Charm School v1_0

by Nelson DeMille

  “What?”

  He… he was in my cell… when the matron . . . searched me…

  “All right. Don't think about it. You have to understand that he always intended for us to work for them. That's why we're here and not in Lubyanka. That's why he hasn't done anything to us that he thinks we couldn't forgive.”

  “I understand.”

  Hollis said, “He also dropped off some reading material. Are you up to reading about your death?”

  She stared straight ahead for some time, then nodded.

  Hollis stood and went to a cabinet beneath the bookshelf. He returned with newspapers and magazines and sat beside her. He handed her the Long Island Newsday, opened to the obituary page.

  Lisa looked down at her picture and read the headline: Lisa Rhodes, Accident Victim. She cleared her throat. “My mother must have given them that old photo. She always liked that picture…” Hollis saw a tear splatter on the newspaper, and he took the paper from her. He stood and poured two glasses of brandy. He handed her a glass, and she drank from it.

  Lisa composed herself and said, “My family buried me… poor Dad… I can almost see him trying not to cry.” She looked at Hollis. “And you? Your family…?”

  Hollis opened a Washington Post to the obituary page. “I got full military honors at Arlington. My parents probably groused about having to fly in from Japan.”

  She looked down at the obituary and read it silently. “I didn't realize you were so important.”

  “It was just the circumstances surrounding our deaths that generated some interest. Here…” He opened a later edition of The Washington Post to a story in the A section headlined: U.S. Accepts Soviets' Claim, Calls Fatal Crash “Accident.”

  Lisa looked at him, then turned her attention back to the story and read:

  The State Department said yesterday that it was “substantially satisfied” with the Soviet Union's explanation of the deaths of two Americans killed last week when a Soviet military helicopter crashed near the Russian city of Minsk. In a prepared statement released here and in Moscow, the department called the crash a “tragic accident” and said that there was no reason to suspect “foul play.”

  The U.S. embassy in Moscow had demanded that the Soviets conduct a complete investigation of the deaths of Air Force Col. Samuel G. Hollis, 46, a military attache, and Lisa Rhodes, 29, a deputy public affairs officer for the United States Information Service. Both were being expelled from the country when the helicopter in which they were riding crashed for unknown reasons. The fact that Hollis and Rhodes had been declared “persona non grata” by the Soviets and were traveling in a Russian military helicopter without any other Westerners present when they died had concerned the State Department.

  Charles Banks, an embassy official in Moscow, was quoted in yesterday's statement as saying the embassy was “substantially satisfied” with the Soviet explanation of the incident. Banks said there was “no reason to believe that either Hollis or Rhodes were the targets of any foul play.”

  (In Moscow, the Soviet newspaper Pravda carried a three paragraph story about the helicopter crash in yesterday's editions. It said a Russian helicopter pilot and co-pilot also died in the crash. Because Pravda rarely prints stories about accidents inside the Soviet Union, the story was seen by U.S. diplomats as a public apology of sorts by the Kremlin.)

  The State Department released its statement yesterday a few hours after Hollis was buried at Arlington National Cemetery in a military service. Rhodes was also buried yesterday in Sea Cliff, a small New York village on Long Island. A high-level source at the State Department said yesterday's statement was issued to reassure the families of Hollis and Rhodes and also to end “unwarranted speculation” in the press about their deaths.

  The Soviet government ordered Hollis and Rhodes to leave the country about two weeks ago after it accused them of taking an unauthorized automobile trip. The State Department refused to confirm or deny the Soviets' charge, but a spokesman for the U.S. embassy in Moscow acknowledged at the time that Hollis had been sent by the embassy to Mozhaisk, with the Soviet governments full knowledge and permission, to claim the body of an American tourist, Gregory Fisher, 23, of New Canaan, Conn. Fisher had died in an automobile accident earlier this month outside Moscow, and Hollis was investigating the matter, the spokesman said. Rhodes had accompanied Hollis to claim Fisher's body because she and Hollis were friends, not because she was on embassy business, the spokesman said. However, both had passes issued by the Soviet government, which are necessary for embassy staff for travel outside Moscow.

  In retaliation for the expulsion of Hollis and Rhodes, the State Department ordered the expulsion of two Soviet embassy employees in Washington. A State Department official denied that this round of expulsions, after years of relatively good diplomatic relations, was a signal that the diplomatic thaw was cooling. “This was an isolated incident,” the official was quoted as saying, “and will not affect ongoing initiatives between the two countries.”

  Members of the Fisher family said yesterday that they still are not satisfied with the explanation that the Soviets and State Department have given about Gregory Fisher's death. One family member said he felt it was “odd” that Hollis and Rhodes were expelled and later died after they began investigating Fisher's death. But the State Department said it didn't believe the matters were related.

  The Kremlin's decision to expel Hollis and Rhodes was considered severe by U.S. diplomats, who said the U.S. and Soviets usually only file routine complaints when they discover a diplomat has violated travel restrictions. The harshness of the Soviets' action prompted some Western diplomats to speculate that Hollis and Rhodes might have used the trip to conduct surveillance on the Soviets' tightly guarded military facilities in the area. The Pentagon and USIS both categorically denied that Hollis and Rhodes were involved in any “activities related to surveillance or espionage.” The USIS issued a strongly worded statement that said its personnel “have never and will never” participate in espionage activities. “The USIS is not part of that world,” a USIS spokesman said. A spokesman for the Pentagon acknowledged that some countries—including the Soviet Union—use military attaches at embassies for “intelligence gathering,” but he denied that Hollis was involved in any such activity.

  Friends of the Hollis family said Hollis' father, retired Air Force Gen. Benjamin Hollis, had asked the Pentagon for a briefing on the death of his son. A family friend said Gen. Hollis was concerned because his son's body was so badly burned that it could not be positively identified.

  (A high-ranking embassy official in Moscow, who visited the helicopter crash site, told Geraldine Callahan of the Post's Moscow bureau that the helicopter “burned with surprising intensity” after it crashed. The fire was so hot that it completely consumed the four bodies aboard, this official said. “The remains were no more than ashes and bone fragments and were impossible to identify,” he said.)

  The Pentagon would not comment on the condition of the bodies or whether Gen. Hollis had requested a briefing. However, a Pentagon spokesman, Gen. Earle Vandermullen, said yesterday that the Red Air Force helicopter that crashed was a turbojet and that a “fire of extreme intensity would not be inconsistent with that type of aircraft, especially if the jet fuel tanks were full.” The Hollis family did not issue any statements or talk with reporters at the funeral.

  The State Department said the Soviets gave the following account of the accident. Hollis and Rhodes boarded Pan Am flight 415 last Monday on what was supposed to be a direct flight from Moscow to Frankfurt. The airplane was forced to make an emergency landing in Minsk after Soviet authorities radioed the pilot that a bomb had been planted on the airplane. Because of their diplomatic status, Hollis and Rhodes were told by Minsk officials that they could return to Moscow without delay by boarding a military helicopter that would take them to a Lufthansa Airlines flight to Frankfurt. The helicopter carrying Hollis and Rhodes reportedly crashed about 15 minutes after it l
eft Minsk airport.

  Mike Salerno, Moscow correspondent for Pacific News Service, said that he sat next to Hollis and Rhodes when the Pan Am flight left Moscow. He said Hollis and Rhodes both seemed grateful for the chance to return to Moscow aboard the helicopter. He said they asked him to notify the U.S. embassy about their flight change, which he said he did. “The Soviet authorities at Minsk offered me a ride in the helicopter back to Moscow,” Salerno said. “But I didn't mind staying on in Minsk. Sam and Lisa (Hollis and Rhodes) were anxious to make connections in Frankfurt.” A spokesman for Pan Am said Soviet authorities held the aircraft overnight in Minsk before allowing it to resume its flight, and the passengers were put up in a local hotel. The Soviets declined to say whether a bomb was found.

  Family friends said Gen. Hollis claimed his son's body Wednesday at Andrews Air Force Base. Col. Hollis was married but had been estranged from his wife Katherine during the past six months, a friend of the Hollis family said. Katherine Hollis arrived here yesterday from her home in London for the funeral but refused to talk to reporters.

  Rhodes was buried last week in Sea Cliff, N.Y. Her mother, Eva Rhodes, described Rhodes as an energetic woman who was “proud of her work” and was “a lover of the Russian language and culture.” A USIS spokesman said Rhodes was considered a “hard worker” by her peers with a keen interest in Russian history. She had worked at USIS for six years, the last two years in Moscow.

  Hollis, a highly decorated Vietnam veteran, joined the Air Force in 1962 and was a graduate of the United States Air Force Academy. He was responsible for maintaining liaison with the Red Air Force in matters of mutual interest to both countries.

  The State Department said it considered the matter closed unless there was “substantial new information” regarding the helicopter crash.

  Lisa closed the newspaper and stared at the burning logs. Hollis poured two more glasses of brandy. He saw that her cheeks were wet with wiped tears. Finally, she said, “They don't suspect a thing.”

  “Not for the record.”

  “But Seth…”

  Hollis felt himself getting somewhat annoyed but answered, “Yes, Seth probably knows.”

  She seemed to sense his irritation and added, “We don't need him to get us out of here. We can do it ourselves. You got us away from Mozhaisk and that state farm.”

  “Right. We'll work on it together.”

  She looked at the newspapers spread out on the coffee table, stood, gathered them up, and threw them in the fire. The blaze lit up the room, and Hollis watched her face in the sudden light. She seemed, he thought, to be finding herself again. And he noticed too that somewhere between the Arbat and here she had gotten much older.

  She sat beside him again, and they held hands on the love seat. The VCR continued to play, the fire burned, and the brandy took effect. They both slept.

  Hollis was awakened by a knock on the door and sat up. The videotape had run out, and the fire was dying. The mantel clock showed 10:15 P.M. Hollis stood.

  Lisa awoke and mumbled, “Where're you going?”

  There was another knock on the door. Hollis went to it and opened it. A man of about fifty, dressed in a ski parka, stood in the cold. “Sorry to bother you, Colonel. We met earlier in the woods. I'm Lewis Poole. May I come in a moment?”

  “That depends. Were you born Lewis Poole, or are you one of Burov's flying worms?”

  Commander Poole smiled. “I guess that meeting on the path could have been a setup. But I can take you to fifty guys here who were in the Hanoi Hilton with me.”

  “Come in.”

  Poole stepped in and greeted Lisa. He stood by the fire and warmed himself, then said, “Can we play a little music?”

  Lisa put on one of Dodsons tapes in a portable player, and the voices of black gospel singers filled the room.

  Poole said, “They've about given up on house bugs because we find them and squash them. Also, we play music or just use writing and sign language. Every one of us here can communicate by signing. Someone found a book on it in the library years ago, and by the time the Russians realized it, we were all pretty adept at signing.”

  Lisa nodded. “We used a simple sign language in the embassy.”

  “Right. You know what it's all about. This cottage is probably all wired for you. Soviet technology. But I don't think they've invented a simple one-family house furnace yet.”

  “Brandy?” Hollis asked.

  “Fine.”

  Hollis poured him some brandy.

  Poole took a drink and continued, “Also, you have to be extremely aware of the directional microphones outdoors. They're in the watchtowers. You have to get low, into gullies and ravines, and swish pine branches around when you speak.”

  Hollis commented, “I suppose there are a lot of things we have to learn.”

  “Yes. I can set up a briefing session for you both in the next day or two.”

  “That's very good of you, Commander.”

  “Lew. Let me introduce myself a bit further. I'm the aide-decamp for General Austin. Do you know the name?”

  Hollis replied, “Of course. He was the commander of the Eighth Tactical Wing at Cu Chi. The only American Air Force general shot down. Missing, believed dead.”

  “Yes. But he's very much alive. According to camp rules, there is no senior man among us and no aide-de-camp or any command structure. But we're all military, are we not? So we've set up a sub-rosa POW camp organization as we were trained to do. You understand.”

  Hollis nodded.

  “It may surprise you, Colonel Hollis, to discover that the spirit of resistance is still alive here after nearly two decades. But I hope it doesn't surprise you.”

  Hollis did not respond.

  Poole continued, “Though to be perfectly frank, we have not accomplished very much aside from sabotaging the curriculum as often as possible. In real terms—that is, bottomline breakout—Jack Dodson is only the second man we've gotten out of here. The escape committee has tried virtually everything known in the annals of prison-camp escape, including a hot-air balloon. But there are either a few turncoats among us or perhaps it's the Russian wives, though they aren't supposed to know anything about escape plans. Maybe it's just good KGB intelligence work. Whatever it is, we've been damned unsuccessful.”

  Lisa asked, “What happened to the first man who escaped?”

  “That was Gene Romero, an Air Force captain. He was recaptured and shot on the athletic field along with five other men as an example. That was nine years ago.”

  “And Dodson?” Hollis asked. “How did he get out?”

  “I'm not at liberty to say.”

  “All right.”

  Poole glanced at Hollis and Lisa and said, “Your presence here has sparked a lot of hope.” His eyes searched Hollis', and he asked, “Right or wrong?”

  Hollis replied, “I'm not prepared to comment at this time.” Poole seemed to take this as a positive statement, Hollis thought. Poole said, “Well, the reason I'm here is to invite you to meet General Austin.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. Now.”

  Hollis considered a moment, then replied, “You understand that I don't accept the authority of General Austin under these circumstances.”

  “I think I understand that.”

  “Well, Commander, let me be blunt so that you do understand. I hold an active and honorable commission as a full colonel in the United States Air Force. The status of you men is somewhat questionable.”

  Poole stared at Hollis, then turned away and looked at the fire. “All right. I think General Austin knew you might say that. His invitation is not an order. In fact, if you wish, I'll ask him to come here.”

  “That won't be necessary if you acknowledge my point.”

  “I do.”

  Hollis took the parkas from the wall hook. “Lead on, Commander.”

  Hollis, Lisa, and Poole walked out into the cold night, Poole holding a flashlight to their front.

  Hol
lis said, “Isn't there a curfew here?”

  “No. There used to be a lot of rules. There are very few rules now.” Poole added, “The Russians are a bit slow in the head, but they finally realized that totalitarianism doesn't suit their purposes here and takes a lot of their time. They can run the rest of this benighted country with terror and fear, but this is the most free square mile in the Soviet Union.”

  “I see. That was Burov's idea?”

  “Pretty much. He lived in the Scandinavian countries for a few years and learned that a well-fed and free population could be as cooperative and productive as a terrorized population. That's a big leap for a Russian.” Poole laughed without humor.

  They came up to the main road near the VFW hall and turned right, east toward the headquarters, walking on the shoulder of the unlit road. Poole said, “We follow world events closely, and we're probably better informed about Soviet-American relations than the average stateside American. Certainly we know more than any Russian below the Kremlin level.”

  As they walked, headlights approached from up the road, and the vehicle slowed as it drew closer to them, then stopped, its headlights glaring in their faces.

  Hollis, Lisa, and Poole moved toward the driver's side of the vehicle, out of the glare of the lights, and Hollis saw that the vehicle was a Pontiac Trans Am. Sitting behind the wheel was Colonel Burov. Burov said, “Good evening, Ms. Rhodes, Commander Poole, Colonel Hollis.”

  Only Poole returned the greeting.

  Hollis saw that the Trans Am's windshield was intact, and there didn't seem to be any body damage to the vehicle.

  Burov said, “Yes, Mr. Fisher's car. I suppose he didn't get into an accident after all. Not in this car anyway.” Burov patted the steering wheel. “Nice machine.”

  Lisa came up beside Hollis and looked at Burov. “You bastard.”

  Burov ignored her and spoke to Hollis. “The seats are real leather, and there is even an air conditioner in the car. Do you all drive cars like this?”

  Hollis looked at the low, sleek car, its engine humming on the lonely road in the Russian bor with a uniformed officer of the KGB behind the wheel.