The Charm School by Nelson DeMille
“Yes, sir!”
“Has he sent a vehicle for me?”
“No, sir. And I have no instructions regarding your arrival, Major.”
“How unfortunate for you,” Alevy said, using a sarcasm favored by KGB officers. “What is your name, Private?”
“Frolev.”
“Well, Frolev, call and get me a vehicle.”
“Yes, sir.” Frolev did an about-face and marched back to the radio cabin.
Alevy followed.
Frolev walked past the spotlight’s flatbed, which Alevy noted had no vehicle attached to it. This izba was a simple structure of hewn logs and the ubiquitous sheet metal roof. There were some windows cut into the cabin, and from the roof protruded a stovepipe and two aerials. Two wires, electric and telephone, ran from the cabin to a nearby pine tree.
Frolev opened the door of the one-room izba and moved aside as Alevy entered. A bare lightbulb hung from the center rafter. Inside were two other men—one more than Alevy had figured on.
One man lay sleeping on a cot along the far wall, a hard-cover copy of Rybakov’s The Children of the Arbat on his rising and falling chest. The other man, a sergeant, sat at a field desk studying a game of chess that had neared its end. As Frolev pulled the door shut, he yelled, “Attention!”
The sergeant jumped to his feet, and the sleeping man stumbled out of the cot and stood to attention.
Alevy looked around the room. In the far corner was a ceramic tile stove atop which sat a steaming teakettle. Along the right wall was a long table on which were a VHF radio, a shortwave radio, and two telephones.
Alevy moved to the chessboard and examined the pieces. He said to Frolev, “Are you white? How did you get yourself into such a mess?”
The man laughed politely.
The middle-aged sergeant, standing at the desk, cleared his throat, “Excuse me, Major.”
Alevy looked at the man. “Yes, Sergeant?”
“Unfortunately I know nothing of your arrival.”
Frolev said quickly, “Sergeant, this is Major Voronin to see Colonel Burov. He requires a vehicle.”
The sergeant nodded and said to Alevy, “Sir, we were not able to raise you on the radio.”
“Nor was my pilot able to raise you. You’ll do a communications check with him. Have you called the duty officer regarding our landing?”
“No, sir, but I’ll do that now.” He said to the man near the cot, “Kanavsky, call Lieutenant Cheltsov.” Kanavsky moved quickly toward the field phones.
Alevy drew a short, discreet breath. Things were going well. Or perhaps his years in this country had given him some insight into how these people reacted to given situations. The sergeant hadn’t called the duty officer because he didn’t want to annoy an officer, who would only have snapped something like, “What the hell do you want me to do about it? Flap my wings and intercept the helicopter? Find out who he is and call me back.”
Alevy stepped casually off to the side so that he had the three men in his view. Kanavsky picked up the field phone and reached for the hand crank.
Without making an abrupt movement, Alevy drew his silenced automatic and put the first round through the chest of Frolev, still standing with the AK-47 at the door. Frolev gave a start but didn’t seem to know that he’d been shot. Alevy spun and put the second round into the side of Kanavsky. The man shouted in surprise, dropped the phone, and his hand went to his rib cage.
The sergeant reacted quickly, drawing his revolver from his holster. Alevy fired first, hitting the man in the midsection, causing him to double over and stagger back into the field desk, scattering the chess game. Alevy fired again into the crown of the sergeant’s head, and the man dropped to the floor.
Alevy walked to Kanavsky, who was still standing, and put a bullet into his head, then went to Frolev, who was trying to get to his feet. Alevy stood off a short distance so as not to get splattered and fired once into the side of Frolev’s head.
Alevy hung up the telephone and took the kettle off the wood stove. He found a wool glove warming by the stove and wiped the wetness from his gun hand, then cleaned the blood from his jackboots. He loaded a fresh magazine into the automatic, drew a deep breath, and reminded himself that several hundred Americans had lived and died in this place for nearly two decades. He composed himself and stepped outside.
Brennan and Mills were already there, Brennan with the Dragunov sniper rifle and Mills with the black leather overnight bag. Alevy said in a low voice, “Bill, you tidy up in there and stay put.”
Brennan asked, “Are you sure I can’t come along?”
Alevy liked Brennan, and Brennan was very brave and enthusiastic but had a short attention span. “As I told you, Captain O’Shea needs some advance warning if things start to come apart. Also we don’t know if these guys phone in scheduled sit reps to anyone or if anyone calls them periodically. So if somebody calls looking for a situation report, just say nechevo—there is nothing. That’s standard radio lingo for negative sit rep. Nechevo.”
“Nechevo.”
“Sound bored and tired. Yawn.”
Brennan yawned and said through his yawn, “Nechevo.”
“Good. If anyone gets chatty on the phone say it again with emphasis. Be rude and hang up.” Alevy added, “I’m assuming that calls originate from headquarters, so I’ll relieve the commo man there of his duties. I’ll call you from there—you answer the phone with Da. Not Allo. Da.”
“Da. Nechevo.”
“Fine. And if anyone comes around to check this post, let them in, but don’t let them out.”
Brennan smiled. “I’ll let the Dragunov talk Russian.”
Mills added, “Don’t hesitate to jump on that chopper if you hear all hell breaking loose.”
Brennan didn’t reply.
Alevy slapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck, Bill.”
“You too.”
Brennan took the leather bag inside the cabin. Alevy and Mills moved quickly up the narrow pine-covered lane that led away from the izba and the helicopter clearing. Alevy said, “You were supposed to wait for my signal before getting out of the chopper.”
“You were a long time in there. Did they call headquarters?”
“They said they didn’t.”
“Do you think Brennan will be all right on the telephone?”
“About as good as O’Shea was with the helicopter.”
Mills commented, “Sometimes you can overplan an operation. We don’t have that problem here.”
Alevy smiled grimly. They had a pilot who couldn’t fly his craft, a man on the telephone who couldn’t speak Russian, and Bert Mills, who didn’t look, act, or speak Russian. But it was the best Alevy could do, considering the problems inherent in mounting an operation in the heart of the Soviet Union. The word of the night was improvise. “Improvise.”
“And bluff,” Mills added.
They intersected the blacktopped main road of the camp, and Alevy took a compass from his greatcoat. To the right, he knew, should be the main camp gate, beyond which was Borodino Field. To the left should be the center of the camp. The satellite photographs had shown a large concrete building that Alevy hoped was the headquarters. They turned left and moved quickly along the edge of the tree-lined road.
Within a few minutes they saw the lights of a long wooden building that hadn’t appeared in the satellite photographs. They approached it cautiously. Alevy saw it had a porch out front, and as he got closer he heard music coming from the building. Alevy pointed to the sign above the door that read VFW POST 000. Mills nodded and motioned to the Coke machine.
Alevy stepped up to the porch, followed by Mills. Through the window they could see a large recreation room in which were about twenty men and a few women, all in their mid-twenties. Alevy said, “Students.”
A group of men and women were watching Bela Lugosi’s Dracula on a seven-foot video screen. The rest of the students were sitting in a group of chairs, drinking and talking. There were Hal
Mills said, “Party. Halloween.”
Alevy nodded. He hadn’t thought of that, though it looked as if it were about over. He focused on the huge American flag on the opposite wall. “Bizarre.”
As they turned to leave, the front door opened, and a middle-aged man in a white ski jacket came out onto the porch and stopped short. He stared at Alevy and Mills.
Alevy and Mills looked back at him. No one spoke for a few seconds, then the man said in English, “You speak English?”
Alevy nodded.
The man cleared his throat and said in a drunken slur, “Well, go ahead and shoot.”
“Shoot?”
The door opened again, and a young man came out and said quickly in Russian, “I’ll take responsibility for this American, Major.”
Alevy tried to figure out what was going on and what language to reply in. Both men were clearly very drunk.
The young man spoke in Russian. “My name is Marty Bambach. This is Tim Landis. I board with him. I’ll take him home.”
Landis said in English, “I just lost track of time. No big fucking deal.”
Alevy began to understand. Landis was the American, probably violating a curfew, and Bambach was a Russian American. Alevy said to Marty in Russian, “I can overlook this man’s curfew violation if you take responsibility for him.”
Marty replied in Russian, “Thank you, Major.” He looked at Alevy in the dim light. “Are you new here?”
“Yes. Why don’t you go inside? I want to speak to this man a moment.”
Marty hesitated, then said, “He doesn’t speak Russian.”
“Go inside.”
“Yes, sir.” Marty turned to Landis and said in perfect English, which surprised Alevy and Mills, “It’s okay, Tim. He just wants to talk to you. I’ll take you home.” Marty turned and wove his way back into the building.
Landis staggered to the edge of the porch and leaned on the rail. He unzipped his fly and urinated. “Fuck this place.” He zipped himself up and wobbled back toward the door.
Alevy took his arm and said in accented English, “Have a seat there.”
“Let go of my arm.”
“Listen to me. Is Colonel Sam Hollis here?”
Landis looked at Alevy but said nothing.
“Hollis and Lisa Rhodes. Are they here?”
“Hollis… I felt sorry for him… he made it home.” Landis shook his head.
“Go on.”
“Plucked out of the drink… but here he is with us poor bastards… twenty years late… but here he is.” Landis suddenly attempted a salute. “Captain Timothy Landis, United States Air Force, at your service, Major. Hey, when is this fucking tour up?”
“Very soon.”
“Yeah? Best news.”
“Where is Hollis?”
“My wife Jane thinks he’s a hunk.”
“Wife?”
Landis went on, “But he’s got his woman with him. Fucking women. They’re going to shoot her. She talks too much.”
“Who? Who are they going to shoot?”
“Huh?”
“Lisa Rhodes? Are they going to shoot Lisa Rhodes?”
“Probably. She talks too much too. Her and my wife. Dynamic duo.” Landis fell into a rocking chair and stared at the porch ceiling.
“Where is Hollis?”
“Oh…” Landis looked around as though familiarizing himself with his surroundings. “Oh… they gave him Dodson’s place. Behind this building. Couple hundred yards.”
“And the woman with him? Lisa Rhodes?”
Landis looked at Alevy and Mills. “What you want to know for? Hey, those two been through enough of your shit.”
“What shit?”
“The fucking cooler. You’re all the fucking same. You and Burov and all the KGB shits.”
“Is Burov here?”
“Where the fuck else would he be?”
Mills put his hand on Alevy’s shoulder and whispered, “We have to get moving.”
“Hold on.” He said to Landis, “The woman. Lisa. Is she with Hollis? In Dodson’s place?”
Landis rose unsteadily to his feet. “Leave them alone.” Landis suddenly took a swing at Alevy, and Alevy stepped back. Landis shouted, “Go ahead, you bastard, shoot me! Shoot me! I want to die!” Landis staggered across the porch and fell against a post, covering his face with his hands. Alevy and Mills could hear him sobbing, and as they walked away, they heard him cry out, “My God, get me out of here!”
Mills said softly, “Jesus… Seth, this is bad.”
“I didn’t think it would be good, Bert. You understand now, don’t you?”
“I’m beginning to. I’m not sorry I came.” He added, “Wives?”
Alevy shrugged. “Camp whores, I guess.”
They found the path that ran behind the VFW hall and followed it down a slope into a thickly treed hollow. Mills whispered, “The other guy. Marty Bambach. That was a Russian. His English was perfect.”
Alevy nodded.
“And he was protecting Landis.”
Alevy replied, “I can’t even begin to imagine what sort of surreal world has developed here. But we know they have jails and curfews and that the KGB is in charge.”
Alevy reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and took out a small radio receiver, turned it on, and extended the aerial. He put the jack to his ear and listened. “Well, we have a signal. It’s somewhere in this area.” As he walked he said, “Getting louder.” He looked around and noticed for the first time a shingled cottage, set back in the trees with its lights off.
Mills whispered, “It looks like an American Cape Cod. This is eerie.”
Alevy moved through the trees, and the signal got stronger. He tossed the receiver in the bushes and approached the front door. The door had no lock cylinder, only a knob, and it turned, but the door didn’t move. Alevy put his shoulder to the door and pressed slowly. He felt something give, then heard metal hitting the floor. He whispered, “Stay here.”
Alevy opened the door and slipped inside the dark house, closing the door behind him. He turned on a red-filtered flashlight and played the beam off the walls and furniture, then noticed an open doorway in the right-hand wall, through which he could see the glow of an electric heater. He went through the doorway and found himself in the bedroom. His light picked out the icon on the wall over the double bed. Alevy walked softly over the floorboards to the bed and looked down at Lisa Rhodes, bundled under a stack of quilts. Involuntarily he reached out to touch her cheek.
The crook of an arm locked around his throat, and he saw a long serrated bread knife poised in front of his heart. Alevy managed to turn his head slightly and said softly, “Hello, Sam.”
Hollis released his grip. “Hello, Seth.” He motioned toward the door, and they went into the living room. Hollis turned on a table lamp, and Alevy saw he was wearing a warm-up suit similar to what Landis and Bambach had on. Hollis rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, and Alevy nodded. Hollis put a black gospel tape in the player. Alevy said softly, “Hell of a way to greet a friend.”
“You’re not dressed like any friends that I have.”
Alevy smiled. “You’re a cool customer, Colonel.”
Hollis hesitated, then said, “It’s actually good to see you for a change.” He put out his hand, and Alevy took it. Hollis said, “I was beginning to wonder.”
“I came as fast as I could, Sam. I spent five days in Washington selling this operation.”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’ll brief you as we go along. Why don’t you go wake Lisa?”
Hollis went back into the bedroom and closed the door. Alevy went to the front door, opened it, and spoke to Mills, who was crouched behind an evergreen with his pistol drawn. Alevy said, “They’re here. Few minutes.” He closed the door and walked around the room, examining it. He picked up a stack of magazines, then looked at the videotapes on
Hollis came back into the room. “She’s coming.”
Alevy nodded and motioned around the room. “Not bad.”
“Not good, Seth.”
“I heard they gave you a rough time.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“From a Captain Landis. Know him?”
“Yes.”
“Looks like a burnout,” Alevy said.
“They’re all burnouts. How did you see Landis?”
“At VFW Post zero zero zero.” Alevy explained briefly.
Hollis nodded. “I could spend a week telling you about this madhouse, but I suspect time is short. How did you get here?”
“I misappropriated an Aeroflot chopper from the Trade Center. Mi-28.”
“Right. The one I briefed you on. Who flew?”
“Your aide. He’s rather fond of you and would also like you to reconsider some of the ratings you gave him on his efficiency report.”
“I’ll think about it. Who else is with you?”
“My man, Bert Mills. He’s outside. And Bill Brennan.”
“Brennan? He’s back?”
“Just for the day.”
“Explain the plan to me.”
“Well, I dropped four canisters of something called THX, a new sleeping gas—”
“Sandman.”
“Yes, that’s the code name. Very potent. The canisters are on timers. We have about an hour and a quarter left.”
“For what?”
“For this and that.”
“Who are you taking out of here?”
“You and Lisa and two others. That’s all I can take on an Mi-28, and that’s all the evidence I need to effect the release of everyone else.”
Hollis nodded, “I’d be willing to stay here.”
“I know you would, Sam. But you know too much, and I can’t leave you in their hands.” Alevy hesitated, then asked, “They grilled you?”