The Charm School (84 page)
Alevy walked back to the Zil and got into the passenger side. “Turn it around, Bert.”
Mills had trouble finding reverse, then got it into gear, and the Zil stalled. “Damn it!” The big troop carrier sat on the road in front of them. Mills restarted his vehicle and made a choppy three-point turn on the narrow road as the troop carrier moved off slowly. No one spoke. Mills got the Zil moving back down the road toward Burov’s dacha. He said softly, “I don’t drive Russian.”
Hollis said to Alevy, “I heard most of that, and I don’t think he completely bought it.”
“You don’t understand the Russian mind.”
“I understand the military mind. Men will take orders from their own officers, but not necessarily from an officer they don’t recognize.”
“I seem to be doing all right.” Alevy asked, “Do you want to turn back or go on?”
Hollis replied, “Go on.”
Lisa made a sound of exasperation. She said to Mills, “Please, Bert, can’t you reason with these two?”
Mills thought a moment, then replied, “No.”
A minute later, Alevy asked, “Is that the dacha’s guard booth ahead?”
Hollis peered out the windshield. “That’s it. The dacha is surrounded by barbed wire. Dogs run loose between the wire and the house. There should be two KGB at the guard booth and one inside the dacha itself. But you never know.”
“That driver confirmed three.” Alevy said to Mills, “You take the guard that approaches, I’ve got the other one.”
“Right.”
“Down in back.”
Mills slowed the vehicle and drew closer to the guard booth. Alevy looked past the gate at the rather plain-looking dacha sitting in darkness about a hundred meters away. Mills brought the Zil to a bucking halt, and it stalled. He started it again. “I never got the hang of a stick shift.” He drew his pistol and held it in his lap.
One of the guards walked up to the driver’s side and looked in the open window. “Yes, Captain?”
Mills pumped a single shot between the man’s eyes as Alevy opened his door and stood on the running board. The second guard was still in the small booth, and Alevy could see him furiously cranking the field phone as he reached for his rifle. Alevy steadied his aim over the roof of the Zil and fired all eight rounds from his pistol into the booth. The glass and wood splintered, and the man dropped to the floor.
Mills shut off his headlights.
Hollis got out of the Zil as Alevy moved to the gate. Hollis grabbed Alevy’s shoulder. “He’s mine.”
Alevy nodded. “Okay. But don’t kill him.”
“I know.”
Alevy looked at his watch. “We have thirty-four minutes to get to the helipad.”
Lisa said to Hollis, “Let me go with you. I can help you get past the guard inside.”
Hollis nodded. He opened the wire gate, then turned to Alevy. “On the left side of the house is Greg Fisher’s Trans Am. We’ll take that out of here.”
Alevy seemed not to understand. “Fisher’s Trans Am? Here . . . ?”
“Burov drives it. Keys are most probably in the ignition.”
Alevy nodded. “Good idea, Sam. They might be on the lookout for a Zil-6 by now. And if the Trans Am is Burov’s car, we might not be challenged.”
Mills added, “And we may need the speed and handling. The Zil’s a pig.”
Hollis replied, “All that may be true. But I want the Trans Am, because . . . I want the Trans Am.” He took Lisa by the arm and began running up the long blacktop path toward the dacha.
Two German shepherds suddenly appeared out of the dark, tearing toward them from opposite directions. Hollis dove into a prone firing position, steadied his aim, and fired at the closer dog to his left. The automatic coughed softly, but the dog yelped loudly. Hollis rolled to his right just as the second shepherd reached him and Lisa. Hollis could actually smell the big dog in the split second before he put a bullet into its open mouth.
Hollis stood and helped Lisa to her feet. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
They got to the front door, and Hollis nodded to her. She turned the doorknob and found it open. Lisa put her pistol in her parka and slipped inside.
The guard was sitting in a chair in the large foyer by the light of a dim lamp, aiming his automatic rifle at her. Lisa partly closed the door behind her and stood motionless. The guard said, “Who are you?”
She put her finger to her lips and whispered in Russian, “I am Lisa Rhodes, the new American woman. The colonel wishes to see me.”
The guard said, “He never told me.”
“He told the men outside.”
The guard grinned. “And what do you suppose the colonel wants to see you about at this hour?”
“He wants to have sex with me.”
The guard smirked and put his rifle on the desk. He said, “I’ll have to sneak upstairs and nudge him.” He pulled off his boots. “Get into the living room and get out of your clothes. That’s where he has to do it with his old lady upstairs.” The guard stood in his stocking feet.
Lisa pulled the door open and jumped aside.
Hollis ran through the door and fired as the man reached for his rifle, then rushed forward and grabbed him before he fell. Hollis sat the man back in his chair and saw the frothy blood forming at his lips and could hear the sucking chest wound as the guard tried to breathe.
Hollis took Lisa by the arm and propelled her toward the front door. He whispered, “Go. No arguing.”
“Please . . . Sam, be careful—”
Hollis opened the door and pushed her out, then turned back to the guard, who was staring at him. Hollis walked past him, then turned, clamped his hand on the man’s shoulder, and fired a bullet into the back of his head, holding him in his seat.
Hollis left the foyer and went toward the staircase.
The stairs creaked, but he continued on up. A woman’s voice said, “Natalia, is that you, darling?”
Hollis stopped. He heard footsteps, then the woman’s voice called out, “Petr, Natalia is in her room.”
Burov’s voice came back. “It is the guard. Come back to bed.”
Hollis heard footsteps again and the sound of a door closing. He climbed the remaining steps and came to a large upper hallway. To the left were two half-open doors that would be the bedrooms of Burov’s daughter, Natalia, and probably his mother. To the right was the closed door that would be the master bedroom. Hollis went to the closed door, listened, then turned the knob, threw the door open, and shoulder-rolled into the room, coming up into a firing position, his pistol aimed at the bed. “Don’t move!” The room was dark except for a small red bulb, and as Hollis’ eyes adjusted to the light, he saw it was actually a red star glowing atop a wood model of the Kremlin’s Spassky Tower. That seemed odd, but odder still was the single empty bed on which lay a rag doll. Hollis understood, but it was too late.
He heard the revolver’s hammer click behind him, and Burov’s voice said, “Drop the gun.”
Hollis dropped the gun.
Burov said, “Don’t stand. Turn around on your knees.”
Hollis turned his body slowly toward Burov. Burov flipped on an overhead light, and Hollis saw Burov standing in the doorway, barefooted, wearing flannel pajamas and pointing a big revolver at him.
Burov said, “Some families practice fire drills. We have other sorts of drills here. And you think Russians are stupid.”
Hollis didn’t reply.
“The stupid one,” Burov said, “is the one who is on his knees looking into the barrel of a gun.” Burov regarded Hollis curiously. “What is your purpose here?”
“To kill you, you idiot.”
“No, you would have simply shot bullets into that bed. You said, ‘Don’t move.’ You wanted to capture me. Where did you get that gun?”
“None of your business.”
“Are you alone?”
“What do you think?”
“I think not. Did you kill the guards?”
“Yes.”
“And my dogs?”
“Yes.”
Burov nodded thoughtfully, then said, “My phone doesn’t work, and I think you have people downstairs. So we are both in a bad position.”
Hollis said nothing.
“Is this a rebellion? That would be lunacy. There are six hundred armed Border Guards here. Do you want to negotiate for Dodson’s life?”
“I want to give you a lecture about how much power comes from the muzzle of a gun. It depends on other factors. And authority never came from the muzzle of a gun. Are we learning something?”
Burov snapped, “Get on all fours and crawl out here.”
Hollis dropped to all fours and moved out into the hallway as Burov stepped back.
Burov said, “To the right.”
Hollis crawled down the hallway, and Burov came up beside him close enough to kick Hollis in the head with the heel of his bare foot. “I’ll show you who has the power and the authority here.”
Burov led Hollis into the master bedroom. “On your back.”
Hollis rolled over on his back, and Burov walked out of his line of vision, then stomped his foot down on Hollis’ face.
“Take off your jacket and sweat shirt, and pull your pants down around your ankles.”
Hollis sat up slowly, Burov still behind him, and removed his parka and shirt, then slid his pants down.
Burov snatched the jacket away, then said, “Lie down, hands under your ass.”
Hollis lay down and put his hands under him.
Burov went through Hollis’ parka. He tossed a spare ammunition clip aside, then said, “What is this?” He threw the silver general’s star on Hollis’ bare chest.
Hollis made no reply, and Burov kicked the top of his head. “And what is this in these aluminum cigar tubes, Hollis? Names . . . ah, a class roster, living and dead. Where are you bringing this?”
“One copy to Washington, one to Moscow.”
“Yes? You think so? I don’t think so.”
Hollis thought Burov’s voice sounded strained. He heard Burov move to the far side of the room and glanced over at him. In an alcove near a window was a radio transmitter, and as Hollis watched, the radio glowed to life. Burov said, “I’m going to call out the entire Border Guard detachment from their barracks, Hollis.” He picked up the handset.
“Where is your wife, daughter, and your mother?”
Burov turned toward him. “Why do you ask?”
“This place is surrounded, and there will be shooting. I’ll guarantee them safe passage out of this house.”
“You can’t guarantee anything, you shit.”
“They can leave now. Before you call.”
Burov, still holding the handset, came toward Hollis. “There is no one surrounding this house.” He kicked Hollis in the side of the face.
“You know there is. The guards are dead, and your phone is cut.”
“But not my radio.”
Hollis said in Russian, “Then make the call, you stupid shit, and fuck you, your wife, your daughter, and your ugly old mother.”
Burov again kicked Hollis in the face. He held the handset to his ear and listened to the intermittent jamming as the radio in the headquarters and the one in the helipad cabin transmitted their open microphones across the band. He swore softly, went back to the radio, and switched to the alternate frequency. He heard snatches of conversation cut off as the jamming swept the frequencies. He glanced at Hollis, then said into the mouthpiece in Russian, “All stations, all stations, this is Colonel Burov. Full alert, full alert. Send a detachment of guards to my quarters at once. Be on the lookout for armed prisoners—”
“Students!” Hollis called out. “Students!”
“Shut your fucking mouth!”
“Why don’t you shut yours? No one can hear you anyway. Can’t you tell the radio is jammed, you stupid shit?” Hollis added in Russian, “Don’t the Russians understand electronics?”
Burov dropped the handset and took a long running stride toward Hollis, his foot shooting out toward Hollis’ head. Hollis sat up quickly, causing Burov to lose his balance as his foot sailed through the air. Hollis lifted himself on his hands and pivoted his legs around, knocking Burov off his feet. Hollis’ right hand wrapped around Burov’s revolver, and he held the cylinder in place as Burov tried to squeeze off a round. Hollis jabbed the fingers of his left hand in Burov’s eyes, then jabbed into his larynx. Burov let out a gasp but did not loosen his grip on the pistol. Burov’s left hand chopped down on Hollis’ neck twice before Hollis could grab Burov’s wrist. Hollis kicked his shoes and pants off and brought his knee up into Burov’s testicles.
The two men rolled and thrashed around on the floor, Hollis holding his grip on Burov’s revolver and Burov’s wrist, each trying to position their knees for another blow to the groin, and each aware that the other was trained in the same deadly arts. Hollis smashed his forehead down on Burov’s nose and heard it crack. Burov got his teeth into the maxillary nerves of Hollis’ cheek and drew blood before Hollis could pull his face away. Hollis stuck his thumbnail into the fleshy part of Burov’s wrist, digging at the veins until he opened one of them and felt the blood spurting. Neither man uttered a word or a sound of pain.
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