The Charm School (79 page)

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.

Hollis realized that Burov had not been lying about his physical condition, but Hollis’ condition was not as good as it had been some weeks before, and he was tiring, unable to roll Burov over on his back again. Hollis found himself under Burov’s heavy weight and felt Burov’s gun hand working free. Both men looked at each other in the dim light, and Hollis saw that Burov was bleeding from the nose and the right eye. Burov said softly, “I’m going to shoot you in the balls.”

Hollis suddenly released his grip on Burov’s wrist and with his freed hand delivered a karate chop to the back of Burov’s neck, then reached around Burov’s head and grasped his chin in his hand and pulled, turning the man’s head and neck until he could hear the cartilage cracking. Burov reached for Hollis’ hand to break the grip before his neck broke.

Hollis kept up the pressure, and he could see Burov’s tongue protruding from his mouth and his left eye beginning to bulge. Burov’s free hand was pulling at Hollis’ arm. Hollis brought his knee up into Burov’s groin twice, realizing the man’s defenses were failing. He tried to pull the pistol from Burov’s hand, but Burov held tight.

Then, to keep his neck from breaking, Burov suddenly released his grip on his pistol and let his body roll over on his back, rolling out of Hollis’ twisting jaw hold. Burov got to his feet.

Hollis stood also, and the two men faced each other, hunched over and panting. Hollis let Burov’s pistol fall to the floor. “Come on.”

But Burov didn’t move, and Hollis could see he was finished. Both eyes were filled with blood, and his breathing came in short raspy gasps. Blood poured from Burov’s nose and spurted from his wrist. Hollis moved closer to him, caught his breath, and said, “For Dodson, Fisher, the airmen, their women, and the children.” Hollis drove his fist into Burov’s face and heard the cracking of teeth.

Burov toppled backward and lay still on the floor. Hollis sank to his knees and turned Burov over on his face so he wouldn’t drown in his own blood. He ripped off the collar of Burov’s pajamas and tied it around the open vein of Burov’s wrist.

Hollis sank to the floor, trying to clear his head and catch his breath. His hand went to his right cheek where Burov’s teeth had ripped into the flesh and nerves, and he felt a searing pain flash through his brain.

A figure appeared in the doorway, and Hollis could make out a pair of jackboots coming toward him. He looked up into the face of Seth Alevy. Behind Alevy was Lisa. Hollis tried to stand, but Alevy’s hand pressed down on his shoulder. “Sit awhile.” Alevy took the revolver from the floor and went over to Burov.

Lisa hurried to Hollis’ side. “Sam, are you all right?”

He nodded, then turned toward Alevy. “Radio.” He pointed.

Alevy moved from Burov to the radio and ripped the handset out of its cord, then smashed the plastic handset against the steel radio casing. “Was he able to get a call through?”

“I don’t think so.” Hollis pulled on his sweat pants, and Lisa helped him on with his shirt and parka. He got on his running shoes but found he couldn’t tie the laces, and Lisa did it for him. Hollis stood unsteadily, stuffing the loose papers from the cigar tubes into his pocket. Lisa handed him his star.

Alevy turned Burov over and looked at his face, then looked at Hollis and said, “You guys don’t like each other.”

Hollis didn’t reply.

A voice said in Russian, “Why did you hurt my father?”

They all turned toward the door. A frightened-looking girl of about ten stood in her nightgown at the open door. Behind her was a rather plain, middle-aged woman in a heavy quilt robe, and barely visible behind her was the old woman whom Burov had introduced as his mother.

The middle-aged woman looked at Hollis, then at Lisa, then at Alevy in the KGB uniform. “Is my husband dead?”

Alevy replied in Russian, “No, madam, he is only unconscious.”

She sobbed. “But I don’t understand what is happening.”

Alevy and Hollis glanced at each other. Lisa said to them in English, “You will not kill them.”

The girl, Natalia, said, “Will my father be all right?”

Lisa replied in Russian, “Yes.”

Suddenly the old woman pushed past her daughter-in-law and granddaughter and hurried into the room, kneeling beside her son, tears falling on his face, her fingers caressing him. “Oh, God, my poor boy. Petr, Petr, God love you, my little one.” Hollis recalled those World War II newsclips of the old babushkas keening over the bodies of their sons and husbands. He thought,
My God, how many Burovs have been carried in the big bellies of these saintly old ladies?

Alevy said in English, “We can’t take them, and we can’t leave them. . . .”

Lisa snapped, “No, Seth!”

Hollis said to Alevy, “I want Burov to know they’re alive. That could be useful to us later.”

Alevy nodded. “All right.” He said to Burov’s wife in Russian, “All of you will remain in the house, or the dogs will get you. Some soldiers will be along in a while.” Alevy knelt to pick up Burov, but Hollis pushed him aside and with some difficulty got Burov in a fireman’s carry and took him toward the door, the old woman still caressing him.

Lisa put her hand on Natalia’s head. “We’re taking him to the hospital. He will be home soon.”

Burov’s wife and mother tried to follow Hollis down the staircase, but Alevy stopped them. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”

Lisa and Alevy made their way down the stairs after Hollis. Lisa said to Alevy, “You were kind to them.”

Alevy didn’t reply.

The Trans Am was now outside the front door, its hatchback open. Mills got out of the car, and with Hollis, they put Burov in the rear compartment with Dodson. Mills tied Burov’s wrists with a piece of steel flex. Hollis looked down at both battered men: Dodson in his torn warm-up suit, Burov in his blood-splattered pajamas, neither face recognizable. The circle was closing on itself, Hollis reflected, the events set in motion by Dodson’s catapult over the wire were nearing resolution. Hollis said to Alevy, “I’ll drive. Bert, give me your topcoat and hat and get in the back with Lisa.” Hollis put on the KGB topcoat and cap, then slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. Mills and Lisa climbed into the rear, and Alevy got in beside Hollis. Hollis threw the Trans Am into gear and accelerated quickly up the path, through the gate, and onto the dark, curving road.

They passed the shopping plaza, and Alevy said, “We have twenty-two minutes before Sandman. Lots of time.”

Lisa said, “Is that it, Seth? We can go now?”

“Yes. Helicopter’s full.”

“Damned full,” Hollis added. He stepped on the accelerator and brought the speed up to sixty mph.

As they approached the headquarters building, a piercing siren cut the air. Alevy said, “I assume that has something to do with us.”

Ahead they could see the lighted headquarters building with several Zil-6’s in front of it and about a dozen KGB Border Guards milling around. One of them stepped to the side of the road and began waving to Hollis to pull into the parking area in front of the headquarters.

Hollis put the pedal to the floor, and the headquarters shot by in a blur.

Alevy said, “What do you suppose that fellow wanted?”

“I don’t know.” Hollis saw the speedometer climb to ninety mph. They shot past the dark VFW building, and Hollis said, “Watch for the helipad turnoff.”

Mills commented, “They’re not real sure who’s who or what’s what yet.”

Alevy said, “Well, I hope they figure it all out after we’re gone.”

Hollis glanced in his rearview mirror. “Two vehicles coming up.”

Alevy looked over his shoulder, and his eyes made contact with Lisa’s. He said, “You’re unusually quiet.”

She smiled nervously. “Thinking about the helicopter.”

“We’ll be airborne in a few minutes.”

Hollis said, “They’re still back there.”

Alevy said to Mills, “Burn them.” He handed his hat to Mills. “Use this.”

“Right.” Mills took a phosphorus grenade from its Velcro holder on his ankle, set the timer dial at zero, and laid the grenade in the hat. He asked Alevy, “What’s the delay for zero?”

“Seven seconds.”

“Right. Could you open your door a crack?” Mills pulled the timer dial out to arm the grenade and counted to four, then pushed the hat out the door onto the road. “Five, six.”

The lead vehicle, a Zil-6, was about two hundred meters behind them, flashing its lights now and sounding its horn.

“Seven.”

The phosphorus exploded under the first Zil, which veered off the road and crashed into the trees, its fuel tank exploding. Balls of burning phosphorus lifted into the air and ignited the pine trees. The second Zil, a big troop carrier, kept coming, but they drew no fire from it. Mills said, “He’s thinking about where that came from. He doesn’t really want to open fire on the colonel’s car.”

Lisa called out, “Sam! There’s the road to the helipad.”

Hollis hit the brakes and cut the wheel to the right, the Trans Am fishtailing but holding the road. He downshifted, then accelerated up the narrow gravel track. The Pontiac bounced as Hollis floored it, and the speedometer climbed to sixty mph, then seventy.

About two hundred meters ahead Hollis saw the outline of the radio cabin and a dim light in one of its windows. He also saw part of the clearing but couldn’t see the helicopter.

The siren was still wailing, and now the searchlights in the towers were probing into the woods beyond the perimeter. The camp was alive, the six hundred Border Guards were on the move. Hollis said, “We can pick up Brennan on the run.”

Alevy looked out the rear. “That damned troop carrier is coming up. Stop it here and block the road, or they’ll follow us right to the helicopter.”

“Right.” Hollis hit the brakes, and the Trans Am skidded to a halt diagonally across the gravel path. He pulled the keys out of the ignition, then shut off the lights as everyone scrambled out.

The Zil behind them slowed to a stop about a hundred meters away, its headlights illuminating them. Alevy carried Dodson, and Hollis took Burov on his back. Alevy said, “Lisa, run on ahead and tell Brennan we’re coming in.”

Lisa pulled her pistol, then ran down the path.

Hollis could see the shadows of at least ten men leaving the troop carrier and coming toward them. Someone shouted in Russian, “Identify yourselves.”