“Chocolate?”
“Shokolad?”
“Forget it. Da svedahnya, sweetheart.” He joined Lisa and said, “That was the last Russian I'm ever using.”
From where they stood in the concourse, Hollis could see the international arrivals area where there were crowds at passport control and larger crowds at customs. Most of the arriving people looked to be from the Third World, and there were a good number of youth groups; pilgrims on Soviet-sponsored tours, coming to Moscow to talk peace, progress, disarmament, and equality. It never ceased to amaze him how a discredited philosophy and a repressive nation still attracted idealists.
Hollis scanned the rest of the terminal. Grey-clad militia men were all over the place, and Hollis spotted a few KGB Border Guards in their green uniforms. He picked out his embassy security people strategically placed around him and Lisa. He saw one man in a brown leather car coat and tie who might have been KGB, but he couldn't spot any others. Hollis normally wouldn't expect any trouble in a crowded public place, but to the KGB, the entire country was their private hunting preserve. He realized that Alevy had disappeared, then he noticed that Lisa was looking a bit tense. He said to her, “Did you ever fly Aeroplop?”
She laughed. “Aeroplop? Yes, once to Leningrad on business.”
“I used to take it once a month to Leningrad. The pilots are all military. There's not much difference between civil and military aviation in this country. Did you notice how they circled the airport at high altitudes, then dove in?”
“Yes. Scared me.”
“Me too. And I used to fly fighter-bombers. In the States, the drinking rule for pilots is twenty-four hours between bottle and throttle. Here, Aeroplop pilots aren't allowed to drink within twenty-four feet of the aircraft.”
She laughed again. “You're terrible. What are you going to complain about in the States?”
“The quality of winter strawberries.” Hollis glanced at his watch.
Lisa noticed and asked, “Do you think there's something wrong?”
“No. I think we're getting jumpy. Oh, I was going to tell you about my last Aeroplop flight. It was a Yakovlev 42, a tri-jet with huge wheels so it can land on grass and dirt. It's actually a military transport, but when they get old, they slap an Aeroflot logo on them and put in seats. The cabin had been painted by brush, and you could see the brush marks. Anyway, the stewardesses were Miss Piggy look-alikes, and the lav had backed up—”
“That was my flight. And the cabin smelled of sewage. And my barf bag had been previously used. I'm not kidding. I collect barf bags from different airlines, and I took this one out of the seat pocket, and—”
“You collect barf bags? Disgusting.”
They were both laughing now. She said, “Only unused ones. So, anyway, I—”
Alevy came up behind them. “Okay. Everything's set. Let's go.”
Hollis and Lisa picked up their flight bags and followed Alevy, accompanied by the six security men. They entered a long, narrow corridor off the concourse that took them to the diplomatic wing, where Alevy's man, Bert Mills, was waiting.
The DPL wing consisted of a front desk and a comfortable modern lounge with small conference rooms to the sides. It was not much different from a private airline club or any VIP lounge in any airport except for the presence of a smartly uniformed KGB Border Guard near the front desk and another Border Guard with a submachine gun at the rear exit door that led to the tarmac.
Their luggage, which had diplomatic seals, had already been passed through X-ray and was now piled in a coatroom near the front desk. A passport control officer arrived and stamped their passports with exit visas, then left.
Hollis, Lisa, and Alevy sat in the small lounge. An embassy security man stood near the front desk, a few feet from the KGB Border Guard. Two more security men stood near the rear entrance, keeping the Border Guard there company. Bert Mills sat on the other side of the lounge. Hollis remarked to Alevy, “Why all the firepower? One or two would have done.”
“Show of force.”
It occurred to Hollis, not for the first time, that Seth Alevy relished the fact that his lifelong game against Moscow was being played in Moscow. Hollis wondered what would become of Seth Alevy when he had to leave here.
Three Hispanic-looking men walked into the lounge, wearing red Lenin pins on the lapels of their suit jackets. They gave Hollis, Lisa, and Alevy an unfriendly look, and one of them said something in Spanish that made the other two laugh. They sat down in the adjoining club chairs.
Alevy commented, “There's a direct Aeroflot to Havana in half an hour.”
Lisa said, “I think they said something insulting. I heard the word gringo.”
“Let it pass,” Alevy advised.
There were drink lists printed in several languages on the coffee table, and Alevy said, “They sometimes have orange juice here. How about a little vodka with it?”
“Fine.”
He looked around for the waitress he'd seen before, then stood and went to the woman at the front desk. After a minute he came back and said, “No orange juice. So I got Bloody Marys. Okay?”
“Fine.”
A waitress came with four glasses of green fluid. Alevy said in English, “Everything in this fucking country is red, but the tomato juice is green. Would you call this a Bloody Grasshopper?”
The waitress set the four glasses down, then placed a plate of salmon and black bread on the table. “For hungry. Good-bye. Good trip.”
“Thank you.” Alevy remarked to Hollis and Lisa, “Every once in a while, somebody here is nice to you, and it makes you think.” Alevy raised his glass. “Safe trip.” He finished the entire drink and sighed. “Vodka. The one thing they do right, by God.”
Lisa said to Alevy, “You're in a good mood today. Glad to see us go?”
“No, no. Just happy for you. Both of you.”
There were a few seconds of awkward silence, then Lisa said to Alevy, “Is that extra drink for you?”
“Oh, I forgot. It's for Bert Mills.” Alevy picked up the drink and stood, seemed to lose his balance, and spilled the green tomato juice on the head of one of the Cubans. “Oh, I'm terribly sorry. Mucho fucking clumsy—”
The three Cubans sprang to their feet.
Hollis stood, and Bert Mills was suddenly there too. The Cubans sized up the situation quickly. They gathered their attache cases amid a flourish of handkerchiefs and retreated to one of the side rooms. Alevy said, “I feel just awful.”
Mills laughed and walked back to his chair. Hollis noticed the two KGB Border Guards grinning.
Hollis always marveled at Alevy's little army of well-mannered thugs. In addition to the twenty or so CIA intelligence officers, there were about a dozen embassy security men whom Alevy had use of. Alevy had once told Hollis that if he could get the thirty-man Marine contingent under his control, he could take the Kremlin.
Alevy wiped his hand with a cocktail napkin. “I always meet interesting people in the diplomatic lounge.”
Lisa smiled at Alevy but said nothing.
Hollis realized that Alevy was showing off one last time for Lisa. Hollis excused himself and left the lounge.
Alevy and Lisa remained standing. Alevy said, “I'm not happy to see you go. I'm sad to see you go.”
Lisa didn't respond.
Alevy added, “I thought we could give it another try.”
“I thought about it too. But other things have happened.”
“I know.” Alevy picked up her glass and drank from it. “Well… maybe our paths will cross again, in some other godforsaken place. This is a strange life we've chosen.”
“The Russians say, 'To live a life is not as easy as crossing a field.'”
“The Russians say a lot of things that don't make any sense. Tartar haiku. You like the place. I don't.”
“But you like being the premier spy in the capital of the evil empire.”
“Oh, yes.”
“That's what bothers me. Try
to see the evil side of what you do.”
“I don't have time for moral abstractions. My job is to try to fuck the Soviets, and they respect me for it.”
“All right, we've been through this. I just ask you to try to understand these people. As people. It will help you professionally as well as personally if you understand them.”
“I try. We all try.”
“Do we?” She glanced at the door, but there was no sign of Hollis. She put her hand on Alevy's arm. “Be careful, Seth. I worry about you.”
“Do you? You be careful yourself. You're not home yet.” He finished her drink. “Piece of advice, Lady Lisa. His age is not that important. Neither is his present marital status. But if he enters that macho world of jet jockeys again, you've got a problem.”
“I'm not considering marriage. What, by the way, were you two talking about until six A.M.? You both look like hell.”
“I just needed some Red Air Force stats, and I needed Hollis' name on the report as a cosigner. They respect him in Langley. Sorry if I intruded on your plans. Won't happen again.” Alevy glanced at his watch. “I'm going to find Sam and say good-bye. You'll be all right here.” He looked at her. “Well… there's more I'd like to say, but they know too much about my personal life already.” He jerked his thumb up at the ceiling. “The evil ones. They get lots of tidbits from this room.”
She shook her head. “I still never think about that.”
“You don't have to anymore. Just watch what you say when Sam returns. When you board the Pan Am 747, you can say whatever you like all the way to Frankfurt and beyond. The free world. I like that old Cold War phrase. The free world.”
They both stood awkwardly for a moment, then Lisa said, “Write to me.”
“Of course.”
“I'll let you know where I wind up.” She suddenly laughed. “How stupid of me. You'll probably know before I do. I guess that was part of our problem. A woman likes to have a little privacy and a little mystery about herself. But you knew everything about everyone inside the walls of our castle. You were our Merlin.”
“I never thought of it quite that way. Maybe that's why no one asks me to bowl.” He smiled.
She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Good-bye, Seth. Thank you for everything—” She wiped her eyes. “We'll meet again.”
“I know we will.”
Alevy suddenly pulled her close to him, put his mouth to her ear, and whispered, “Listen to me. You don't have to leave on this flight… you have until midnight to leave Russia. There are two more flights to Frankfurt today. Tell Sam you're not feeling well, and—”
“Why?”
“I… I thought we could… spend some time… a proper good-bye.”
She looked at him. “Is that a proposition?”
“No. Really, I just… look, what I'm trying to say is that Hollis is a target. I don't like the idea of you being near him—”
“I know that. He told me that, and I could figure that out for myself. But I'm not a wilting flower, Seth. I was willing to share any danger with you, and I will give him the same loyalty.”
Alevy looked at her, and a sad smile came across his face. He nodded. “That's why I love you.”
They kissed, and Seth Alevy turned and walked quickly from the waiting room, the Russians and Americans in the room looking at him, then at Lisa.
She sat down again and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief as she leafed through an old copy of Time. “Damn you, Alevy. Damn men.” She looked at her watch. “Come on, Sam.”
Alevy found Hollis in the narrow corridor that led back to the main concourse. Alevy pointed at the ceiling, and they walked back to the crowded terminal building. They stood quietly among the milling people for a minute, then Alevy said, “Did you want to speak to me?”
Hollis replied, “I assume the meeting went well, or you'd be in a less playful mood.”
“It went fine.”
“You got the microfilm?”
“I did.”
“Did you look at it?”
“Briefly.”
Hollis drew a deep breath of impatience. “I can either pull teeth, or I can knock them all out, right here.”
Alevy regarded Hollis a moment, then his eyes became unfocused as though his mind just got a phone call. He refocused on Hollis and said, “Sam, I promise you, you're still on the case. You have my word on that.”
Hollis studied Alevy's face a moment. “Okay. Was the microfilm good stuff?”
“The jackpot. But I don't know how the FBI is going to proceed with it.”
“That's their problem, not ours.”
“Well, it's everyone's problem. I'd like to see us just go public with the photos—TV and newspapers, movie theaters, shopping malls. That would blow every one of those Russian agents whether they're White House janitors, defense workers, or congressional aides.” Alevy added, “However, I think the government wants the FBI to try to round them up quietly.”
“But you'd like it public. That would finish the summit and arms talks once and for all.”
“All that nonsense deserves to be dead and buried. What benefit is there to us to talk peace and trade, when the Soviets have massive economic problems and social unrest? As our mutual hero, Napoleon Bonaparte, said, 'Never interrupt an enemy while he's making a mistake.'”
Hollis smiled. “You are a manipulative son of a bitch.”
“Thank you. Speaking of manipulators, do you know who Charlie Banks works for?”
“Probably State Department Intelligence.”
“Right. You're sharper than you look.” Alevy moved toward a group of Japanese businessmen who were talking loudly and animatedly, providing good sound cover from directional microphones. Hollis followed him. Alevy said, “State Department Intelligence here in Moscow spend most of their time spying on people like you and me. They think we're trying to sabotage their diplomatic initiatives.”
“Where would they get an idea like that?”
“Beats me. Anyway, SDI would be harmless except that they're an arm of the venerable and powerful Department of State. And in the matter of the Charm School, Charles Banks is watching the situation very closely and reporting, I believe, directly to the President.”
“He's watching you very closely. What I don't understand is how anyone is going to resolve the problem of the Charm School without all hell breaking loose.”
“There are ways to resolve it quietly. As long as Dodson doesn't show up.”
“What if he does show up?”
Alevy replied, “I doubt if he'd make it over the wall. The militia and KGB have orders to shoot on sight. But if he did, by some miracle, get inside the embassy or get to a Western reporter in Moscow, then Banks, the Secretary of State, and the President will be singing my company song.”
Hollis said, “I keep thinking that if Dodson did get over the wall, he might not be home free. Is that an insane thought?”
“Yes, but it's a good thought. I think old affable Charlie Banks is under orders to have Dodson killed to shut him up.” Alevy added, “And you think I'm nuts and immoral? Our government is ready to write off three hundred American airmen for some abstraction they call detente. Hell, I can't even pronounce it, and the fucking Russians don't even have a word for it.”
“Seth, I'll try to separate the white hats from the black hats on the plane. Meet me in DC., and we'll talk to some of my people in the Pentagon. I won't get involved in conspiracies, but we can talk about ways to bring those men home and not make them pawns in everyone's power game.”
“All right. I'll meet you in D.C.”
Hollis asked, “By the way, what did you think of General Surikov?”
“I spoke to him in the basement of the antique shop for half an hour. I don't think he liked me.”
“He doesn't have to like you. You're not going to be his control officer. He's leaving.”
“Well, that's the other thing. I agree with you that he's a legitimate defector. But I don't think he's going
to make it in the West.”
“A lot of people who already live in the West aren't making it. That's not your concern. Just get him there.”
“I'm telling you, Sam, he'll die when he leaves mother Russia. I know the type.”
“He has religion.”
“I'd love to keep him here in his job. He would be the highest-ranking agent we've ever had in the Soviet military. I'd turn him over to Bert Mills and—”
“Don't give me that crap about him not surviving in the West. If you had an ounce of human compassion left in you, you'd see the man was suffering. If we ever do beat this system, it will be because we hold out an honest light to the decent people here. I never understood Surikov's motives because I wasn't thinking of the most obvious motive—the man wants to be free, whatever that means to him. He delivered, now you deliver.”
“All right… it was a thought—”
“Take a leave, Seth. You need it.”
“Oh, I know. By the way, I scanned that microfilm and found a picture of our custodian, Mr. Kellum, born Anatoli Vladimirovich Kulagin, in Kursk, USSR.”
Hollis nodded. “So we bagged the first one. How about Mrs. Kellum?”
“Didn't come across her yet. Lots of work to do on that. She may be a real American, and she may or may not know who her husband is.”
“What are you going to do with the Kellums?”
“I'll debrief them in the cellar for a few months. Dick, we know, is guilty, and as far as I'm concerned Ann is guilty by association. However, we can't get them back to stand trial. And I can't keep them locked up here forever. Also, they're no good as trading cards because the Soviets will never claim them. So…” Alevy scratched his head. “I don't know. Any ideas? What should I do with Dick and Ann, Sam?”
“Why don't you shoot them in the head and drop them in the Moskva?”
“Excellent idea. Why didn't I think of that?”
Hollis said, “I have to go.”
Alevy put his hand on Hollis' arm. “When I was a young college liberal, I used to wonder how American airmen could drop bombs on the Vietnamese. Now I'm all grown up, contemplating cold-blooded murder for my country, and an airman is looking down his nose at me. Can't win.”