The Charm School (78 page)

41

The Zil-6 moved over the dark road.

Lisa said from the rear, “Seth, we don’t need Burov. Just take another American. General Austin’s house is right off this road. You wanted him.”

“But you wanted Dodson. Only room for one more, and that will be Colonel Petr Burov. Right, Sam?”

Hollis didn’t reply.

Mills said, “Seth, we got some problems at the helipad.” Mills explained about the spotlight and about the tower trying to raise the helipad radio.

Alevy stayed silent a moment, then said, “Let’s not get jumpy. We’re very close to pulling off the snatch operation of the decade. What do you think, Sam?”

Hollis thought that a reasonable man would have accepted the evidence and concluded that the operation was starting to unravel. Alevy, however, was a driven man, and Hollis did not trust driven men.

“Sam?”

“I think we’re all living on borrowed time.” Hollis said to Mills, “Bert? What do you say?”

Mills seemed torn between reason and loyalty to Alevy, which they both knew were mutually exclusive. Mills looked sideways at Alevy. “Seth . . . we got Sam and Lisa, we got an American . . . chopper’s crowded. Maybe it’s time to shuffle off.”

Alevy turned and looked back at Hollis. “Sam, it’s your call. Do
you
want to get Burov yourself, or would you be content to let him live? Maybe tomorrow when he wakes up from the Sandman, he’ll murder
twenty
Americans.”

Hollis replied curtly, “This isn’t a balls contest.”

“I’m not questioning your nerve. I just want to know if you have any personal scores to settle. In our business, you can let personal considerations help you make an operational decision. Well?”

Hollis glanced at Lisa, then said to Alevy, “Drive on.”

Alevy remarked, “I think we have each other figured out.”

Lisa slumped against the door and stared at Hollis. He stared back. Hollis recalled the trip to Novodevichy Convent, sitting on the floor, with Jane Ellis and Betty Eschman in front. That had been a lark, Hollis thought, compared to this. But this was the inevitable result of what they had begun in Moscow. Lisa kicked his foot and forced a smile. “Novodevichy?”

He nodded. They had a short but memorable history.

Hollis said to Alevy, “Keep it at about fifteen K, or you’ll attract attention.”

They continued on, and Alevy navigated a bend in the road, then said, “What the hell is that?”

Hollis raised himself up and looked out the window. “That’s Pine Corners Shopping Plaza. You never saw a shopping plaza before?”

Mills laughed. “Jesus Christ. . . .”

Alevy looked up at the camouflage net that blocked the night sky, then cut into the parking lot and drove slowly past the stores and shops. “Seven Eleven?”

“Mosfilm does the props.”

“Really?” He looked at each shop window as they drove by, nodding his head several times. “Not bad . . . do they—?”

“I’ll brief you,” Hollis said curtly, “in London. Let’s move it.”

Suddenly a pair of headlights appeared on the road, and they saw a huge Zil-131 troop carrier pass the parking lot, heading toward the headquarters building.

Mills said, “If he stops at headquarters, he’s not going to like what he sees there.”

Alevy hit the accelerator and swung back onto the road, falling in behind the troop carrier. In the canvas-covered rear compartment, Alevy’s headlights illuminated about twenty men with AK-47’s. Alevy honked his horn and flashed his lights. The carrier’s driver put his arm out the window, then stopped the vehicle. The driver got out and walked back toward them. He called out, “Strakhov?”

Alevy said to Hollis and Lisa, “Stay low.” He opened his door and said to Mills, “Get behind the wheel.” Alevy jumped out and walked toward the driver of the troop carrier, who was shielding his eyes against the glare of the headlights. The driver asked, “Who is that?”

“Major Voronin.”

The man snapped to attention and saluted.

Alevy asked, “Where are you taking those men?”

The driver replied, “To relieve the guard posts.”

“Which guard posts?”

“Towers one and two, the main gate, the headquarters, and the helipad, sir. I’ve just relieved the guards at the dacha.”

“Colonel Burov’s dacha?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many guards do you mount there?”

“Three.”

Alevy glanced at the twenty armed men in the rear of the truck whose heads were turned toward him. Alevy addressed the driver. “The personnel in the headquarters and the helipad have two more hours punishment duty for sloppy attitudes.”

“Yes, sir. By whose authority, Major?”

“Mine, Corporal. Go directly to the towers and the main gate, then bring the rest of your men back to the guard house.”

“The barracks, sir.”

“Yes, the barracks.” Alevy felt a bead of sweat form under his cap and roll down his forehead. “Dismissed.”

The driver hesitated, then saluted and turned on his heel.

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.