The Charm School by Nelson DeMille
Alevy and O’Shea carried their luggage out and piled it some distance from the helicopter. Alevy opened one of the suitcases with a key and removed three KGB Border Guard uniforms, along with black boots, caps, four Soviet watches, pistols, and three KGB greatcoats. Alevy, Mills, and Brennan changed into the KGB uniforms, while O’Shea put on the Aeroflot pilot’s flight suit.
As Alevy buttoned his greatcoat, he scanned the rim of the pit but couldn’t see much in the darkness. “I think we can wait it out here.”
Mills surveyed the pit. “I didn’t see any lights or signs of life coming in.” He looked at his Soviet watch. “If this thing works, it’s ten thirty-two. We’re going to miss our Finnair flight.”
Brennan chuckled as he strapped on a leather belt with a holster that held a silenced 9mm Makarov automatic. Alevy and Mills strapped on their holsters also, and O’Shea slipped his automatic into the pocket of his flight suit. They synchronized their watches, then heaped their civilian clothes, passports, visas, watches, and wallets onto the stack of luggage, then threw the Beriozka bags and attaché cases on top of that. Alevy took the satin box of amber beads from his trench coat and transferred it into his KGB greatcoat.
Brennan reached into the open suitcase and retrieved the last items: two cylindrical phosphorus incendiary grenades with timers. Brennan set the grenades’ timer for three hours and shoved them into the pile of luggage and clothes.
Alevy said, “Let’s go.” They all returned to the helicopter.
O’Shea climbed back into the pilot’s seat, and Alevy again sat in the copilot’s seat. Brennan and Mills sat behind them. Alevy asked O’Shea, “What is your estimate of our maximum available flight time?”
O’Shea thought a moment, then replied, “As I said when we first discussed this, helicopter flying time is very hard to estimate. Fixed-wing craft have more defined parameters. You take off, fly, and land. With a chopper, you do other things. Like hover, which burns a lot of fuel.”
Alevy let O’Shea talk, because he knew O’Shea had to talk it out. Also, because they had three hours to kill.
O’Shea went on, “A lot has to do with winds, air temperature, load, altitude, and the type of maneuvers we get involved with. It has to do with me not wasting fuel, but I’m not familiar enough with this craft to squeeze the most flight time and distance out of the least amount of fuel.” O’Shea said nothing for a while, then answered Alevy’s question. “Worst case would be two hours’ flight time. Best, about four hours.”
“Straight line distance?”
“Figure… at about a hundred mph, two to four hundred miles.”
Bert Mills remarked, “Even best case is going to be a damned close thing.”
Brennan, who didn’t seem interested in the subject of fuel, was checking his Makarov automatic. He slid the magazine in and out, then worked the slide mechanism like a man who’s had some bad experiences using other people’s guns. He said, “Everybody check their weapons.”
Everyone did as Brennan said, as he was the mission armorer.
Brennan then rummaged through Alevy’s large overnight bag that had been left aboard and took out the broken-down pieces of a Dragunov sniper rifle and quickly assembled it in the dark. He mounted a four-power night scope on the rifle and loaded it, then pointed the rifle through the windshield and turned on the electronic scope. “Not bad for made in the USSR.”
“They make some nice weapons,” Mills remarked.
Brennan shut off the scope and laid the rifle at his feet.
Alevy said to Brennan, “There are two aerial survey maps in the bag.”
Brennan found the maps and handed them forward. Alevy gave one to O’Shea, who laid it out on his lap. Alevy handed him a red penlight, and O’Shea studied the map.
Brennan was still rummaging through the bag. “Phosphorus grenades, extra ammunition, a little of this, and a little of that. Inventory complete.” He said to Alevy, “It’s none of my business, but where did you get these uniforms and hardware? And how did you keep the room maid from seeing everything?”
Alevy replied, “That little antique store in the Arbat has a costume shop in the basement. The hardware came in the diplomatic pouch. As for the nosy maids, I had that bag and the suitcase delivered to the lobby from the outside just before we boarded the bus.”
Brennan said, “I want you to know something, Mr. Alevy. I have a lot of confidence in you, and I don’t think for a minute this is a suicide mission. Also, I like Colonel Hollis. He’s a straight shooter. And I liked his lady. That’s why I’m here and not in London.”
No one added anything to that for a few minutes. Then O’Shea said, “I don’t want anyone to get anxious about the flying. Think about what you have to do. I’ll take care of the flying.” He added, “The principles of flight remain the same even here and even if the rotors do go the wrong way.” He tried a laugh, but it came out wrong.
Bert Mills said, “This damned uniform is pinching my crotch.”
Brennan remarked, “That’s because KGB tailors don’t have to allow room for balls.”
Alevy said to Brennan, “Bill, there’s a blue Beriozka bag I left back there. I got Bazooka bubble gum and some other things. Pass it around.”
“Bazooka? Hey, thanks.” Brennan found the gum and passed the bag to Mills, who took a candy bar. He passed it up to O’Shea, who declined. Alevy sucked on a hard candy. Brennan blew a big bubble, and it popped. Brennan said, “Hey, it’s Halloween. Happy Halloween.”
No one answered.
Brennan added, “I’ve seen some scary costumes for Halloween, but these outfits are the scariest fucking things I’ve ever seen.”
Mills forced a laugh. “Where we’re going you’ll see about five hundred more of those scary outfits.”
“Thanks,” Brennan said.
The minutes passed in silence except for the ticking of the cooling engine and the sound of popping bubble gum. Alevy said to everyone, “Relax.”
38
The VFW hall held close to a thousand people, but it was the quietest thousand people Hollis had ever been among.
The building was surrounded by armed KGB Border Guards, and no one was permitted to leave until midnight. The main recreation room was darkened, lit only by black candles and the grinning faces of jack-o’-lanterns. In the barroom and all the side rooms, men and women congregated, speaking in hushed, angry tones. Occasionally someone would weep. For the amount of food and liquor available, Hollis noticed that no one was drunk, and the food remained untouched, even by the students, who Hollis thought seemed very uncomfortable. The masks, Hollis reflected, were off, literally and figuratively; no one was wearing the party masks, and no one was acting his part.
In the center of the recreation room sat a black-draped coffin on a bier, a party decoration that had taken on another significance. No one stood around the coffin.
Burov had not put in an appearance, and Hollis pictured him in his dacha, sitting with his wife near the porcelain stove, reading Pushkin or perhaps watching an American movie on videotape.
Hollis, who knew he would not be among the ten randomly picked for execution, felt somewhat guilty at being one of only two Americans in the hall who wasn’t contemplating his imminent death. Lisa, he knew, felt the same.
When he had told Lewis Poole of Burov’s plans to execute Dodson and ten others, they had discussed the possibility of not putting out the news. But Poole, Lisa, and he had concluded that everyone had a right to know.
There had been some incidents during the so-called party: Jane Landis had spit in the face of a student, and the stereo that had been playing funereal music to set the mood of the theme party had been kicked to pieces by one of the kidnapped American women, Samantha Wells. Two American fliers, Ted Brewer and another man, had gone outside and tried to push their way past the cordon of Border Guards but were forcibly carried back inside. Captain Schuyler, whom Hollis had met on the path with Poole and Lieutenant Colonel Mead, had punched one of the
To the students’ credit, Hollis thought, they took the verbal abuse and looked rather sheepish. Certainly, Hollis reflected, the school would be closed for weeks if not months after this mad night.
General Austin sat in a small study, speaking briefly with groups of men and women, twenty and thirty at a time until most of the two hundred eighty-two Americans under his command and their wives and girlfriends had been addressed by him. Hollis made his way into the study and heard Austin say, “To attempt to escape is our only pure and uncompromised act here. So we shall try again and again and again. There won’t be ten years between attempts. There won’t even be twelve months until the next one. And if they want to shoot us ten at a time for each attempt, so be it. This school is closed.”
Hollis listened awhile, then went into the barroom and got a glass of beer. Lisa found him and held his arm. “Sam, I can’t take much of this.”
Hollis glanced at his watch. “Another few minutes. At midnight it’s over.”
He looked around the long barroom and spotted Sonny and Marty talking in a corner. At a small table sat the four students he’d met in their cottage. One of them, Erik Larson, was looking more like Yevgenni Petrovich Korniyenko, Hollis thought. In fact, all the students seemed not to know how to act anymore, and Hollis wondered why Burov had subjected them to this. Perhaps there was a lesson here for them too. And the lesson had to be that the state was all powerful and that disloyalty equaled death. But they already knew that.
Commander Poole came up to Lisa and Hollis. He said, “The men—and the women—are prepared to stick together. We can start a revolt, right here and now. We can refuse to leave here and hold the students hostage. We can march on Burov’s house. We can all rush the main gate, and perhaps some of us will get through and make it to the embassy.”
Hollis looked at Poole, and they both knew that Poole was not stating viable options, but was enumerating different forms of suicide. Hollis said, “They have the guns, Commander. That’s what the twentieth century is all about. Whoever has the rapid-fire automatic weapons is in charge.”
Poole nodded with his head down. “So we take the eleven losses and let it go at that?”
“Yes. We have to live to try again and again. Someone has to get out of here. That’s what General Austin is saying, and he’s the boss. And you know, I don’t think things will be the same around here after tonight.”
“No.” Poole thought a moment. “And you know what else? That’s for the better. We’ve all gotten too cozy with these people. We have our comforts, our women, our children, our intellectual freedom… it was hard for us to get angry and stay angry. That’s all changed now.” He looked at Hollis and Lisa. “I think your presence here was the slap in the face that we needed to bring us out of it.”
Hollis cleared his throat. “I may have sounded hard at General Austin’s house, and I assure you my views haven’t changed. But I didn’t mean to leave the impression that I am not concerned for your welfare.”
“I understand.”
Midnight came, and people began streaming silently out of the hall.
Poole said to Lisa, “We’ll pray tonight.” He said to Hollis, “Burov has imposed a curfew for twelve-thirty A.M., so we are all effectively under house arrest until dawn. We can’t meet or discuss this any further. The penalty for breaking curfew is to be shot on sight. So I will wish you both good-night and see you on the soccer field in the morning.” He turned and left.
Hollis asked Lisa to wait around until all the Americans and their wives were gone. Oddly, Hollis thought, most of the students stayed on. He noticed they began drinking, and as he suspected, one of them approached him and Lisa.
Jeff Rooney greeted them with less ebullience than the first time they’d met. Neither Hollis nor Lisa returned the greeting.
Rooney said, “I just want you guys to know I feel awful about this.”
Hollis looked Rooney in the eye and replied, “You’re going to feel even worse when you get to the States and get picked up by the FBI. You can think about how sorry you are for the rest of your life in a federal penitentiary.” Hollis added baitingly, “You can study for your Air Force tests in the big house, General.”
Rooney seemed at a loss for words. Several students began to gather around.
Hollis continued, “They didn’t tell you that the rate of capture for you people is about two hundred a year, did they?”
“No… they… I didn’t read about any…”
“Even Western newspapers don’t know everything, you idiot.” Hollis snapped, “Get out of my sight.”
“I’m sorry—”
Lisa said, “You know better, Rooney. You know what a monstrous system this is. You all know, and there is no excuse for you. You are contemptible. Go away!”
Rooney didn’t seem inclined to move, and neither did the growing crowd of young men and women. Rooney said, “I’m sorry. I really am. I… can’t understand why Colonel Burov—”
“Then,” Hollis said, “why don’t you organize the students and make a protest to Burov?”
“We can’t—”
“No, you can’t because you are no more an American than Genghis Khan or Colonel Burov. You have no idea what it means to be a free man with rights and responsibilities.”
“I do! I learned that here.”
Lisa stepped closer to him. “You can’t learn that.” She poked him in the chest. “You have to live it every day. Go on, Rooney, go and exercise your right to freedom of speech, guaranteed in both our constitutions. Exercise your right to petition for redress of grievances. That would be good training for you.” She looked around. “For all of you.”
No one spoke, and Hollis had the impression that some of the one hundred or so students in the barroom now were thinking about things, but a good number of them had that neutral vacuous expression that people wear when they hear a call to arms and pretend the speaker is addressing someone else. About half the students, however, seemed ready for some sort of action. Hollis said to them, “Do you understand that you have no more rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness than any prisoner here? Did you ever wonder what happened to the students who wash out of this school?”
John Fleming, one of the men they had met on the basketball court, shouted, “You’re trying to seduce us in your typical Western way. We don’t listen to Western treachery.”
Marty, the Landises’ boarder, called back, “If you’re going to argue with them, argue like an American, not a stupid Russian.”
This brought some shouts pro and con. Suzie Trent stepped out of the crowd and walked directly to Lisa. “What happens to the students who wash out?”
Before Lisa could answer, Jeff Rooney snapped at her, “Shut up! Do you want to get into trouble?”
“I want to know.”
The Landises’ other boarder, Sonny, stepped out of the crowd surrounding Hollis and Lisa and addressed the students. “I’ll speak like an American. These two are abusing their rights to free assembly and freedom of speech. They are inciting to riot and pose a clear and present danger to the peace. I propose we make a citizen’s arrest and take them to headquarters.”
Hollis was impressed with Sonny’s grasp of the law and how it could be perverted. Hollis said to him, “Your master, Petr Burov, is going to illegally execute—”
Sonny shouted, “There is nothing illegal about it! There are duly constituted laws in this place, Hollis, and Dodson broke one of them. He knew it was a capital offense.”
Hollis stood face-to-face with Sonny. “What about the ten people to be executed at random? That is called reprisals and is unlawful in any civilized society.”
Sonny put his face closer to Hollis’. “Are you saying we’re uncivilized?”
Lisa pushed Sonny’s chest. “What do you call executing a POW who was doing his duty and exercising his right under the Geneva Convention to escape?”
Sonny glared at Li
The room was very quiet, and someone said softly, “She’s right. The execution is illegal under international law.”
A few people murmured assent.
Erik Larson cleared his throat. “Most of us are Red Air Force. We know that’s no way to execute a brother officer. Maybe we can draft a note to Burov—”
“You needn’t bother,” Burov said as he strode into the room. There were six armed KGB Border Guards behind him. He looked at the students, then at Hollis and Lisa. “Well, are you trying to replay the American Revolution here? We’ve already had our revolution, thank you.”
Hollis walked toward Burov and said, “I think this class will never be the same again, Colonel.”
“I think you’re right.”
“Call off these executions.”
“No, I’m more convinced than ever that we need this tomorrow. All of us.” Burov looked at Marty, then at Jeff Rooney, Suzie Trent, and a few of the others. He said, “I commend all of you on your fine acting. An outsider would have actually thought you believed what you were saying.” He smiled unpleasantly.
Suzie Trent said in a soft voice, “I believed what I heard about this terrible killing tomorrow.”
Burov glanced at her, then looked at the others. “Does anyone else wish to add anything to this young lady’s comment?”
No one spoke immediately, then John Fleming said, “Yes, Colonel, I think she has always harbored unorthodox and improper thoughts about our socialist motherland.”
Hollis noted that this time no one told Fleming he sounded like a stupid Russian, so Hollis said, “You’re full of shit.”
Burov looked at his watch. “It is twelve twenty-five, Colonel. If you and Ms. Rhodes leave now, you can probably get into your home before the curfew. If you don’t, you may very well be shot by a patrol. Good evening.”
Hollis took Lisa’s arm and led her toward the door. Lisa said to Burov, “For everyone’s sake, please reconsider.”