too.”

  She nodded.

  “Can we change the subject?”

  She stood and went to the window that looked north over the brick wall. A huge banner had just been strung between two buildings across the street in anticipation of the celebration of the Great October Revolution, whose anniversary was actually November 7 by the Gregorian calendar. She said, “Look at that. ‘Peace-loving Soviet peoples demand an end to American aggression.’ Do I have to look at that?”

  “Call the zoning commission.”

  She grumbled, “They’re getting all worked up for their big day—those bloody red banners all over the damned place, exhorting, cajoling, boasting—like state-subsidized graffiti, for God’s sake. And you know, Sam, when I first got here, the hammers and sickles all over the place were jarring, almost scary, because we’re so conditioned, like with swastikas, to react to certain symbols. A Party official once told me that the crosses on the Kremlin give him the creeps, and the Great Seal on our embassy wall makes him see red.” She laughed without humor and added, “I wish we could stop pumping adrenaline when we see red stars or Stars of David or whatever. But we’re like Comrade Pavlov’s mutts, Sam. They’ve got us drooling.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They are what we will be twenty years from now. We are in training to be them.”

  “You may have something there.”

  “Another?”

  “Sure. Less glass this time.”

  She poured him a triple scotch, then sat close to him. “Can I tell you something? I was damned frightened at Lefortovo. That’s twice you’ve done that to me.”

  “Tomorrow night we’ll see the movie. They’re showing Rambo—Part Eight.”

  She laughed. “Hey, remember when that Russian kid scaled the wall, got into the theater, and watched a whole feature before anyone knew he was there?”

  “I remember. The ambassador chopped some heads at Security.”

  “The kid wanted to see that movie. What was it?”

  “Rocky Nine.”

  “When are these people going to break loose, Sam? I mean, they need two hundred million of those kids. When’s that going to happen?”

  “Probably never, Lisa.”

  “Don’t say that. The human spirit—”