The Charm School by Nelson DeMille
Hollis smiled. “That about covers it.” He asked, “But certainly you didn’t learn all that from your prisoners?”
“Instructors. No, I learned from the Western filth I’ve been exposed to. The irony of these fliers is that they’re probably the best you’ve got to offer in your childish society. And your government and nation wasted them like it wastes every resource you have. As I suggested to you in Lefortovo restaurant, you might agree with that.”
“I might, but I won’t. I’ve already worked all that out, Burov. I don’t feel betrayed or used. So if this is the standard psychological pitch to get me mad at America, forget it.”
Burov leaned back in the sofa and crossed his legs. “All right. But think about it. I’ll tell you something else that is ironic and that amuses me. My students, when they get to America, will make better, harder working, more knowledgeable, and more law-abiding citizens than you’re able to produce yourselves over there.”
“And they’ll probably pay their taxes too.”
Burov regarded Hollis for some seconds, then said, “And my second motivation is purely intellectual. Quite simply, I am fascinated with the challenge of turning Russians into Americans. I don’t believe anything quite like this has ever been done on such a scale. And it has other ramifications for the future. Do you follow?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Yes. There are other schools in the planning.”
“And where will you get the instructors?”
“Kidnap them as we kidnapped you and the American women here. But on a larger scale. I think we will use submarines to capture entire boatloads of pleasure sailors.” He smiled. “Perhaps in the Bermuda Triangle.”
Lisa said, “How can that make you smile? That’s so cruel.”
Burov replied, “It’s war. We know that. You don’t.” He turned his attention back to Hollis. “Within ten years we will have a school for every major Caucasian nation in the world. All of Europe, South America, Canada, South Africa, Australia, New Zealand—any place where an ethnic Russian can pass for a native—we will have Russians burrowing into the very fabric of those nations. By the end of the century we will cover the globe with men and women who look and act like Germans, Frenchmen, Englishmen, or whatever, but who work for Moscow.” Burov asked Hollis, “What do you think of that?”
“That’s very ambitious for a country that has had seventy years to create the New Soviet Man and can’t.”
Burov leaned toward Hollis. “You’re entirely too glib.”
“I know. Gets me in trouble.”
Burov nodded. “So that’s what makes me tick.”
“Good. Can we leave now?”
“No. There are some other matters.”
An elderly Russian woman entered the room carrying a tray on which was a teapot and cups. She set the tray down on the stove, stared at Lisa and Hollis, then left.
Burov said, “Help yourselves.”
Lisa replied, “If that woman is a prisoner, I won’t touch a thing that has been served by your slave.” Burov made a clucking sound with his tongue. “What scruples you have. That was actually my dear mother.” Burov stood and poured three cups of tea. “Yes, I have a mother. And a wife and my little darling, Natalia.” He handed Lisa a cup, which she accepted, then he gave one to Hollis and remained standing by the stove. He stared at Lisa awhile, then asked her, “I was wondering if you would like to work here. In this house. To teach my Natalia English. She is ten now. Perhaps you could be a sort of governess.”
“Colonel Burov, you must be joking.”
“I wasn’t. Do you want to meet Natalia?”
“No.”
“Do you find us all so repulsive?”
“I have many Russian friends. You are not among them.”
Burov shrugged. “We’ll see. Time heals many hurts.”
Hollis put his cup on the floor beside his chair. “Is that the only reason you asked us here?”
“No. Unfortunately something has come up. My superiors in Moscow did not agree with my decision to extend you a week to meditate. So I must have your decision now. I trust you’ll agree that you would both rather be here than in an unmarked grave.”
Hollis stood. “My answer is no.”
Burov looked at him incredulously. “No, you will not work for us here?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Then you will be thoroughly interrogated, then shot.”
“Then I have nothing to lose if I killed you right now.”
Burov set his cup on the stove and stepped away from Hollis.
Hollis took a step toward Burov.
Lisa rose to her feet.
Burov seemed undecided if he should call out for the guard or not. He said to Hollis, “Are you armed?”
“I don’t need a weapon to kill you.”
“No? You think you’re so strong? I keep myself fit also.”
“Good. That should make it interesting.” Hollis moved closer to Burov.
Burov snapped, “Stay where you are.”
Lisa spoke. “Sam. Please.” She said to Burov, “I’ll work for you.” She turned to Hollis. “Please, Sam. We discussed this. It’s not worth our lives. Tell him yes. Please.” She grabbed his arm. “What difference does it make if there are two more instructors?” She turned back to Burov. “He’ll do it. Just give me some time.”
Burov seemed to consider. He stared at Lisa awhile, then said, “I have orders to get an answer from you today. If you don’t say yes by six this evening, you’ll be taken to the cells forthwith. Do you understand?”
Lisa nodded.
Burov said, “I’m in a good mood today, and I’ll tell you why. Major Dodson has been captured. He was not two hundred meters from the west wall of your embassy. So whose side is fate on?”
Hollis didn’t reply, but turned to leave.
Burov said, “Yes, you may go now. Report to me at my office at six P.M. with your answer.” He pointed the way out.
Hollis and Lisa went out to the foyer, and the guard opened the door. They walked down the path to the guardhouse, where one of the KGB men opened the gate. As they headed back along the main road, Lisa said, “You want to buy time, don’t you?”
Hollis nodded. “But you didn’t have to do that.”
“I did it for you, Sam. I saw your ego was getting in the way of your brain. I never thought you’d lose your cool like that.”
Hollis replied, “I was okay when I went in there. But… I started thinking about him.”
“About what he did to me? I shouldn’t have told you that.”
Hollis didn’t reply.
“And you were also angry at what he was saying about America.”
“All of the above.” Hollis said, “Thanks for cooling the situation. I’m sure that wasn’t an easy act for you.”
“You owe me one.”
“Right. And dinner.”
They continued their walk away from Burov’s dacha. Lisa said, “They captured Dodson.”
Hollis nodded. “Damned bad break for Dodson. But maybe that takes the pressure off Burov to break camp.”
“If you’re concerned that this place stay put, you obviously believe someone is coming for us.”
“That’s a good deduction. You’re starting to think like an intelligence officer.”
“And you talk like one. Answer the question, Hollis.”
He smiled. “I think it’s better that we’re here and not someplace else if a rescue attempt is made.” He added, “Don’t press me on it, Lisa. I think out loud sometimes because I have no one to talk to about any of this. I’ll think to myself now.”
Hollis thought that undoubtedly Alevy knew he and Lisa were kidnapped and, in fact, had anticipated their kidnapping, which was why Alevy, in an uncharacteristic display of sentiment, had tried to talk Lisa out of taking that flight. And in the two early-morning sessions he had with Alevy, Alevy hinted at some sort of rescue operation at the Charm School—perhaps, as Burov had guesse
But then Alevy, at Sheremetyevo, had indicated a swap, now that they could lay their hands on most of the three thousand Charm School graduates in the States. Alevy never actually lied to his peers; he just gave ten correct answers to the same question.
He tried to get into Alevy’s mind, which was not totally impossible because they were both in the same business and ostensibly had to think alike to solve the same sort of problems. He thought that Alevy not only knew he and Lisa had been kidnapped, but guessed that they had probably been taken to the Charm School. Alevy would not want Lisa to spend much time in Burov’s hands, because Alevy, above being an intelligence officer, was a man in love. And Alevy would not want Hollis to spend too much time in Burov’s hands either, because Alevy did not want Hollis’ brain in Burov’s possession too long.
Lisa broke into his thoughts. “I think we underestimated Burov’s intellect.”
“Yes, I was impressed with his little speech.” Hollis added, “What makes him tick is a weighted chain. He’s cuckoo.”
Lisa laughed. “You are too glib for your own good. Let’s go back and tell him that one.”
“Later.”
“What do you want to do between now and six P.M.?”
“Explore. Discover. Are you up to a long day?”
“Sure. I like watching you work. You intrigue me.”
He put his arm around her, and they continued down the main road.
They passed the shopping plaza, then the headquarters building and approached the VFW hall. Hollis said, “I’m to run into Poole here by accident at ten A.M.”
They climbed the porch steps and went into the building. There were about a dozen instructors in the rec room and twice that many students. Four men played billiards at one end of the room, and a group was in front of the television watching Platoon.
They found Poole at a card table with three students playing poker. Poole had a stack of chips in front of him and a wad of camp scrip. One of the cardplayers was Jim Hull, the young man whom Lisa had caused some discomfort in the gym. He smiled at Lisa, but she gave him a frosty look that sent him back to his cards.
Poole looked up from his hand. “Oh, hello, Colonel. Ms. Rhodes. Do you want to sit in?”
“No, thanks. Someone told me you were on the firewood committee.”
“Oh, sure. I’ll be with you in a second. Let me finish out the hand.”
Hollis and Lisa sat at a nearby table.
The men played out the hand, and one of the students took the pot with aces and sixes. Poole said to the three students, “That’s called the dead man’s hand.”
“Why?” one of them asked.
Poole explained, “It was the hand that Wild Bill Hickock was holding when he was shot in the back by someone in Deadwood. That’s a town somewhere in the American West. I don’t remember what state. But it’s an unlucky hand, even if you win with it. Aces over sixes. When someone gets that hand in poker, you say ‘dead man’s hand.’” Poole stood. “I’ll be back later. Don’t swipe my money.”
The three young men smiled.
Poole led Hollis and Lisa outside and stood at the edge of the main road some distance from the VFW hall.
Hollis remarked, “Dead man’s hand is aces over eights.”
“Really? How stupid of me.” He grinned and whispered, “I have to pull a fast one on them at least once a day, or I’m depressed.”
Lisa asked, “Have you ever been caught?”
“Sure. About a dozen times. Then Lena—that’s my wife—does a week in the slammer.” He looked at Hollis, then Lisa. “She doesn’t care. She’s proud of me when they take her away. She did four years in a logging camp before she came here. The cells here are like R and R in comparison, and she doesn’t have to do laundry in the slammer or make the bed because there are no beds. I cook her a big meal when she comes home.”
Lisa said, “But surely they can do more to her and to you if they chose to.”
“They can. But they hesitate. I explained to you, they’re using more carrots and fewer sticks now. They’ll go through the stick phase again one day. In fact, I kind of sense it coming.”
“And will you still sabotage the curriculum?” Lisa asked in a quiet voice.
“Absolutely. You know, it may not seem much to you—these little lies, like the aces and sixes. But I remember a true story I read once about a British flier imprisoned with other pilots in a German castle during World War Two. He was there a few years, not fifteen or twenty years, but his sense of frustration at not being able to do damage to his enemies became obsessive. So he would cut slivers of dry rot from the castle timbers and implant them in sound timbers, knowing that fifty or a hundred years later, the whole castle would be eaten by rot. Can you understand the psychology of that?”
“Yes,” Hollis replied. “I’ve heard of similar stories.”
Poole put his arms around them and drew them closer. He spoke softly. “Well, that’s sort of what we feel here and what we do here. Only we have our modern version of the castle timbers. I sometimes think of these little courses we teach as silicon chips. We’re supposed to implant the right microcircuitry on those chips so they can go into the big computer of the Russian student’s brain. But we put little scratches on those chips as we’re making them. Small imperfections that escape quality control. Then the Russian heads West with these little glitches, and maybe his computer works fine most of the time, and maybe he gets a malfunction at a noncritical moment. But one day, in the right situation, like when he’s sailing along at Mach two and sixty thousand feet and the engines are at full power, he’ll try a maneuver, and the imperfect microchip will fail him at a crucial moment. And the small malfunction at that time and place will be fatal. Like maybe one of those bozos in there will be playing cards someday with a CIA man and pulling aces and sixes and make a stupid comment. You understand?”
“Perfectly.”
“We try.”
“I know.”
“So, do you smoke Cuban cigars?”
“No.”
“You do now.” Poole took two aluminum cigar tubes from the pocket of his warm-up jacket and handed them to Hollis, who slipped them in his pocket. Poole said, “All the names of the Americans past and present who’ve been in this place. Signatures where possible, dates of first incarceration here, and dates of death where appropriate. That’s dynamite there, Colonel, if you can get that out of here and to the embassy.”
“I know that.”
“But maybe they don’t want dynamite in the embassy.”
“They may not. But they’ll do what they have to do.”
“Will they? Do you have any hope of—well, I won’t ask you again.” Poole inquired, “How was your morning?”
“I assume you know we went up to see Burov. Is it common to be asked to his house?”
“It used to be. Like being asked to take sherry with the headmaster. But the ethics committee ruled it out years ago. We only go if given a direct order by him to report. Never take a drink or even a glass of water. I think he’s insulted, so he never asks anymore.”
“All right.”
“Can you tell me what he wanted?”
“Well, basically he wanted to shoot us. But he’ll settle for our working here.”
Poole nodded. “If you could be sure he’d only shoot you, I’d advise you to tell him to shove his job. But he’ll put you through an interrogation that won’t be very pleasant.”
Hollis replied, “I know that. But we have the choice of a more pleasant interrogation by drugs and polygraph if we take his job offer. Either way, he’s going to get things from us that I’d rather he didn’t know.”
Poole looked at Hollis, then at Lisa, and asked her, “Are you in intelligence?”
“Yes. But only very recently. I used to write press releases.”<
Hollis continued, “I have to give him an answer by six. We’ll tell him yes, but I’m going to buy time between then and the polygraph.”
Poole stared at Hollis. “What are you buying time for?”
Which, Hollis thought, was a very good question. If he were to answer Poole, he would say, “Time to get the people in Washington moving.” He knew that Seth Alevy would be presenting to the President a very convincing case to prove that Lisa Rhodes and Sam Hollis had been kidnapped, not incinerated in that helicopter crash; and that they were being held in the Charm School. Alevy would also tell the National Security Council that Hollis had more information in his head than they would ever want the Russians to know. Alevy would hint at dark things, would cajole, plead, and threaten. And Alevy might even have General Surikov in the White House at this very moment, presenting a very chilling microfilm show of three thousand Soviet agents to a stunned President and his security advisers. Eventually, even Washington would realize that something had to be done and the hell with détente.
“Buy time for what?” Poole repeated.
Hollis did not respond to the question, but informed Poole, “Burov says they’ve captured Dodson.”
“Jack… captured?”
“That’s what Burov said.”
Poole seemed stunned, then pulled himself together. “Now comes the bloodbath.”
“I’ll speak to Burov tonight. I’ll see what I can do.”
“You can’t do a thing.”
“But I’ll give it all I’ve got.”
“All right… that idiotic Halloween party is tonight. Begins at seven. We all have to show up with our women.”
“I’ll talk to you then.” Hollis added, “Commander, is it too early for you to have a drink?”
“Normally, yes. But I’ll make an exception this morning.”
“Good day.”
Poole walked off as if in a trance.
36
Sam Hollis and Lisa Rhodes sat in Colonel Burov’s office. Also in the office were two KGB Border Guards standing at parade rest directly behind them.