The Charm School (31 page)

“I’ll pass it along.”

“Are you sure you want to go here?”

“Yes.” Hollis handed him five rubles and told him to keep the change, which he did. Hollis had been told that as few as ten years ago, the taxi drivers stuck to the rule of not accepting tips. But the Revolution was over, burned out, and no one took any of it seriously anymore. In two years he had not once heard anyone call anyone else comrade. The pride and fervor were gone, and everyone was on the make or on the take. The churches were crowded, party membership was down, suicides were up. The average life expectancy was dropping, and alcohol consumption, despite the anti-drinking campaign, had risen. Russia was a second-rate nation, but they had first-rate weapons and a world-class secret police.

He and Lisa walked to the door of the restaurant. She said, “That man sounded like the last New York cabbie I had.”

“God bless the proletariat. They get down to basics.”

Lisa turned and looked up and down the street. “I’ve never been in this part of town. It’s dark and grim.”

“Part of the charm.”

She stared at the KGB prison across the road, then noticed a car parked with its engine running. “Is that our favorite Chaika?”

“Could be. In a country with four makes of cars, most of which are black, it’s hard to tell if you’re being followed.”

Hollis showed her into the restaurant, and they handed their coats in at the checkroom. He took Lisa into the dinner area, a medium-sized room, unremarkable in its decor but interesting in its clientele. Most of the patrons were men, and more than half were in one sort of uniform or another. Many of the civilian-attired men were in brown suits, better cut than those of the average Muscovite. The dining room was darker than most Moscow restaurants, Hollis noted, though the effect was not romantic.

Lisa said, “Sinister. I love it.”

Hollis gave his name to a woman at the reservation counter. She looked him over, then looked Lisa up and down. She frowned, turned, and led them to a table in the center of the room. The table was laid with white linen and heavy flatware. Hollis pulled Lisa’s chair out for her. She said, “Everyone is looking at us.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“They know we’re Americans.”

Hollis said, “By way of background, the gentlemen you see are mostly employees of Lefortovo—prison, not restaurant. They are a collection of KGB interrogators, torturers, and executioners. They work up big appetites. The food is good, and the service is the fastest in all Moscow, all Russia. It is also underpriced.”

A man in uniform at the next table stared at Lisa. She stared back.

Hollis added, “The KGB doesn’t bug the tables here. Here, the KGB are
at
the tables.”

A waitress came by with a bottle of mineral water and set it down with two menus. Hollis ordered a bottle of Georgian wine. The waitress left without a word.

Lisa said, “What’s this country coming to when an American military spy can sit in the same restaurant with a hundred KGB thugs? Where is Joe Stalin when they need him?”

Hollis looked over the menu. “Unlike the restaurants in central Moscow, if it’s on the menu, they’ve got it.”

The waitress returned with the wine, and they ordered dinner. Lisa said, “That one bastard is still staring at me.”

Hollis poured two glasses of red wine. “I’ll ask him to step outside.”

“No.” Lisa smiled. “We’re even on restaurants.” She stuck her tongue out at the man who was staring at her. Several diners laughed. The man rose from his table, and Hollis wondered if his crew cut was going to brush the ceiling.

A few of the other men hooted and howled. One yelled out, “Viktor! Don’t be an uncultural lout. Buy the Americans a drink.”

Someone else shouted, “No, show them how much of a lout you are and throw them out.”

Lisa looked around but saw no restaurant employees. She said to Hollis, “Do you want to leave?”

“No.”

Viktor and Hollis sized each other up.

The dining room became quiet as a tall, thin man in civilian clothes rose from a dark corner table and walked across the room. He snapped to Viktor, “Out!” Viktor hurried for the door.

Colonel Burov motioned toward the table. “Please. Sit. May I?” He sat in a chair at their table, still motioning Hollis into his seat. Burov snapped his fingers, and a waitress suddenly appeared. “More wine.” He looked at Hollis and Lisa. “I must apologize on behalf of my compatriot.”

Hollis replied, “Why? Hasn’t he learned human speech?”

Burov seemed puzzled, then got it and laughed. He turned and translated Hollis’ words for the others. Everyone laughed.

Hollis said to Burov, “Come here often?”

“Yes. This is a favorite of my organization. Did you know that before you came?”

Hollis ignored the question and asked, “Can I assume this isn’t a chance meeting?”

“It’s a fateful meeting perhaps.”

“What’s on your mind, Colonel Burov?”

“Many things, Colonel Hollis. Since our last unpleasant business at Mozhaisk, I’ve been thinking about you two.”

“And we about you.”

“I’m flattered. By the way, they tell me you never arrived at the state farm.”

“So what?”

Burov continued, “We found your rented car where you left it at Gagarin station, and I had it examined by the Criminal Investigation Division of the Moscow police. Tire marks, mud, pine twigs, and so on. I conclude that you entered a restricted area. Specifically an area two kilometers north of Borodino Field.”

Hollis said, “Will you pass that butter, Colonel?”

Burov slid a butter dish across the table. “So?”

Hollis leaned toward Burov. “I suggest that if you want to speak to us, you go through your foreign ministry and arrange it with my embassy. Good evening.”

Burov drummed a spoon on the table. “The hell with those people. This is intelligence business. I know who you are. I know you have scars on your neck and back from wounds received when you were shot down over Haiphong. I know your sister’s name is Mary and your mother drank too much. Let’s get down to business and forget the protocols of diplomacy.”

Hollis took the spoon from Burov’s hand and said, “All right, no more diplomacy. You murdered an American citizen. You beat my driver, and perhaps you would have murdered me and Miss Rhodes. Yet you sit here and talk to us as though you are a civilized human being. You are not.”

Burov seemed not to take offense. He rubbed his finger over his lips thoughtfully, then nodded. “All right. There’s no use denying some of the details that you possess in this matter. But what you conclude from those details is probably erroneous. This matter is quite beyond your understanding, Colonel Hollis, and certainly yours, Miss Rhodes. It is, I admit, somewhat beyond my understanding as well. It is a matter that concerns the higher-ups.”

Lisa replied, “Then why kill the little people, Colonel?”

Burov ignored this and continued, “Yes, I’ll satisfy your curiosity. It’s like this: the Major Jack Dodson, who the late Mr. Fisher referred to in his phone call to you, was a turncoat. While a prisoner of war in the People’s Republic of Vietnam, Major Dodson sent a message to the Soviet embassy in Hanoi requesting an interview. It was granted, and during the discussion with a Soviet military attaché, Major Dodson said he would welcome the opportunity to come to the Soviet Union and exchange his military knowledge for his release from the prison camp. He felt bitter and betrayed by his country. He stated that America was not waging the war properly, that the limited air war had endangered his life, wasted his talent, and caused the deaths of his friends. Perhaps you yourself felt that way, Colonel. So, anyway, Dodson asked if we would get him out of the Vietnamese POW camp. We did.”

Neither Hollis nor Lisa spoke. Finally Hollis said, “And why didn’t the Soviet Union announce his defection for propaganda purposes?”

“Dodson didn’t want that. That was part of the deal we struck with him.”

Lisa asked, “And he let his family think he was dead?”

Burov shrugged. “Major Dodson spoke of his wife’s past infidelities. He was childless, I believe.”

Hollis said, “Sounds like bullshit to me.” Hollis added, “What was Dodson doing in the pine forest at night when Gregory Fisher came upon him? Picking mushrooms?”

“And,” Lisa added, “why did Gregory Fisher leave the Rossiya, after Colonel Hollis told him to stay there, and go back to Borodino, where he got himself killed in an auto accident? Come now, Colonel Burov.”

Burov helped himself to some wine. He said, “Mr. Fisher’s accident is not relevant to the subject of Major Dodson. However, as I did have the opportunity to listen to the tape of Mr. Fisher’s conversation with you and Miss Rhodes, I think we can all agree that he sounded agitated. The militia report says that he was also drunk. My theory is he panicked and got back in his car with the idea of . . . well, who knows what a drunk man thinks? As for Major Dodson, he was hiking, as was his custom. He met Mr. Fisher, quite by chance, and out of nostalgia perhaps, told him something about himself. But he did
not
tell Mr. Fisher he was a prisoner, because he is not.”

Burov took a sheet of folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Hollis. “This is a letter in Major Dodson’s hand, dated January of 1973, requesting asylum in the Soviet Union. Your government has now been made aware of this, and what both governments are trying to do is to avoid any embarrassment that Major Dodson’s defection would cause. It was a silent defection, and that is the way we all want it to remain.”

Hollis pushed the letter back without looking at it. Hollis said, “I want to speak to Major Dodson and hear all this from him.”

Burov nodded. “Yes, all right. If he’s agreeable.”

“I don’t care if he’s agreeable or not. You will make him speak to me. Tomorrow. Here in Moscow. I suggest the International Trade Center hotel as a somewhat neutral site.”

Burov lit a cigarette and exhaled. “Well, I’ll take it up with the proper authorities.”

“Lacking a prompt decision, which is not unusual here, I want to see a photo of Major Dodson holding tomorrow’s
Pravda
.”

“That’s very clever.”

Hollis leaned toward Burov. “If you can’t produce the man or a picture of him, I’ll conclude that you’ve killed him or that he is not under your control. In fact, I believe he is on the run from you and may surface soon in his own way.”

Burov looked at Lisa, then at Hollis. “Westerners who come to the Soviet Union are often paranoid, filled with the drivel they read about us. They observe things through yellow eyes and misinterpret what they see. However, I expected more sophisticated judgment from people such as yourselves.”

“You’re blowing smoke,” Hollis said. “Call me at my office tomorrow regarding Major Dodson.”

“I’ll try. But tomorrow I’ve got other things on my agenda, as you Americans say. Specifically, I’m involved with the investigation of a murder of two guards in that restricted area I told you about. Two young men, shot in the chest, left to die in agony. Who would do such a thing?” He stared at Hollis, then Lisa.

Hollis poked Burov in the chest and said through clenched teeth, “Two young men”—he poked Burov again—“left to die in agony? You bastard. You and your thugs have murdered a million young men, women, children—”

Lisa held his arm. “Sam. It’s all right. Easy.”

Every head in the restaurant was turned toward them, and Burov’s face seemed frozen. No one spoke or moved for a full minute, then Burov said softly, “What a fool you are. To come here like this . . . accuse me of murder—”

Hollis interrupted, “By the way, who was the man who answered the door of Mr. Fisher’s room at the Rossiya?”

“How do I know?”

“That man,” Hollis said, “looked and talked like an American. He was, in fact, a Russian, a KGB man working in the First Chief Directorate, probably the Service A section. He was a graduate of the Institute of Canadian and American Studies in Moscow, among other schools.”

Burov stared at Hollis.

Hollis continued, “The guy was perfect, Burov, so don’t fire him. But he was too perfect. Better than your schools usually put out. I knew he didn’t belong in that room, so I concluded he was one of yours. But at first I figured he was a real American working for you. Then I got to thinking about Mrs. Ivanova’s Charm School and Major Jack Dodson and such. And I started coming to some mind-blowing conclusions.” Hollis poured wine in Burov’s glass. “You look like you need a drink, Colonel.”

Burov cleared his throat and said stiffly, “I would like you both to accompany me so we can continue this talk in private.”

Hollis said, “I think we’ll finish our dinner. Good evening.”

“Come. A short walk to my office.”

“Go to hell.”

Burov said tauntingly, “Are you frightened? There are two ways to go to Lefortovo. One is voluntary.”

Hollis glanced around the dining room and saw several men rise. Some of the seated men were smiling.

Lisa said, “Our embassy knows where we are tonight.”

“No, Miss Rhodes. They knew where you were headed. Do they know if you arrived?” Burov stood. “Come with me. Stand.”

Hollis put his napkin on the table, stood, and took Lisa’s arm. They followed Burov to the door. Three KGB men fell in behind them. They retrieved their coats in the foyer and stepped out into the cold. Burov said, “To the left.”

Hollis replied, “I think we’ll say good-bye here.” He took Lisa by the arm and turned away.

Burov motioned to the three men, one of whom was Viktor. Viktor shoved Hollis, sending him slamming into a parked car.

Lisa shouted, “You bastard!” She kicked Viktor in the groin.

One of the other KGB men slapped Lisa across the face and pulled her to the ground by her hair.

Hollis spun around and caught Burov’s jaw with his fist, then went for the man who still had Lisa by the hair. The man drew a pistol and barked, “
Stoi!
”

Hollis stopped.

Burov got to his feet, and Viktor, somewhat recovered from the kick to the groin, drew his pistol. Burov dabbed at his bleeding jaw with a handkerchief and said calmly, “You are both under arrest.”