The Charm School by Nelson DeMille
“Lighter topic, please. Did you enjoy dinner?”
“We never got dinner.” She jumped up. “I’m starved. I made rasolnik the other night. I have some left.”
“What’s that?”
“Pickled vegetable soup.”
“I’ll stick with the scotch.”
“I’m trying to learn traditional Russian cooking.”
“Let me know how you make out.”
She went to the refrigerator and took out a section of cold kolbassa and began eating it. “Do you like garlic? This is loaded with it.”
Hollis stood. “You sleep with your clothes on, and you eat garlic before bed. I think I’ll go home now.”
“No. Stay. Talk to me. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
“You’re perfectly safe in the compound.”
“I know that.” She chewed thoughtfully on the sausage, then added, “I’ve smiled at you a dozen times in the damned lobby, in the elevators—”
“Was that you? Was that a smile?”
“You don’t remember, Sam, but I was at that little bon voyage they gave for Katherine. Did you know then that she wasn’t coming back?”
“I suspected when I saw her packing everything she owned.”
“Ah, good intelligence work. Are you divorcing her?”
“I’m trying to figure out who has jurisdiction. I may fly to the States and file or something. But I can’t figure out what state I live in. Probably Siberia, if I don’t watch my step.”
“So you’re in the process of divorce.”
“Yes. But what married couple isn’t?”
“Do you want to know about Seth?”
“Not while you’re gnawing on eight inches of sausage.”
She put the sausage on the breakfast bar. “Do you want to see my photographs?”
“Sure.”
Lisa went to the cabinet beneath the bookshelves and retrieved two albums. She put one on the coffee table, sat beside Hollis, and opened the one in her lap. “This is the first picture I took the day I got to Moscow. Those are the last of the wooden houses that used to line the road to Sheremetyevo Airport. They’re gone now.” She flipped through the pages, and Hollis saw that all the photos had typed captions below them. Most of the pictures were black and white, but there were some color shots taken in the spring and summer. Hollis looked at churches and cathedrals with their dates of destruction noted, and in some cases, pictures of the actual wrecking crew followed by a photograph of the new building on the site. Hollis was no architectural romantic, but the photography made the point jarringly well.
In nearly all the photos of old wooden homes, there were people about, leaning out windows, hanging laundry in the yards, or talking over picket fences. The people seemed weathered like the unpainted wood, and like their homes they seemed to fit in well, to belong to the narrow streets, the tangle of Russian olive trees, and the giant sunflowers hugging the fences. There were dogs and cats in the pictures, though Hollis couldn’t recall ever seeing a dog or cat in his two years in Moscow. Surprisingly, he didn’t recognize any of the locales, and if he hadn’t known it was Moscow, he would have guessed it was some small provincial town out on the steppe. It was as if there were another city lurking among the concrete behemoths that Moscow had become. “This is very good, Lisa. Incredible shots.”
“Thank you.”
“Where are these places?”
“They’re all within the Outer Ring Road, since I can’t get out of the city. Some of these places were villages that are now within the city. Some are old districts in the central city that haven’t been torn down yet, hidden between apartment projects.”
Hollis observed, “Many American cities are undergoing the same sort of ugly growth.”
“Yes,” she replied, “but that’s a debate between aesthetics and profit. Here the goal is to get everyone into apartment blocks where they can be watched. And it’s not just the cities; the countryside will one day look like that sovkhoz we saw.”
Hollis replied, “It’s not our problem.”
“You probably think I’m obsessed, and maybe I am. But I don’t see what right these bureaucrats have to destroy other people’s homes or cultural and religious monuments that in some ways belong to the world. Look at these shots. The Maly Theater next to the Bolshoi, Stanislavsky’s Moscow Art Theater, St. Nicholas’ Cathedral. They were all slated for destruction, but some Moscow artists and writers got wind of it and actually made a protest. Same with the Arbat district. The wrecking crews are on hold, but no one is really able to stop this onslaught on the past. They’d rip down the Kremlin if they thought they could get away with it.”
“Maybe they could sell it to an American businessman who would make a theme park out of it.” Hollis turned a page of the album and saw a picture of Lisa standing on the veranda of what could have been her own Victorian house in Sea Cliff, except that there was a very Russian-looking family standing around, and the adults were drinking Moskovaya beer from bottles. Also in the picture, his hand for some reason on Lisa’s head, was Seth Alevy, wearing a rare smile. The typed caption read: Seth and I, house hunting with real estate brokers in Tatarovo.
She said, “Silly,” and flipped the page. She went through the remaining photographs, but Hollis was no longer paying attention. She seemed to sense this and put the book on the coffee table. After a minute or so of silence, she said, “That was a Jewish family. Dissidents.”
Hollis got up and made himself another drink.
Lisa said, “So, do you think a New York publisher would be interested in the theme?”
“Maybe. The pictures are very good. You have a good eye.”
“Thanks. Can I take a picture of you for my book?”
“No.”
“Are you sulking?”
“Quite possibly.”
“Well… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t even tell you this, but he was very interested in my work, in the project. He said he had contacts in a few publishing houses… so we went picture taking once in a while.”
“Good.” Hollis could well believe that Alevy had publishing contacts. In fact, the CIA had many such contacts, the purpose of which was to get anti-Soviet books published with mainstream publishers. Hollis didn’t know what kind of incentives the CIA offered or if the publisher actually knew with whom they were dealing, but he’d heard it was a successful program. Lisa, he suspected, had no idea she was the subject of another one of Alevy’s little side schemes. Whether or not the book had merit, Hollis knew that someday he’d see it in a bookstore, courtesy of Seth Alevy and company. The man certainly knew how to mix business with pleasure.
Lisa broke into his uncharitable thoughts. “You did say it would be dangerous.”
Hollis looked at her. “What?”
“Whatever is going on. Dangerous.”
“Yes. Dangerous.”
“Can you give me any more facts?”
Hollis had a further uncharitable thought: that Lisa was reporting to Seth Alevy. But if that were true, then everything he thought he knew about people was wrong. He said, “You have the outlines. I’ll brief you on a need-to-know basis.”
She smiled. “I’ll play the game, Sam, but I won’t talk the talk. Talk English.”
He smiled in return, then said, “Whenever you want to quit, just say ‘I quit.’ Nothing further is required.”
“Do you really need me?”
“We’re short on red-blooded Americans here. I know this violates the USIS rules, not to mention Pentagon rules. But yes, I need you.”
She nodded. “Okay. You got me.” She smiled suggestively. “What can I do for you now?”
Hollis ignored the suggestion and said, “I’ll bet you know where Gogol’s grave is.”
“Sure.” She laughed. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Not the cultural illiterates I work with, myself included. Where is it?”
“Why do you want to know? Is there a party there?”
“Oh, you’ve be
“Sure have.”
“Well?”
She hooked her finger under his belt. “First things first. I’d feel awful if I thought I was a one-night stand.”
Hollis put his drink on the end table.
“So,” she said, “let’s do it again.”
“Well…” He looked at his watch.
She embraced him and kissed him, then ran her fingers over the nape of his neck and felt the scars again. “You could have been in the Charm School.”
“I suppose.”
“But instead you’re here. Your wife is in London. Gregory Fisher is dead, and Major Dodson is God knows where. How will this end?”
“No idea.”
“When do you finish your tour here?”
“Whenever the Pentagon wants. You?”
“Twenty months. Maybe less now. What will we do if one of us leaves before the other?”
Hollis didn’t reply, and she said, “Step at a time.” She motioned to the staircase. “Let’s do those steps first.”
They climbed the stairs to her bedroom. Like the main floor, Hollis noticed, it was Finnish modern, light ashwood, Finlandia crystal, things by Sotka, Furbig, and Aarikka, names that the American community in Moscow had come to appreciate. There was a long-tailed Chinese kite tacked in loops across the ceiling and down the wall over the bed. “Very nice.”
“You’re only the third man who’s been up here.”
“It’s certainly a rare privilege. Look, do you realize I’m nearly twenty years older than you?”
“So were the other two. So what?”
Hollis looked at her. There was something about Lisa Rhodes that appealed to him. She was tomboyish yet feminine, ingenuous but shrewd. And at times she showed great maturity, though there were other times she seemed refreshingly unsophisticated. He said, “I like twenty-nine.”
“I’ve never tried that.”
“Your age.”
“Oh…” She laughed in embarrassment, then kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her blouse. “Stay the night. I want to wake up beside you. Like in Yablonya.”
“That would be nice.”
* * *
The alarm rang, and Hollis reached for it, but it wasn’t there.
Lisa turned it off on her side of the bed. “You do have a side.”
“Where am I?”
“Paris. My name is Colette.”
“Pleased to meet you.” The blinds were shut and the heavy drapes pulled tight as was the rule. Hollis turned on the lamp.
Lisa said, “I used to enjoy the sun coming in the window in the morning.”
“Me too,” he said, “but there’s no sun anyway, only microwaves from across the street.”
She cuddled close to him and ran her hand over his groin as she kissed his cheek.
“You’re very affectionate,” he said.
“You’re not,” she replied.
“Give me time.”
“I understand.” She got out of bed and went into the bathroom.
Hollis heard the faucet running. The telephone on the nightstand rang. He let it ring. It kept ringing. Against his better judgment, he picked it up. “Hello.”
Seth Alevy said, “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“I wanted to speak to you.”
“Then call me in my apartment.”
“You’re not there.”
Hollis swung his legs out of bed. “Try again.”
Alevy sounded annoyed. “I’d like a meeting with you for eleven A.M.”
“I have a meeting with two Red Air Force colonels at ten-thirty.”
“That’s been canceled.”
“By whom?”
“Also ask Lisa to be there. Her calendar has been cleared. I’ll see you in the intelligence officer’s safe room.” Alevy hung up.
Lisa called out from the bathroom, “Where are you?”
“I’m on my side now.” Hollis got out of bed. Bastard. He thought that Alevy could well have waited to talk to him when he got to his office. He thought about life inside the red brick walls. Here you could bowl, swim in the indoor pool, play squash, or see the weekly movie in the theater. If none of that appealed to you, you could go crazy, as his wife claimed she had done, or you could indulge yourself in one sort of marginally acceptable behavior or another; extramarital sex, alcohol, and social withdrawal were the most common. More acceptable pursuits included reading long Russian novels, working sixteen-hour days, or trying to learn more about the land and the people, as Lisa had done. This latter hobby, however, often met with disappointments and frustrations, as this host country, in contrast to most, wasn’t flattered and didn’t want you to learn anything. Even a fluency in the language marked you as a potential spy. Xenophobia was as Russian as borscht, Hollis thought.
And if things inside the walls weren’t enough to get you down, outside the walls were the men and women of the KGB’s Seventh Directorate, the “Embassy Watchers,” who had the premises and each individual in it under constant surveillance. Hollis parted the drapes a few inches and looked out into the new morning.
The new embassy had to be built on the only site offered by the Soviet government, and in addition to the unhealthy river vapors, the low ground made it possible for the KGB to bombard the whole compound with listening-device microwaves whose long-range physical effects were unknown, though leukemia was one suspected by-product.
Even intracompound telephone calls such as Alevy’s to Lisa’s apartment were monitored, and the windows were watched, which was why room blinds were almost permanently shut.
Lisa walked out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel around her neck. “Who was that?”
Hollis regarded her in the dim light. In clothes she looked lithe, almost slight. But naked, she was full-busted, and her hips were well-rounded. Her pubic hair had a nice reddish tint.
“My face is up here.”
“Oh…” Hollis said, “That was Seth.”
“Oh…”
“He wants to see both of us at eleven A.M. Your calendar has been cleared.”
“What do you suppose they want now?”
“Who knows?”
She asked, “Are we in trouble because of… this?”
He replied, “Me, maybe. I’m married. You single people get away with everything.”
She thought a moment, then offered, “This wasn’t a good idea. I was being selfish. You have more to lose than I do.”
“Mandatory postcoital speech noted.”
They stood a few feet from each other, both naked. Lisa looked him up and down. “That’s some throttle you’ve got there, fly boy.”
Hollis smiled despite his annoyance at the phone call.
She said, “Let’s impress the KGB listener with our sexual appetites.” She took his hand and led him into the bathroom. They made love in the shower, and over his objection, she shaved him with her pink plastic razor. She gave him a toothbrush, then went downstairs to the kitchen to make coffee.
As Hollis dried himself, he surveyed the array of feminine products on the countertop. He supposed that Katherine had the same sort of things, but he’d never noticed them. This all seemed very new to him. Unconsciously he picked up a jar of cleansing cream and smelled it.
19
It was the intelligence officer’s safe room this time, Hollis noted, because the ambassador was using his own safe room, meeting with four people from Washington who had just flown in. Clearly, things were coming to a boil. The people in the embassy, even the nondiplomatic and nonintelligence staff, knew something was up because of all the activity: Brennan being flown to London in bandages; Volgas, Fords, and Chaikas tearing off in the night.
After leaving Lisa, Hollis had gone into the snack bar as usual and discovered he had six breakfast companions at a table for four. They had tried out several rumors on him, and Hollis found himself saying things such as, “I’m just an Air Force guy. I don’t know any more than you do.”<
Charles Banks cleared his throat, made eye contact with Hollis, then with Lisa, and began. “Colonel Hollis, Ms. Rhodes, it is my unpleasant duty to inform you that the Soviet government has filed a formal complaint against both of you. The details are unimportant. You have each been declared persona non grata.” He looked at Hollis, then at Lisa. “You have five days in which to get your affairs in order and leave the country. You will depart Monday A.M.”
Lisa glanced at Alevy, then at Hollis. No one spoke, then Lisa said with emotion in her voice, “That’s not fair. Not fair, Charles.”
Banks ignored this and added, “As you may know, since you both work here, Soviet-American relations are on the mend. Sino-American relations are deteriorating as a result. The Chinese are now making overtures toward the Soviets. There is a new world alignment in the wind, and our government is anxious not to be left standing alone.”
Lisa remarked sarcastically, “I didn’t mean to upset the world balance of power. And I don’t think Sam did either. Did you, Sam?”
Hollis pretended he didn’t hear. Alevy stifled a smile. Banks cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair. “The balance of world power, Ms. Rhodes, is not a joking matter.”
Lisa retorted sharply, “I’m not a bubble brain, Charles. Neither do I intend to alter my reality or compromise my principles to suit my government’s momentary needs. Murder is murder. And there is an American POW who is in trouble out there. If I can’t do anything about it, and you won’t, then I will have to offer my resignation and go public with this.”
Charles Banks replied frostily, “Thank you for your thoughts, Ms. Rhodes. Please understand that State isn’t kicking you out. The Soviet Foreign Ministry is. We don’t require your cooperation or resignation or anything from you. We only require that you pack and leave as requested. And you will not go public.”
Lisa turned away and seemed disinterested in Banks.
Charles Banks said to Hollis, “There will be nothing derogatory in your file or that of Ms. Rhodes. We will issue a bene decessit—a statement that your leaving was not due to misconduct as we define it. Is that satisfactory, Colonel?”
“General.”