The Charm School by Nelson DeMille
“I… I supply the students. They’re not actually KGB. The KGB doesn’t trust its own recruiting methods. They get very odd personalities who want to be KGB, and they know that. They want honest Russian patriots. Men who had volunteered to be Air Force pilots. Men, I suppose, who would have something in common with their American instructors.”
Hollis nodded. “Like when it was a training school for pilots.”
“That’s my understanding. From what I’ve heard, when it was a Red Air Force training school, our pilots seemed more interested in asking the Americans about America than in learning their fighter tactics. The political commissar was very angry and worried about this situation and reported several pilots to the KGB. It was then that the KGB had their brilliant idea. They eventually took over the school. There was no formal announcement to the American prisoners, but gradually the nature of the school changed from fighter tactics to what it is now. A spy school. This is what I heard.”
“And how are you involved with this school now, General?”
“I’m not directly involved, but Air Force Personnel has to handle the paperwork on the candidates for this school, since they are all members of the Red Air Force. So I—” Surikov stopped. “There’s more. Much more. Is it worth it to you, Colonel, to get me out of here?”
“Perhaps. But you know, General, we don’t need any more information on this school. We know where it is, and we have enough information already to precipitate an international crisis.” He looked at Surikov. “You know what I need.”
Surikov didn’t reply.
“The names,” Hollis said. “The names of Soviet agents already in America. I assume you have some sort of list, or you wouldn’t still be trying to make a deal. The names. That is your ticket west, General.”
“But… if I got that for you… how do I know you wouldn’t abandon me and my granddaughter? I have nothing to offer for my passage if I gave you the list of names here.”
“You simply must trust me.”
“I can’t.”
“You must. Listen to me, General. You are, as we say in English, a babe in the woods. You understand? Once you took that first step you were as good as dead. And so is Natasha. I could expose you here, or shoot you in London. I can also give you back your life. I could be lying, but you don’t know if I am or not. You simply have no choice but to do what I say, to understand that the game is being played on my terms now.”
General Surikov’s body seemed to sag. Beneath the erect military man was a tired old grandfather trying to do one last thing right and cursing himself for it. Surikov said, “We don’t understand faith and trust here. We’re not taught those things as children. Here we trust no one but family. We have faith in nothing.”
Hollis said, “Do you understand that if you gave me that list, and I let something happen to you, I could not live with myself? Do you understand that concept? Conscience. Did you listen to the priest, or was your mind somewhere else?”
“I heard him,” Surikov snapped. “It’s all new to me. Less than two years. Do you expect me to become a saint in two years? Do you think I believe you are a saint because you go to church and use saintly words?”
Hollis smiled. “I’m no saint, my friend.” Hollis didn’t think the words trest, vera, and sovest—“trust,” “faith,” and “conscience”—were particularly saintly words, but he supposed if one rarely heard them, they could be jarring or moving or both.
“I need time to think this over. I’ll meet your replacement next Sunday—”
“No. There is nothing to think about. It would be best if you made your decision now and gave me your word on it. Then I will give you my word, and I will see to it that you get out of here. I’ll meet you in the West if you wish.”
General Surikov seemed to rediscover his backbone and stood straight. “All right. You’re a lot more ruthless than I thought, Colonel. But perhaps you do have a conscience. Here is what you’re getting: a microfilm of the personnel records of every man who’s gone to the American Citizenship School—that’s what the KGB calls it. On the microfilm you will find photographs of the men, their Russian names, their fingerprints, places of birth, birthdays, blood types, identifying scars, dental records, and so forth. A complete personnel file. You will not find their new American names or addresses, and I cannot even tell you how many of them actually made it to America. Only the KGB has that information. So your people over there—the FBI—will have to do a great deal of work. That’s all I can give you.”
Hollis nodded. It was a start. “How many?”
“A little over three thousand.”
“Three thousand…? All on microfilm?”
“Yes. These men, incidentally, are all officially dead. Killed in training accidents. The Red Air Force gave them military funerals. Closed coffins. We buried a lot of sand. We also paid out a lot of death benefits. The KGB finds it convenient to use our logistics, our money, our pilot candidates, and the cover of military deaths for so large an operation.”
Hollis nodded to himself. Three thousand military training deaths in the States would cause something of a national scandal. Here, not even one such death ever made the newspapers. The three thousand families of the supposed deceaseds only knew of their own loss. Amazing, Hollis thought. Only a totalitarian society could mount an operation such as that. The world’s largest Trojan horse, the biggest fifth column in history, or whatever Washington would call it. Hollis asked, “Where is the microfilm?”
“I’ll tell you where you can find it when I get to London. That was the deal. Half now, half in London.”
“I told you, I already have the first half. You’ll give me the microfilm now.”
“Why now?”
“Because you may be arrested anytime between now and the time we try to get you out of here. Because I want it now. That’s why.”
Surikov stared off into space, and Hollis could see he was angry, but that didn’t matter.
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 f
“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, and 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’s coming 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. Loca
“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.”