Charm School v1_0

by Nelson DeMille

  “You know, I think these pilots here have been playing for time for nearly twenty years.”

  “One week. Promise me.”

  She nodded. “One week.”

  They got back on the path and continued their walk. The pine forest was rather nice, Hollis thought, a real Russian bor, alive with birds and small animals. Pinecones lay strewn on the log trail, and a carpet of needles covered the earth. Among the pines were a few scrub oaks, and red squirrels gathered acorns from the base of them. As Hollis and Lisa rounded a bend they saw an unexpected knoll covered with yellow grass, atop which were a dozen white Russian birches, alight in the fading afternoon sun. Lisa took Hollis' hand, and they made their way to the top of the knoll and stood among the birch trees. She said, “The circumstances notwithstanding, this is lovely.” She pointed. “What is that?”

  Hollis turned toward the setting sun and shielded his eyes. About a hundred meters off, through a thin growth of pine, he could see a tall wooden watchtower, grey and brooding in the gathering dusk. “That is what has replaced the onion-dome church as the predominant feature of the Russian landscape. That is a guard tower.” He couldn't see the barbed wire or the cleared zone, but he knew it was there. He picked out another tower about two hundred meters beyond the first. Hollis reckoned that if the camp was about two kilometers square and the watchtowers were about two hundred meters apart, there could be as many as forty towers around the perimeter. Each one would have to be manned by at least two Border Guards in eight-hour shifts, meaning there were no fewer than two hundred forty guards for the towers alone. There would be perhaps another two hundred for the perimeter patrol and the main gate, plus the headquarters staff and the helipad personnel. Based on just what he'd seen, here and from the air, Hollis thought there could be as many as six hundred KGB Border Guards in the camp. A formidable force. That was a lot of people to keep about three hundred Americans contained. But it was critically important to the KGB that not even one American should get out of here. And for nearly two decades, no one apparently had. Then Dodson had done the seemingly impossible, and the whole chain of command, from Burov right up to the Politburo, was worried. Hollis wondered how Dodson had gotten out.

  Lisa looked out at the tower and said, “This is the limit of our world now, isn't it?”

  “Apparently.”

  “I wish I had wings.”

  “I'm sure the airmen imprisoned here remember when they did.”

  They walked back down the knoll to the path and turned in the direction from which they'd come. Lisa said, “I still feel weak.”

  “Do you want to stop?”

  “Later. I want to walk while the sun is shining. I'll hold your arm.”

  They rounded a curve in the path and saw coming toward them a young couple dressed in jeans and ski jackets. Hollis said to Lisa, “Be friendly and play instructor.”

  “One week.”

  The couple smiled as they drew closer, and the man introduced himself, “Hi, I'm Jeff Rooney, and this is Suzie Trent. You must be Colonel Hollis and Lisa Rhodes.” He stuck out his hand.

  Hollis shook hands with him and felt a firm, powerful grip.

  Rooney took Lisa's hand. “Great meeting you.”

  Hollis looked at the man. He was in his mid-twenties, probably a two- or three-year veteran of the Red Air Force. He may have had some university years and perhaps some time in Air Force Intelligence school. Certainly he had spent his one year at the Institute for Canadian and American Studies in Moscow. He was dark and rather short and did not appear particularly Irish as his name suggested, but his legend would probably include a Slavic mother.

  Rooney said, “We were sort of looking for you guys. We went to your house, but someone said they saw you heading this way.”

  Neither Hollis nor Lisa responded, but Jeff Rooney seemed irrepressible in his friendliness. He said, “The colonel suggested we look you up. He wanted Suzie to meet Lisa.”

  Suzie Trent smiled. She was a petite woman, in her early twenties, with dirty blond hair, a pointy nose, acne, and breasts too big for her frame. She spoke in accented English, “It is good that you are here now, Lisa. I have been here six months and go to the women's class. It is very small. Twelve students and only six female instructors. It is time for me to go one-on-one, but there are not enough female mentors. So I hope you can become my mentor and teach me to be you.”

  Lisa drew a short breath. “Yes, if you wish.” She forced a smile. “But you can't sleep with my boyfriend.”

  Jeff and Suzie laughed very hard. Suzie said, “Lisa, can you have tea with us this afternoon? We meet at five-thirty, after class. All the girls.”

  “The women.”

  “Yes. We meet in the split-level. Anyone may tell you where it is.”

  “Can tell.”

  “Yes, thank you. Can. I know the rule, but I still don't know always which to use.”

  “When in doubt, use 'can.' Most Americans err in that direction. When Russians speak English, they tend to err in the other direction, using too many 'mays,' and it stands out.”

  “I will remember that.”

  “Remember, too, that Americans don't stand as close as you're standing to me.”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry.” She took a step back and asked, “Were you rich in your last life? Will I have to learn the manners and customs of the rich?”

  Lisa glanced at Hollis and replied, “I was born into a middle-class family.”

  “Where?”

  “Long Island, outside New York City.”

  “Oh… then they will send me elsewhere. I wanted to go to New York.”

  Jeff Rooney interjected, “Suzie, I don't think Lisa cares about that. You're not real sensitive. You know?”

  “Of course. I' in sorry.”

  Rooney said to Hollis, “My old man is in the Soviet Foreign Ministry, so I sort of picked up the jargon and stuff at home. I thought what we could do for my last few months here is to bat around a lot of embassy jargon. I'm up to here in American Air Force and Navy jargon. We have a few Army types too, by the way. Mostly chopper guys. So, what do you think?”

  “Sounds all right.”

  “Great,” Rooney said, as if Hollis could have turned him down. Rooney added, “But I understand that you two may decide not to stay on.” He looked at Hollis closely, and the mask slipped a half centimeter as he said, “That would be a mistake.”

  Hollis didn't reply.

  Rooney smiled and continued his pitch. “Anyway, when I graduate, I was sort of thinking about a career in military intelligence, leading to an attache posting like you had. Ultimately, I'd like to be assigned to NATO.”

  “Good choice.”

  “Right. Problem is, the placement people here don't think I could get a security clearance. I mean with my background. Born in Moscow, father a Party member, and all that.” Rooney laughed. “Well, I mean, I have to come up with a whole legend, of course. But it would be a hell of a coup if I could make it into American military intelligence. I took a few Air Force placement and aptitude exams—U.S. Air Force, I mean—and did pretty well. I think with your coaching, I could really do all right.”

  Hollis cleared his throat. “Well, that's very ambitious of you. I'd be surprised, though, if you could pass a background check. How would you do that?”

  “Well, it's getting a little easier now that we have all those other guys over there. I'd start off as an orphan, you see, and list a defunct orphanage, and a few dead foster parents. Birth certificates are no problem anymore. We got a few guys in the Bureau of Vital Statistics in some cities who can take care of all that.”

  “But what about personal references?”

  “Well, the program here goes back fifteen years, Colonel. So I can list guys whose own bona fides are pretty well established here. It's like an old boys' network already. School ties and all that. Us new guys go in there with a few beachheads already established.”

  “It is my understanding that the graduates never come into
contact with one another for security reasons.”

  “Oh? Who told you that?”

  “Can't remember.”

  Jeff Rooney shook his head. “There are small cells. Just like all over the world. That's how we made a revolution here and other places. Cells, isolated from one another for security, but all working for the same thing. It was a novel concept back before the Revolution, and it still works. Makes it impossible to round up the whole organization. That's the way I understand it is over there. Each cell works to enhance the professional life of its members.”

  “That's interesting.”

  “Right. So, anyway, don't worry about my security clearance, Colonel. Just give me some insights into the Air Force intelligence world and maybe some embassy jargon and how the politics work on getting these postings. I'll do the rest. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Rooney added, “I wish I had an old man who was an Air Force general like you do. Well, someday I'll be an American Air Force general, and my kids will have it easier. The great American dream—right, Colonel? Always a little harder for us immigrants.” He laughed. “Legal or illegal. But we'll make it. We work harder.”

  Hollis regarded Rooney closely. The Charm School, he thought, took the spycraft ideal of deep cover to its ultimate realization; it assaulted the very notion of identity that all human beings took for granted. Each man and woman on earth, Hollis reflected, was a complex matrix of language, habit, nuance, gesture, and shared mythology, the sum total of which identified them as members of a specific nation, culture, or society. And the thought that all of this could be replicated was a scary notion. But, Hollis thought, it was a very Russian notion. It was the old Russian nobility and upper classes speaking French, dressing English, and thinking German; it was the whole Russian obsession with trying to be something they were not. And this place, Hollis realized, was an advanced version of Stanislavsky's method acting, a bizarre and grotesque stage where all the actors exited into the night and played their stage parts in the world. It was, Hollis understood, a place where the final curtain had to be drawn.

  Rooney said, “Colonel? You there?”

  Hollis focused on Rooney. “I'm here.”

  Rooney smiled. “Well, you guys probably want to snoop around a little, so we won't keep you. But we're having a party Friday night. You'll get a chance to meet a lot of the people here. See Chuck over at supply for a mask.”

  “Mask?”

  “Yeah. Halloween. Fridays Halloween.”

  “Right.”

  Suzie looked at Lisa and said, “Smile. It's not so bad here.”

  Lisa didn't smile or reply.

  Jeff added, “No one will hassle you if you're straight with us. Talk to the other instructors and you'll see. See you at the Grand Sabbat.”

  Suzie waved. “Nice meeting you both. Don't get lost.”

  “Welcome to the campus,” Jeff added. “Don't get too close to the perimeter.”

  They moved off down the path.

  Neither Hollis nor Lisa spoke for a minute, then Hollis said dryly, “Nice kids. Lots of ambition.”

  Lisa replied, “God forgive me, but I wanted to slit their throats.”

  “And they may have wanted to cut ours.” Hollis thought a moment, then said, “Frightening.”

  “Creepy,” Lisa agreed. She watched them disappear around the bend in the path and commented, “He's a nearly finished product. She's still very rough. I guess I'm supposed to polish her. I can't believe this, Sam.”

  “It is a bit surreal.” Hollis looked into the woods. Deep purple shadows lay in the ancient bor, and the worn wooden trail ran from nowhere to nowhere. The wind had died, and there was a stillness all around. Here I am, Hollis thought, in the hart of Russia, dead to the world, surrounded by barbed wire and engulfed in a mad experiment. Fifteen years late, but here at last.

  They headed back the way they came, but took a cross path that cut east.

  Lisa said, Did I do all right? I mean with the 'may' and 'can'?

  “Fine. But they didn't believe for a minute that we were willing participants.”

  “Good. I'm not much of a phony.”

  “No, you're not.”

  They came to a ranch-style house set snugly among the pine trees. It was red brick with white trim and a green asphalt roof. A gravel driveway led to a one-car garage, but there was no sign that a car had ever driven over the gravel. On the right side of the garage was a man of about fifty, stacking a cord of firewood. A child of about five swung in a tire suspended by a rope from a tree limb. Hollis walked up the drive, followed by Lisa, and the man turned toward him. Hollis said, “Hello, I'm new in town.”

  The man looked at him and at Lisa. “Sam Hollis! I heard you were here. And that must be Lisa Rhodes.” The man wiped his palms on his corduroy slacks and shook hands with Hollis. He spoke in a Texas twang. “I'm Tim Landis. I think we know each other, Sam.”

  Hollis was momentarily taken aback. “Yes… by God, you were a flight commander in our fighter group.”

  “Right. We attended some wild briefings together. I remember you used to give old General Fuller a hard time.” Landis said to Lisa, “Sam got ticked once at all the target restrictions and told Fuller we should drop water balloons so no one would get mad at us.”

  Hollis introduced Lisa, and she shook hands with Landis. She asked, “Is this like dying and going to purgatory, or is it a living hell?”

  Landis seemed to understand. “Well, that depends on how you wake up in the morning, what you dreamed about in the night.” Landis rubbed his forehead. “You see, I've been nearly twenty years here, and I don't feel like it's home, but I don't know what home is supposed to feel like anymore.” He added, “Except sometimes when I wake in the night and can remember all of it and feel it again.”

  No one spoke for a while, then Landis smiled at Hollis. “Hey, Sam, I'm glad you didn't get downed.”

  “Well, I did. Over Haiphong harbor. Last run of the war. But I got fished out of the drink.” Hollis hesitated a moment, then said, “My copilot was Ernie Simms. Is he here?”

  Landis replied, “Not anymore.”

  “He was here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “Well… let's see… it was back in '74. He'd just got here from Hanoi. In fact, now you mention it, it was you he was with. He said you blew out too, but didn't know what happened to you. So he got fished out of that same drink, I guess. Artery got opened, but the Zips fixed him up, and he was fine by the time he got here.”

  “What happened to him here?”

  “They shot him.”

  “Why?”

  “Well…” Landis seemed suddenly uncomfortable. “Well, he told them to fuck off. He told the honcho here, a Red Air Force shit whose name I can't remember now, that he wasn't playing ball. So they shot him.”

  Hollis nodded.

  Landis said, “They had all the pilots they needed from the Zips then, so if you got testy with them, they shot you. Then the war ended, and the KGB started taking over. You know about all that?”

  “No.”

  “You want to know?”

  “Some other time.”

  “Okay. Hey, sorry about Simms. But there are probably a few other guys here you know from our bunch. Jessie Gates?”

  “'Crazy' Gates?”

  “Right.” Landis rattled off a dozen other names, and Hollis recognized three or four of them. Landis said, “Say, let me introduce you to my little guy.” He turned to the boy and called out, “Timmy. Come here and meet an old friend of mine.”

  The boy jumped down from the tire and ran over to them.

  Landis said, “Timmy, this is… what are you now, Sam, a general?”

  “Colonel.”

  “Terrific. Timmy, this is Colonel Hollis and Miss Rhodes. This is Timothy Junior.”

  Everyone shook hands, and the boy smiled bashfully. Landis said, “Timmy is almost six. There are a few other kids his age here but not too many. He
likes the older kids anyway. Right, kiddo?”

  The boy nodded. “Joey Reeves is my best friend, and he's nine.” He looked at Hollis. “Are you from America?”

  “Yes.”

  “I'm going to America someday.”

  “Good. You'll like it.”

  “I'm going to go there to work for peace.” Hollis didn't reply. “America is a good country.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “But bad people run the country.”

  Hollis glanced at Landis.

  Lisa asked the boy, “Do you speak Russian?”

  “No. We learn things about Russia but in English.”

  “What do you learn?”

  “Russia is a great country that works for peace. Someday, Russia and America will be friends. Then Dad, Mom, and me can leave here and live in America if we want. Or in Russia. Russia is close to here. America is far away.”

  Lisa knelt and took the boy's hands. “America wants peace too.”

  “But bad people run the government.”

  Hollis put his hand on Lisa's shoulder, and she stood. Landis said to his son, “Go on and play.” The boy ran off.

  Landis watched him, then said, “At first they thought that sex was enough, then they understood that some of us actually had a paternal instinct and our women had the maternal urgings. So they let us have children. They want to keep us contented here, busy with everyday things. But solutions lead to new problems. Like the kids. There are about sixty of them now. The oldest is the Brewer kid, Rick. He's ten. Ted Brewer's wife, Svetlana, was the first to conceive after they lifted the ban.”

  “And what,” Hollis asked, “is the problem?”

  “Well, they didn't know how to bring up these kids. So they came up with this hybrid system where they teach the kids a modified American curriculum in English, but they also teach Russian history and Soviet ideology. It's kind of screwed up. They think they can send these kids into America like they do the Russian students. But I don't know. I think all these kids are going to go bonkers as they get older and realize they're in prison.” Landis looked at his son, swinging again on the tire. “My poor little guy.”

  Lisa watched the boy awhile, then looked at Landis. “Do you teach him the truth at home?”