The Charm School by Nelson DeMille
Mills went to the back of the cabin and slid a mask over Dodson’s face. He looked at Burov and said, “Well, Colonel, the good guys won.”
Unexpectedly, Burov laughed. “Yes? The CIA are the good guys? Your own countrymen don’t think so, no more than my countrymen think the KGB are the good guys. You and I are pariahs, Mr. Mills. That’s what sets us apart from humanity.”
“Could be. Glad to see you learned something in your own school.” Mills took a Syrette from his pocket and jabbed the spring-loaded device into Burov’s neck. “You talk too much.” He slid a ski mask over Burov’s head. “That’s much better.”
Brennan slid open the door, and a rush of cold air filled the heated cabin. Brennan jumped down onto the rolling deck, followed by Lisa, O’Shea, and Hollis. Mills got out last and said, “I’ll have Dodson and Burov taken to the infirmary.” He looked up at the Union Jack. “I sort of figured it would be British. There aren’t many of our intrepid NATO allies we can count on anymore.”
Hollis observed, “For this operation, I don’t even trust our allies in Washington, Bert.”
“Good point.”
Lisa asked, “Are we home free, or not?”
Hollis didn’t think they would ever be home free as long as they lived. He replied, “We’re in the right neighborhood.”
The door of the quarterdeck opened and six seamen dressed in dark sweaters appeared. They approached the helicopter and looked at their five passengers curiously: four men, one woman, all wearing black masks. Three men were in Russian uniforms, one in a sweat suit. The woman wore a sweat suit and parka. And on board the helicopter, Hollis thought, were two unconscious and battered men in black masks, one in pajamas and one in a shredded sweat suit. If the seamen had been asked to pick out the good guys from the bad guys, Hollis realized, they would probably guess wrong.
One of the seamen made a pushing motion toward the helicopter as if he didn’t think anyone spoke English. Mills shook his head, held up two fingers, and pointed. The six men went to the helicopter and removed Dodson and Burov, laying them on the cold, wet deck.
Hollis jumped back into the cockpit and released the brakes, then joined O’Shea, Brennan, and the six sailors in rolling the helicopter to the portside rail. One of the men swung open the gangplank section of the railing. They all pushed from the rear of the fuselage, sending the Mi-28 over the side, nose first, its long tail boom rising into the air as the front plunged down toward the churning sea. Instinctively, they all went to the rail and watched as the helicopter bobbed a moment until the sea rushed into its open door and it slid, cockpit first, into the dark water. Its tail section seemed to wave a farewell, and Hollis found himself touching his hand to his forehead and noticed that O’Shea did the same.
The crewmen moved quickly to the three fog lights, which were portable and connected by cords running to electrical outlets. They disconnected the lights and threw them overboard. Hollis thought there was something disturbing about that. Getting rid of the helicopter was an obvious thing to do. But getting rid of three small lights indicated that the captain was taking precautions in the event of a possible boarding and search by Soviet authorities or at the very least a flyover. Hollis wondered what other evidence the captain was prepared to throw overboard.
Hollis looked over the port rail to the south and saw two ships on the distant horizon. They may have seen the helicopter landing, and through binoculars they could have seen it pushed overboard. If they were Soviet ships or even East Bloc craft, they might radio a report. More to the point, Red Navy radar had probably picked up the unidentified flight and had recognized its flight characteristics as that of a helicopter. They could have seen the blip descend to sea level, and perhaps had even concluded that it had landed on the ship that also appeared on their screens. Three-mile limit notwithstanding, the Soviets claimed this whole part of the gulf as their private pond.
Mills seemed to guess what Hollis was thinking. Mills nodded toward the two ships on the horizon. “That’s why we wanted a night landing.”
“Yes, but radar works at night.”
Mills replied, “I was told it would look like a crash at sea on radar.”
“It might. Depends on the Ivan who was staring at the screen.”
“Well, then this is a test to see whose side God is really on.”
Hollis smiled grimly. “After what we did at the Charm School, I think we’re on our own.” Hollis turned and walked away from the rail. Four of the seamen had stretchers now and were carrying Dodson and Burov toward the quarterdeck. One of them said to Mills, “Infirmary.”
One of the other two sailors motioned to them, and they followed him into a door on the quarterdeck, then went up a narrow companionway to the upper deck and walked along a passageway without meeting another person. The seaman took them up one more deck and showed them into a white-painted chart room with large portholes that was located behind the bridge. The seaman left wordlessly, and Hollis pulled off his ski mask. Lisa, O’Shea, Mills, and Brennan did the same.
They all looked at one another, not knowing what their mood was supposed to be. In truth, Hollis thought, they were all so numbed by fatigue, tension, and sadness that he wouldn’t be surprised if they all stretched out on the chart tables and fell asleep.
Finally Mills broke into a grin and said in a buoyant voice, “Well, my friends, next stop is Liverpool.”
Brennan gave a long hoot and yelled, “We did it!”
There was some backslapping and handshaking, and Lisa got a kiss from Mills, Brennan, and O’Shea.
O’Shea, in an expansive mood, said to Hollis, “You’re a hell of a chopper pilot, General. Where’d you learn to fly rotary wing?”
Hollis replied, “Somewhere between Novgorod and Leningrad.”
Mills laughed. “You fooled me. Hey, look, there’s coffee and brandy.” Mills went to a chart table along the starboard side bulkhead on which sat an electric urn. He drew five mugs of coffee, then poured brandy into each one and passed them around. He raised his mug and said, “To…”
“To Seth Alevy,” Hollis said, “and the men and women we left behind.”
Everyone drank, but the toast had its effect of subduing the celebration. They all had more coffee and more brandy. There were chairs at the chart tables, and everyone sat but Hollis, who stood at one of the four starboard portholes and stared out to sea. The Gulf of Finland, the few times he’d seen it, reminded him of molten lead, as it did now, seeming to roll in slow motion, heavy, turgid water, all shades of greyness, its surface strangely unreflective. He saw a thin fog rolling in from the north, and through the fog, a squall suddenly burst forth like a gauze veil passing through smoke. The grey sky, the grey water, and the adjoining land masses, an unchanging landscape of grey-green pine forests, continually dripping a wetness onto the soggy earth. It was a dank and bleak corner of the world, making the Moscow region look sunny and picturesque by comparison.
Hollis rubbed his eyes and rubbed the stubble on his chin. The anesthetic was wearing off, and he could feel his cheek beginning to throb. It occurred to him that the rendezvous with this ship should be listed under minor miracles, right after their escape from the Charm School.
The door to the chart room opened, and a tall, red-bearded man of about fifty strode in. He was wearing a heavy white cable-knit sweater and blue jeans. He said nothing, but helped himself to a mug of coffee, then sat casually at the edge of a chart table. “Welcome aboard the Lucinda,” he said in a British accent. “I am Captain Hughes. Your names, I am told, are no concern of mine.”
Hollis said, “I want to thank you for leaving the lights on beyond the sunrise.”
Captain Hughes looked at Hollis. “I’ll tell you, they were off, but I left the watch on, and he spotted you. So I argued with myself a bit and turned them on again.”
Mills said, “That was good of you.”
Hughes shrugged. “We were a bit off schedule ourselves. The bloody Russians don’t move very quickly w
Captain Hughes looked at O’Shea, Mills, and Brennan in their KGB uniforms, then at Lisa and Hollis. “I’ll wager you’ve got quite a story to tell. By the way, that landing was either the best air-to-ship landing I’ve ever seen or the worst. I expect you know which it was.” Hughes added, “We’re carrying timber, if you’re interested. Pine, birch, and aspen. They grow good wood because God manages the forests, not them.” Hughes smiled and added, “We dropped off a load of fresh vegetables. They like to lay on some nice things for the anniversary of the glorious Revolution. Can’t say I approve of trading with them, but a job’s a job. Which brings me to my next point. I was given ten thousand pounds to say yes to this, and I’ll get another fifty thousand when I hand you over. You’re quite valuable.”
Hollis replied, “I hope we haven’t cost you more than we’re worth. Do you have any radar indications of ships approaching?”
“No, but you can be assured we’re watching Kronshtadt naval base very closely. Once we sail past there and get into the wider gulf water, I’ll breathe a sigh.”
“So will we all.”
Hughes said, “There isn’t enough money around to entice me to do this. They told me it was important to both our countries.”
“Indeed it is.”
Hughes said, “Before I left Leningrad this morning, a stevedore pressed a piece of paper into my hand.” He gave it to Hollis.
Hollis unfolded it and saw it was a page from a one-time cipher pad. It had that day’s date on it and a frequency. A handwritten note said: Sit rep, attention C.B.
Mills looked over Hollis’ shoulder and whispered, “That’s our diplomatic code.”
Hollis nodded and gave it back to Hughes. “Captain, will you be good enough to have your radio man encrypt a message from this pad as follows: ‘Attention Banks. Landed this location. Situation report to follow.’ Leave it unsigned. Send it out on that frequency.”
Hughes nodded. He said, “Your two friends in the infirmary are resting comfortably. The medic would like to be briefed on their history.”
Mills replied, “They’ve both suffered obvious physical trauma. Both have had sodium pentothal recently. The one in the sweat suit is the friend. The one in pajamas is not. He must be restrained for the duration of this voyage.”
Hughes walked to the door. “I’ll have a steward bring you some breakfast. I’ll arrange for sleeping quarters. In the meantime, feel free to use this room as long as you wish.”
“Thank you.”
Hughes left the chart room.
Hollis went back to the porthole but saw nothing out there except the thickening fog. He said, “We’ve all done a good job. I don’t like what we did, but we did it well.”
Mills poured himself more brandy. “Yes, and for whatever it’s worth to you all, I wanted to see those men come home… with their new families.” He added, “I’m not a religious man, but perhaps they’re better off where they are now. I don’t think even they really wanted to go home anymore.”
No one responded.
Hollis’ mind returned to the Landis house, and he thought of Landis’ little boy, Timmy, and of Landis’ saying about him, “My poor little guy.” Maybe, Hollis thought, just maybe they were all at peace now.
Hollis sat at the chart table and found a pencil and paper. He said to Mills, “I’ll write Charlie a note.”
Mills smiled. “Be nice. He probably sat up all night worrying about us.”
Hollis drew the paper toward him and began writing in standard, nonradio Russian:
Dear Charles,
This is Sam Hollis sending you this message, not from the grave, but from the Lucinda. With me are Lisa Rhodes, Bill Brennan, Bert Mills, and Captain O’Shea. Also with us are Major Jack Dodson, USAF, and Colonel Petr Burov, KGB, our prisoner. Seth Alevy is dead. Before he died, he told me about your arrangement with CIA, White House, Defense Intelligence, et al. Charm School is permanently closed, as per this arrangement. I must tell you, Charles, I think you and your crowd are far more treacherous and cold-blooded than me or Alevy, or any combat general or spy I’ve ever met. I would like someday to take you out with me on a field operation to expand your horizons a bit. But lacking that opportunity, I demand you meet us personally in London four days from today. The people with me are surviving witnesses to the murder of nearly three hundred Americans by their own government. We must discuss that to reconcile it with our personal sense of morality and the legitimate needs of national security. Come prepared for a long session.
(Signed) Hollis.
Hollis handed it to Mills, who read it, nodded, and passed it on to the others.
Hollis said to O’Shea, “Captain, go to the radio room and encrypt this. Stay with the operator as he sends, then wait for a reply.”
“Yes, sir.”
O’Shea took the message and left the chart room.
Lisa put her arm around Hollis. “Can British sea captains marry people?”
Hollis smiled for the first time. “Yes, but the marriage is only good for the length of the voyage.”
“Good enough.”
Mills sat in a chair, yawned, and said as if to himself, “In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve been in a Moscow taxi, an Aeroflot bus, an Aeroflot helicopter, a Zil-6, a Pontiac Trans Am, and now, thank God, a British merchant ship.”
Brennan took a pack of bubble gum from his pocket, started to unwrap a piece, then looked at it. He said, “Seth Alevy bought this for me in the Trade Center. He was a funny sort of guy. You always thought he was kind of cool and someplace else. But if you ran into him in the embassy, he’d call you by name and remember something about you to say. I always noticed that the senior people never said much to him, but the security men, Marine guards, secretaries, and all thought a lot of him.” Brennan rewrapped the gum and put it in his pocket.
No one spoke for a while, and some minutes later O’Shea came back into the chart room and handed Hollis a piece of paper.
Hollis looked at it and read it aloud: “From Charles Banks. ‘Delighted to hear from you. Congratulations on a fine job. Very sorry to hear about Seth. We’ll miss him. You’ll be met in Liverpool. Very much looking forward to seeing you all in London. Drinks are on me. Special regards to Lisa.’ Signed, ‘Charles.’”
Hollis looked at O’Shea, Mills, Brennan, and Lisa. The radio reply was so typically Charles Banks that everyone seemed on the verge of laughter.
Mills finally said, “What a lovable son of a bitch. I’d like to beat the hell out of him, but I can’t bring myself to do it. So we’ll have a drink with him instead.”
Lisa added, “I always liked him. I still like him. But I don’t trust him anymore.”
Hollis reflected that he had never trusted Banks. He wouldn’t trust him in London either.
An elderly steward entered with a galley pitcher of orange juice and a tray of hot biscuits. He set them down on the chart table and said in an accent that reminded Hollis of a Horatio Hornblower movie, “Compliments of Captain Hughes.” He added, “The first officer extends to the lady the use of his quarters. For you gentlemen, bunks have been set up in the officers’ wardroom. The captain wishes you to know that there are no radar sightings of any note. If there’s anything further you’ll be needing, send a message to the bridge, and someone will see to it.”
Mills thanked the steward, who left. Mills said, “Sometimes when we’re in Russia, we lose sight of what and who we’re fighting for. Then you come West on leave or business, and you run into a London cabbie or someone like that steward, and you remember the word ‘civility,’ and you realize you never once experienced it in the workers’ paradise.”
They all sat at the chart table, and O’Shea observed, “Real orange juice.”
They ate in silence awhile, then Brennan said, apropos of nothing, “I like London. I like the way the women talk.”
O’Shea smiled and said, “I didn’t think helicopters could be so much fun to fl
Hollis observed, “School would be a good idea.”
Mills chewed thoughtfully on a buttered biscuit, then said, “I’m anxious to debrief Burov and Dodson. That will be one hell of an interesting assignment. I wonder how they’ll relate to one another in a different environment.”
Lisa looked around the table. “Don’t anyone laugh, but I’m going back to Russia someday. I swear I will.”
No one laughed. Hollis said, “Me too.”
O’Shea stood and looked at Mills and Brennan. “Why don’t we go find that wardroom and catch some sleep?”
Mills and Brennan stood. Mills said to Hollis, “I’ll look in on the infirmary, and I’ll keep in contact with the bridge regarding radio messages or unfriendly radar sightings. But somehow, I think we’ve made it. We beat them.”
Hollis replied, “We were due.”
Mills took his ski mask and moved to the door. He said to Hollis, “When you were passed out in the helicopter, I noticed that you snored. So why don’t you find other sleeping accommodations?” He left the chart room.
Lisa and Hollis looked at each other across the table. Lisa said finally, “You look sad.”
Hollis didn’t reply.
Lisa said, “We’re all sad, Sam. We’re happy that we’ve saved our own necks, but sad about the others.”
Hollis nodded. “This was the ultimate betrayal. The government betrayed those men once and now again. We’ve swept the last wreckage of that war under the rug for all time.”
“Will you try to put it behind you now?”
“I’ll try. Once you’ve come full circle, any further movement along that route is just going around in circles. I’ll try to move on now.”
Lisa removed a satin box from her pocket and laid it on the chart table and opened it. She stared at its contents awhile, then lifted out a string of amber beads and held them draped over her fingers. “Seth gave me these while we were waiting for you outside Burov’s house. May I keep these?”