Charm School v1_0

by Nelson DeMille

  He looked around the long barroom and spotted Sonny and Marty talking in a corner. At a small table sat the four students he'd met in their cottage. One of them, Erik Larson, was looking more like Yevgenni Petrovich Korniyenko, Hollis thought. In fact, all the students seemed not to know how to act anymore, and Hollis wondered why Burov had subjected them to this. Perhaps there was a lesson here for them too. And the lesson had to be that the state was all powerful and that disloyalty equaled death. But they already knew that.

  Commander Poole came up to Lisa and Hollis. He said, “The men—and the women—are prepared to stick together. We can start a revolt, right here and now. We can refuse to leave here and hold the students hostage. We can march on Burov's house. We can all rush the main gate, and perhaps some of us will get through and make it to the embassy.”

  Hollis looked at Poole, and they both knew that Poole was not stating viable options, but was enumerating different forms of suicide. Hollis said, “They have the guns, Commander. That's what the twentieth century is all about. Whoever has the rapid-fire automatic weapons is in charge.”

  Poole nodded with his head down. “So we take the eleven losses and let it go at that?”

  “Yes. We have to live to try again and again. Someone has to get out of here. That's what General Austin is saying, and he's the boss. And you know, I don't think things will be the same around here after tonight.”

  “No.” Poole thought a moment. And you know what else? That's for the better. We've all gotten too cozy with these people. We have our comforts, our women, our children, our intellectual freedom … it was hard for us to get angry and stay angry. That's all changed now.“He looked at Hollis and Lisa.”I think your presence here was the slap in the face that we needed to bring us out of it.

  Hollis cleared his throat. “I may have sounded hard at General Austin's house, and I assure you my views haven't changed. But I didn't mean to leave the impression that I am not concerned for your welfare.”

  “I understand.”

  Midnight came, and people began streaming silently out of the hall.

  Poole said to Lisa, “We'll pray tonight.” He said to Hollis, “Burov has imposed a curfew for twelve-thirty A.M., so we are all effectively under house arrest until dawn. We can't meet or discuss this any further. The penalty for breaking curfew is to be shot on sight. So I will wish you both good-night and see you on the soccer field in the morning.” He turned and left.

  Hollis asked Lisa to wait around until all the Americans and their wives were gone. Oddly, Hollis thought, most of the students stayed on. He noticed they began drinking, and as he suspected, one of them approached him and Lisa.

  Jeff Rooney greeted them with less ebullience than the first time they'd met. Neither Hollis nor Lisa returned the greeting. Rooney said, “I just want you guys to know I feel awful about this.”

  Hollis looked Rooney in the eye and replied, “You're going to feel even worse when you get to the States and get picked up by the FBI. You can think about how sorry you are for the rest of your life in a federal penitentiary.” Hollis added baitingly, “You can study for your Air Force tests in the big house, General.”

  Rooney seemed at a loss for words. Several students began to gather around.

  Hollis continued, “They didn't tell you that the rate of capture for you people is about two hundred a year, did they?”

  No… they… I didn't read about any …

  “Even Western newspapers don't know everything, you idiot.” Hollis snapped, “Get out of my sight.”

  “I'm sorry—”

  Lisa said, “You know better, Rooney. You know what a monstrous system this is. You all know, and there is no excuse for you. You are contemptible. Go away!”

  Rooney didn't seem inclined to move, and neither did the growing crowd of young men and women. Rooney said, “I'm sorry. I really am. I… can't understand why Colonel Burov—”

  “Then,” Hollis said, “why don't you organize the students and make a protest to Burov?”

  “We can't—”

  “No, you can't because you are no more an American than Genghis Khan or Colonel Burov. You have no idea what it means to be a free man with rights and responsibilities.”

  “I do! I learned that here.”

  Lisa stepped closer to him. “You can't learn that.” She poked him in the chest. “You have to live it every day. Go on, Rooney, go and exercise your right to freedom of speech, guaranteed in both our constitutions. Exercise your right to petition for redress of grievances. That would be good training for you.” She looked around. “For all of you.”

  No one spoke, and Hollis had the impression that some of the one hundred or so students in the barroom now were thinking about things, but a good number of them had that neutral vacuous expression that people wear when they hear a call to arms and pretend the speaker is addressing someone else. About half the students, however, seemed ready for some sort of action. Hollis said to them, “Do you understand that you have no more rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness than any prisoner here? Did you ever wonder what happened to the students who wash out of this school?”

  John Fleming, one of the men they had met on the basketball court, shouted, “You're trying to seduce us in your typical Western way. We don't listen to Western treachery.”

  Marty, the Landises' boarder, called back, “If you're going to argue with them, argue like an American, not a stupid Russian.”

  This brought some shouts pro and con. Suzie Trent stepped out of the crowd and walked directly to Lisa. “What happens to the students who wash out?”

  Before Lisa could answer, Jeff Rooney snapped at her, “Shut up! Do you want to get into trouble?”

  “I want to know”

  The Landises' other boarder, Sonny, stepped out of the crowd surrounding Hollis and Lisa and addressed the students. I'll speak like an American. These two are abusing their rights to free

  assembly and freedom of speech. They are inciting to riot and pose a clear and present danger to the peace. I propose we make a citizen's arrest and take them to headquarters.

  Hollis was impressed with Sonny's grasp of the law and how it could be perverted. Hollis said to him, “Your master, Petr Burov, is going to illegally execute—”

  Sonny shouted, “There is nothing illegal about it! There are duly constituted laws in this place, Hollis, and Dodson broke one of them. He knew it was a capital offense.”

  Hollis stood face-to-face with Sonny. “What about the ten people to be executed at random? That is called reprisals and is unlawful in any civilized society.”

  Sonny put his face closer to Hollis'. “Are you saying we're uncivilized?”

  Lisa pushed Sonny's chest. “What do you call executing a POW who was doing his duty and exercising his right under the Geneva Convention to escape?”

  Sonny glared at Lisa, keeping a watch on Hollis out of the corner of his eye.

  The room was very quiet, and someone said softly, “She's right. The execution is illegal under international law.” A few people murmured assent.

  Erik Larson cleared his throat. “Most of us are Red Air Force. We know that's no way to execute a brother officer. Maybe we can draft a note to Burov—”

  “You needn't bother,” Burov said as he strode into the room. There were six armed KGB Border Guards behind him. He looked at the students, then at Hollis and Lisa. “Well, are you trying to replay the American Revolution here? We've already had our revolution, thank you.”

  Hollis walked toward Burov and said, “I think this class will never be the same again, Colonel.”

  “I think you're right.”

  “Call off these executions.”

  “No, I'm more convinced than ever that we need this tomorrow. All of us.” Burov looked at Marty, then at Jeff Rooney, Suzie Trent, and a few of the others. He said, “I commend all of you on your fine acting. An outsider would have actually thought you believed what you were saying.” He smiled unpleasantly.r />
  Suzie Trent said in a soft voice, “I believed what I heard about this terrible killing tomorrow.”

  Burov glanced at her, then looked at the others. “Does anyone else wish to add anything to this young lady's comment?”

  No one spoke immediately, then John Fleming said, “Yes, Colonel, I think she has always harbored unorthodox and improper thoughts about our socialist motherland.”

  Hollis noted that this time no one told Fleming he sounded like a stupid Russian, so Hollis said, “You're full of shit.”

  Burov looked at his watch. “It is twelve twenty-five, Colonel. If you and Ms. Rhodes leave now, you can probably get into your home before the curfew. If you don't, you may very well be shot by a patrol. Good evening.”

  Hollis took Lisa's arm and led her toward the door. Lisa said to Burov, “For everyone's sake, please reconsider.”

  “You'd better hurry. I'd like to see you in my office tomorrow, not in the morgue.” He turned from Hollis and Lisa and said to the students, “Continue your Halloween festivities.”

  Hollis led Lisa into the rec room, where another two hundred or so students had been pressed close to the door of the bar. They parted quickly, letting Hollis and Lisa through.

  They went out into the cold, damp air and took the trail back to their cottage. Neither of them spoke for a while, then Lisa said, “My God, I'm proud of you, Sam Hollis.”

  “You did all right yourself.”

  They reached their house and went inside. Lisa bolted the door, sank into the armchair, and stared at the dead fire. “A spark. Is that what they need? Or do they need a blowtorch?” She drew a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. “I simply do not understand these people. No one does.”

  Hollis replied, “That's because they don't understand themselves. But if the day comes when they do, when they stop worrying about how the West perceives them and start to become aware of who they are, then the first Russian Revolution will become nothing more than a prologue to the second revolution.”

  “But when?”

  “When they're ready. When they can't deny outside reality any longer.”

  “I hope I live to see it.” She smiled grimly. “I hope I live to see tomorrow.” Lisa stood. “Let's go to bed.”

  “Go ahead. I need to be alone awhile.”

  “All right.” She kissed him and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  Hollis shut off the lamp and sat in the darkness alone with his thoughts. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that after all was said and done, Alevy had simply betrayed and abandoned them. And Hollis could think of professional reasons why Alevy would do that—Alevy-type reasons. Yet, the feeling, if not the fact, remained with Hollis that Alevy for all his deviousness was not capable of this ultimate betrayal. Unless of course he felt he had been personally betrayed. And perhaps Lisa had betrayed Seth Alevy, her lover. Hollis didn't know. And perhaps Alevy felt that Hollis had betrayed him as well. Sexual jealousy was as potent a force in the affairs of men and women as anything else and had brought nations and kings to ruin.

  Hollis stared into the darkness. The time passed, and though he was tired, he felt no need for sleep. A strange confidence took hold of him, and he knew that one way or the other this was going to be the last day for the Charm School.

  * * *

  39

  It had become cold in the cabin of the Mi-28. Alevy, Mills, Brennan, and O'Shea each took turns outside the helicopter, scanning the rim of the gravel pit with the night scope mounted on the Dragunov sniper rifle. With a roll of black tape, Mills had changed the helicopter's identification number from P-113 to P-413, on the chance that other aircraft, or even the Charm School, had picked up radio traffic concerning the crash of 113.

  The Aeroflot pilot began moaning in the darkness, and Brennan, who was outside the helicopter with the rifle, poked his head through the door and said to Alevy, “We should have brought a blanket for him.”

  Alevy wondered at Brennan's compassion for a man he had been prepared to throw out of the helicopter at a thousand meters. Alevy said, “It's above freezing. He'll live until someone finds him in the morning.” Alevy took another chloroform pad from his pocket and gave it to Brennan. “Put him back to sleep.”

  Brennan went off into the darkness and came back a few minutes later. The pilot stopped moaning.

  The next hour passed without incident. Captain O'Shea had the sentry duty and was scanning the narrow ramp road that led down into the pit. He suddenly lowered the rifle and jumped onto the rung step at the door. “Something coming down the road.”

  Brennan leaped out of the helicopter and snatched the rifle from O'Shea. He knelt, pointed the rifle toward the road, and adjusted the focus toward the dirt ramp about a hundred meters away. O'Shea scrambled back into the pilot's seat and prepared to take off.

  Brennan tracked the movement, took aim, and fired. The silenced rifle coughed, and the flash-suppressed muzzle glowed briefly. Brennan stood and went back to the open door of the helicopter. “Big buck. Dropped him.” He added, “Very good rifle.” At 1:30 A.M, Alevy said, “Let's go.”

  Bert Mills, who was standing sentry, jumped back into the helicopter and gave Brennan the rifle.

  O'Shea started the two turbine engines and let them warm for a few minutes, scanning the gauges.

  Alevy, sitting in the copilot's seat, asked O'Shea, “Do you remember how to fly it?”

  O'Shea forced a smile. “I do. But I don't know how to take off.” He placed the cyclic stick in a neutral position and moved the collective pitch stick in the full down position. He twisted the throttle on the collective stick, at the same time pushing the stick forward. The helicopter began to become light on its wheels, and the torque effect caused the nose to swing to the left. He put pressure on the right foot pedal to bring the nose back to a constant heading. The helicopter rose vertically in a cloud of sand and gravel.

  O'Shea let it rise, checking the torque gauge and the rpm as he held it steady in its vertical climb. The helicopter rose out of the pit and into the north wind.

  Below, there was a flash of brilliant light as the phosphorus grenades exploded, consuming the pile of baggage and clothing.

  O'Shea eased the cyclic forward, and the Mi-28 began a diagonal climb on a northerly heading. At eight hundred meters, O'Shea swung the nose west and adjusted the controls for a straight and level flight.

  Alevy commented, “You've taken the excitement out of helicopter flying.”

  O'Shea settled back in his seat. “I've got this thing tamed.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  O'Shea said, “Bill and Bert, you spot for aircraft. They can't see us without lights. Seth, find me the Minsk—Moscow highway or the Moskva River.”

  Alevy looked out the windshield. The night had remained clear, and the starlight gave some illumination to the ground, though the moon was nearly set. Alevy scanned the terrain below, finally picking out the Moskva River, looking like a thin ribbon of tarnished pewter, winding through dark fields and forests. He said to O'Shea, “Slip south of the river.”

  O'Shea turned to a southwest heading.

  Alevy stared at the ground below, and within a few minutes he said, “There. The highway. See it?”

  O'Shea craned forward. “Okay.” He swung the helicopter on a due west heading and followed the highway.

  Mills called out, “Eleven o'clock, level.” To their front, coming toward them, they could see blinking navigation lights. The closing speed of the two craft was fast, and the lights were suddenly very near and coming toward them on a collision course. O'Shea banked the Mi-28 to the right, and the other craft, a mammoth Mi-8 cargo helicopter, shot past on their port side. O'Shea exclaimed, “Jesus…” He took a deep breath and said to Alevy, If he spotted us without our lights, he'll make a report. “We'd be less likely to arouse suspicion if we were running with our lights on.” He added, “If they're looking for us, Seth, they'll be using airborne radar anyway.”
<
br />   Alevy replied, “I hope that where they're looking for this helicopter is in the woods outside of Sheremetyevo. No lights.”

  They continued west, land navigating between the Moskva and the highway, which ran roughly parallel to the river. Alevy looked at the airspeed indicator, which showed 120 kph. He said, “We should be seeing the lights of Mozhaisk soon.”

  Brennan commented, “I don't see any lights. Nobody lives down there.”

  Mills leaned forward and pointed to the left. “There. Is that Mozhaisk?”

  Alevy looked at the lights about five kilometers ahead. There weren't many of them at this hour, but he could definitely pick out a string of lights that appeared to cross the Moskva River. That would be the Mozhaisk Bridge. Alevy replied, “There's not much else around here, so that must be the town. Guide on that, Captain.”

  “Right.” O'Shea corrected his heading and pointed the nose of the Mi-28 directly toward Mozhaisk.

  Within a few minutes they could see the illuminated center of the small town where the two main streets crossed; the north-south street leading to the bridge and the east-west street, which was the old Minsk—Moscow road.

  Alevy said, “Drop to about five hundred and follow the river.”

  O'Shea descended toward the Moskva and passed over the bridge. At this altitude the river seemed more luminescent, reflecting the cold starlight and the last available moonlight. O'Shea commented, “I used to love river flying. Went up the Hudson in a Piper Cherokee once. Did the entire Colorado in a Cessna… now I'm doing the Moskva… in a borrowed Mi-28… a Headstone.”

  No one spoke for some minutes, then Alevy said, “Reduce airspeed.”

  O'Shea brought the helicopter's speed down to ninety kph.

  Alevy looked at his watch, then at his aerial map and said, “Gentlemen, we'll be landing very soon.”

  No one responded. They were all professionals, Alevy reflected, and each of them had at one time or another pushed his luck to the limit in the performance of his respective profession. They were, each in their own way, cool, distant, and businesslike. They had calculated the odds and found them slightly better than Russian roulette with a five-chambered revolver. They were all damned scared but damned excited too. Alevy could almost feel the energy, the anticipation of actually seeing if a chalkboard play would work on the ground.