Charm School v1_0

  Surikov nodded. “All right. My life and my granddaughter's life are in your hands. I'll bring the microfilm to my next meeting, or I'll leave it in one of our dead drops, whatever you prefer.”

  Hollis considered a moment. A dead drop was preferred, but his instincts told him that this was a case for hand-to-hand transfer. “Tomorrow at nine A.M. you will go to the antique store in the Arbat. A man will ask you where he can find czarist coins. He speaks fluent Russian. Have the microfilm with you.”

  Surikov lit another cigarette. “And that's the last I'll hear from the Americans.”

  “If you believe that, then you don't want to live in the West, General. You might as well stay here.”

  “Well, we will see if my cynicism is well-founded. And this man will tell me how I'm going West?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a better idea. You tell me now. I want to know. Before I bring the microfilm.”

  Hollis thought General Surikov needed a victory, but he remembered Alevy's words of caution. Then maybe what he wants is to find out how we get people out of here. But there was no time for caution. Hollis said, “All right. I'll tell you our secret. Can you get to Leningrad on a weekend?”

  “Yes.”

  “You'll go to Leningrad this Saturday. The man in the Arbat antique store will tell you how to meet someone there who will give you more details. But it's basically simple. You go to one of the Kirov Island recreational parks carrying fishing equipment. You and Natasha rent a boat and take it to the mouth of the Neva, but not so far as to attract the attention of patrol boats. You will fish in the marked channel. Whenever you see a freighter flying the flag of a NATO country coming in or going out, you will give a signal that you will be advised of by the man in Leningrad. One of these freighters will take you and Natasha aboard, and someone on board will take charge of you. When the authorities find your boat capsized, it will appear you've both drowned. If the rendezvous fails on Saturday, you'll do the same thing Sunday.”

  “And if it fails Sunday?”

  “Then the next weekend.”

  “There's not much boating weather left up that way, Colonel.”

  General, if you are being honest with us, you will not be abandoned. There are other ways. But with luck… and God's help … by this time next week, you will be in a Western port city.

  “This thing will need all of God's help. Natasha thinks she is blessed by God. We'll see.”

  “I'll see you in London.”

  “And you will buy me a drink.”

  “I'll buy you the whole fucking bar, General.”

  Surikov tried to smile. “Just a drink will do.” He handed Hollis the carp. “You poach them in sour cream.”

  Hollis didn't think so. He said, “I shake your hand.”

  “And I yours.” Surikov added, “Safe journey west. I will see you in London.” He turned and walked back into the cemetery.

  Hollis looked at the wrapped carp, slipped it into his pocket with the candle and the pistol, and headed toward the gate church. About ten yards from the church, someone tapped him on the shoulder and asked in Russian, “What's in that package?”

  Hollis gripped the 9mm automatic, pointed it through his coat pocket, and spun around.

  Seth Alevy asked, “What did he give you?”

  “Carp.”

  “Oh. I grew up on carp. Very Jewish and Russian. I hate the stuff.”

  Hollis turned and continued toward the gate church.

  Alevy fell into step beside him. “I thought you said the meeting was for four.”

  “I was going to tell you when I got back that I remembered it was earlier.”

  “I thought it might have been. Where's Lisa?”

  “At the bell tower.”

  They walked through the arched passage into the convent grounds. The drizzle was turning to light rain. Alevy asked, “Did we get lucky?”

  “We hit the jackpot.”

  “The Charm School?”

  “Yes. The KGB, incidentally, calls it the American Citizenship School.”

  “How is Surikov involved with that?”

  “I'll tell you later. Are we covered?”

  “Well, I'm covering you, and you're covering me. I couldn't call out the troops again like I did at Lefortovo. The KGB tripled their embassy stakeout, and they're looking for a confrontation. I snuck out in the van going to the Finnish dacha. If I had any brains, I'd have gone there and gotten laid.”

  “Why didn't you? Nobody asked you to come here.”

  “I wanted a look at Surikov.”

  “You'll meet him soon enough.”

  They kept walking quickly up the tree-lined path, toward the bell tower. Alevy said, “The other reason I came is that we got a communication this morning from the Soviet Foreign Ministry. They've revoked your diplomatic status. And Lisa's.”

  “I see.”

  Hollis added, “Thanks for coming then.”

  “According to international law, your immunity is now good only between the embassy and a point of departure from the country. Therefore, your ass is hanging out here. So is hers, obviously.”

  “Sort of like going vampire hunting and losing your cross,” Hollis observed.

  “Sort of. I assume you have your wooden stake though.”

  “Yes,” Hollis said.

  “You nearly got it through your heart.” They came out into the paved square on the far side of which rose the bell tower. Hollis didn't see Lisa. They crossed the open square walking normally so as not to attract attention. The rain was heavier now, and the strollers were disappearing. They reached the base of the bell tower, then split up and circled around it. Alevy snapped, “God damn it!”

  “Relax, Seth. She'll be along.”

  Alevy turned to him, and Hollis saw he was not going to relax. Alevy pointed his finger at Hollis and said irritably, “You shouldn't have brought her here!”

  “Hey, hold on. She wanted to go to church here, and she can do—”

  “Oh, don't give me that shit. This is not a fucking lark, Colonel, or an ego trip for you two. This is Moscow, buddy, and—”

  “I know where the hell I am. And I'll run my operations my way.”

  “I should have had both of you shipped out a week ago. You've caused more problems—”

  “Go to hell.”

  Alevy and Hollis stood very close, then Alevy turned and began walking across the square. He called back, “I'll wait at the main gate for fifteen minutes. Then I'm leaving, with or without you, her, or both of you.”

  Hollis followed Alevy into the square. “Hold on.” He walked up to Alevy. “Listen, in case I don't get back to the embassy—you have an appointment with Surikov. The antique shop on Arbat. Tomorrow at nine A.M. He has microfilmed personnel files of all the Charm School students, past and present. Three thousand, Seth.”

  “Jesus… three thousand… how the hell did he get that information?”

  “He's the G-I for the entire Red Air Force.” Hollis explained briefly and concluded, “I gave him my word that we'd get him and his granddaughter out. You understand? Don't fuck around with that, Seth. You get them out.” He stared at Alevy.

  Alevy nodded. “I'll take care of it.”

  “Now get out of here.”

  Alevy hesitated. “I'll wait at the gate.”

  “No. You get your ass back to the embassy and stay there until you go to meet Surikov. I don't need you here. I've passed the baton to you, Seth, and either way I won't be around to meet Surikov tomorrow. It's all yours now, buddy. Beat it.”

  Alevy looked around the rain-splashed square, then nodded. “Good luck.” He walked off through the rain toward the main gate.

  Hollis moved back to the bell tower and put his back to the wall. He drew his pistol and kept it at his side. He saw Alevy disappear onto a tree-covered path.

  Hollis watched the square, watched the cold falling rain, and watched his breath mist. The minutes passed. For all he knew, they had Surikov, Lisa, an
d Alevy and were just letting him stand alone in the rain. “You worry more about them when you don't see them.” But if he saw them, he'd take a few with him. “No more diplomatic immunity, no more nice guy.”

  He glanced at his watch. It had been fifty minutes since he'd left her. He thought about Alevy'scoming out to cover them, then about Alevy's agreeing to leave. Professionally that was right. What was wrong, he realized, was the profession.

  He heard footsteps on the wet square and looked out.

  She came hurrying across the square, splashing through the puddles, and threw her arms around him. “I lost track of the time. Forgive me.”

  “No problem.”

  “That coat is soaked.”

  Hollis took her arm, and they walked toward the main gate.

  “You found your friend at Gogol's grave?”

  “Yes.”

  “How was your meeting?”

  “Fine.” That question, Hollis thought, conjured up pleasant images of conference tables and hot coffee, not heartpounding encounters in the cold rain. He said, “Nice cemetery.”

  “It is. Did you see any famous graves?”

  “A few.”

  “Were you waiting here long?”

  “Not too long.” He said lightly, “I thought you'd gotten picked up.”

  “I never get in trouble on holy ground. Well, once at a church dance…” She laughed. “Did anything interesting happen to you?”

  “No, not really.”

  They approached the gate church.

  She said, “I smell fish.”

  “Oh, I bought some carp from an old man.” He patted his pocket.

  “You poach it in sour cream.”

  “I know.”

  “I missed you. I was worried about you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Will we have any problem getting back into the embassy?”

  “I'm going to find a phone and call security. Location Foxtrot is close. That's the Lenin statue on the north side of the stadium. Remember that, if we get separated.”

  “How will we get separated?”

  “Just in case.”

  They walked into the arched passage where about a dozen people stood sheltering from the rain. Hollis stopped and let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Lisa took off his rain-soaked hat and wiped his face with her handkerchief.

  Seth Alevy stepped out of the darkness. He didn't say much, just, “Follow me,” but Hollis thought it was enough under the circumstances.

  * * *

  28

  Sam Hollis and Lisa Rhodes stood beneath the portico of the chancery building and said their final farewells to the people who had come out to see them off. Lisa kissed her coworkers, while Hollis shook hands with his former staff and exchanged salutes.

  The ambassador had sent his car, a stretch Lincoln with the Great Seal on the sides, and the driver opened the rear door.

  Kay Hoffman gave Hollis a big kiss and said, “I want an invite to the wedding.”

  Hollis didn't know about the wedding but answered, “Okay.”

  Charles Banks said to Lisa, “I once told you that your picture-taking would get you booted.”

  She smiled. “I'm glad it wasn't that, Charlie. I'm glad it was for something important.”

  “Send me a copy of your book.”

  “I will.”

  Hollis and Lisa got into the Lincoln. The driver, Fred Santos, closed the door and got behind the wheel.

  Everyone waved as the Lincoln pulled away. At the Marine guard booth, ten Marines had assembled with rifles and presented arms. Hollis returned the salutes. The two Soviet militiamen stared at the Lincoln and its occupants as the car pulled into the street. The embassy watchers peered from the windows of the surrounding buildings and from their black Chaikas. A man who Hollis recognized as Boris stood beside his Chaika and waved. Hollis waved back. “Da svedahyna.” He added, “You son of a bitch.”

  Fred Santos laughed.

  Lisa turned and looked back through the rear window at the chancery building and the walls of the American embassy as the iron gates with the eagles closed shut.

  Hollis opened a two-day-old New York Times and read. “'Clear and sunny today'—that was Saturday—'seventy degrees.' Nice. Mets took the second game of the Series.”

  Lisa faced the front. “I'm going to cry.”

  “Are you a Detroit fan?”

  The Lincoln wound through the narrow streets of Krasno-presnya. Hollis put down the paper and glanced back through the rear window. Following closely was a Ford with Seth Alevy in the front seat, accompanied by three security men. Behind the Ford was the embassy van, loaded with their luggage and personal items. To their front was another Ford with three more security men and Bert Mills, a CIA officer and Alevy's deputy station chief. Hollis observed, “No air cover, no tanks.”

  Lisa said, “This is a little silly.”

  “Seth is very protective of you.”

  She retreated into a moody silence.

  Fred Santos said, “Well, this has got to be a relief. Right?”

  “Right,” Hollis answered.

  “Funny thing though, everybody I drive to the airport looks sad. People say things like, 'I wish I could have done more here.' Or they think about embassy friends they left here. Some people feel sorry for Russian friends who they'll never see again. I guess you get used to a place. This is one tough assignment. But maybe its the one place where you feel needed and appreciated. You know?”

  “I know,” Hollis replied. “How long do you have to go?”

  “A year and two weeks. Then it's back to D.C. A year and two weeks. Not too long.”

  “Goes fast,” Hollis said.

  “Maybe.”

  Hollis had come to Moscow at the time the State Department decided that perhaps the Foreign Nationals had to be replaced with American service personnel. The ambassador's former chauffeur, Vasily, a nice old gentleman who everyone knew was a KGB colonel, was getting about two hundred dollars a month, and State thought it was a good deal. Alevy had pointed out the inherent security risk in having a KGB colonel as one's chauffeur, and also that if money were the issue, Vasily would pay the Americans twice that to keep his job. The State Department, after having Soviet citizens snooping around the embassy for over fifty years, began to see the point. It was no wonder, Hollis thought, that the intelligence people thought the diplomats were bozos.

  The American service personnel, like Santos, cost about three thousand a month with benefits, and they needed places to live. But Hollis thought it was worth it as long as they weren't graduates of the Charm School, such as the Kellums. Hollis said, “Hey, Fred, who played centerfield for the '81 Mets?”

  “I don't follow baseball, Colonel. You wanna talk NFL, I'll talk your ear off.”

  “Maybe later.”

  The Lincoln swung into Leningrad Prospect, a broad, six-lane road with a treed center divide. They headed north, out of Moscow. Hollis regarded the massive grey apartment blocks, the bare trees, and the dark sky. He suspected that this was how he would remember Moscow.

  Leningrad Prospect became Leningrad Highway, and the four-vehicle convoy picked up speed.

  Lisa said, “I'm feeling better. This is for the best. It's good for us.” She reached forward and slid the glass partition closed. “You know, Sam, we fell in love here, under stressful circumstances, which can cause emotions that are ambiguous and unreliable.”

  Hollis opened the small bar refrigerator. “There's a box of Belgian chocolates and a split of French champagne.”

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “No.”

  “Well, listen!”

  “I'm listening.”

  “Okay. In Moscow, our love was safe from outside reality. That's ironic because Moscow is unreal. But now, being expelled so soon after we've found each other, our feelings didn't have time to take root, and I'm afraid—”

  “Did you rehearse this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could
you put it in the form of a short memo?”

  “Stop being an idiot.”

  “Do you want a chocolate or not?”

  “No!” She slammed the refrigerator door shut. “Let me ask you something. Did Katherme leave you, or did she leave Moscow?”

  Hollis worked on the champagne cork.

  “Answer me.”

  “She left Colonel Hollis, spy, in Moscow.” The cork popped, hit the ceiling, and Fred Santos rose off his seat. Hollis called through the glass partition, “Sorry, Fred!”

  “Jesus, Colonel…” Santos put his hand over his heart in a theatrical gesture.

  Hollis observed to Lisa, “This country makes people jumpy. Have you noticed that?” He poured the champagne into two fluted glasses and handed one to her. He said, “Not the end, but the beginning.”

  “Oh… oh, I love you!” She embraced him, spilling champagne on his trench coat. Hollis kissed her. The security driver behind them beeped his horn playfully. Hollis glanced over Lisa's shoulder and saw Alevy staring at them from the front seat of the car.

  They entered the main terminal area of Sheremetyevo Airport on their way to the diplomatic wing. Alevy's deputy, Bert Mills, said, “Please wait here a minute.”

  Hollis and Lisa stood in the concourse of the large new terminal. Hollis thought that the architect's previous experience must have been designing tractor sheds. The low ceilings were a copper-toned metal, making the whole place dark and grim, harsh, and unwelcoming.

  As in all Soviet transportation terminals, there was a profound lack of services or amenities. Hollis spotted a single food kiosk under attack by at least a hundred people.

  Soviet citizens coming from or heading to domestic flights pushed large crates around the grey slate floor. Hollis never understood where they stowed all that stuff. He said to Lisa, “Pan Am measures my flight bag to the last centimeter. On Aeroflot, people bring livestock. Like on that train we took. Remember?”

  “I'm not likely to forget.”

  “Right.” Hollis went to a currency window and dumped his rubles on the counter but held on to some loose kopeks. “American dollars, please.”

  The cashier, using an abacus, converted the amount, then gave Hollis some forms to sign. He signed, and she pushed some dollars toward him, saying, “No coins.”