The Charm School (45 page)

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Authors: NELSON DEMILLE

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BOOK: The Charm School
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James Martindale stepped back to the podium carrying a display easel on which was mounted a blowup of a newspaper article written in Russian. Martindale said, “For those of you who want the truth about the unfortunate incident that has brought us here, I direct your attention to the Soviet free press. For your convenience we’ve had the
Pravda
article blown up and mounted.
Pravda
, as you know, means ‘truth,’ and
Izvestia
means ‘news,’ and I’ve heard it said that there is no news in the
Truth
and no truth in the
News
. Nevertheless I’ll read you the English translation of this incisive Soviet reporting.” Martindale read from a piece of paper. “‘The Soviet Foreign Ministry has announced the expulsions of S. Hollis and L. Rhodes, a man and a woman, American embassy employees, for activities inconsistent with their diplomatic status. This is yet another example of American agents hiding behind their diplomatic immunity to engage in anti-Soviet activities. However, the organs of State Security had been watching this S. Hollis and L. Rhodes for some time and finally put an end to their abuse of Soviet hospitality.’” Martindale looked up from the translation and shook his finger at Hollis and Lisa. “Bad, bad.”
Warnicke called out, “Let this be lesson for all of you. Three cheers for organs of State Security.”
Martindale turned back to the microphone. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce our first guest of honor, holder of the Order of Lemon, not to mention a chestful of real medals, our departing air attaché, Colonel Sam Hollis.” The people who were still sitting at the tables stood, and everyone clapped loudly. The four-piece combo struck up “Off we go into the wild blue yonder” as Hollis put the bucket down and waited at the podium. Unexpectedly Lisa came up beside him and squeezed his hand momentarily.
Hollis said into the microphone, “Thank you all for that very nice welcome. And thank you, Jim Martindale, chief of protocol, alcohol, and Geritol, for the sash and the introduction. I want to express my appreciation also to Gary Warnicke for making a fool of himself in public, and my deepest gratitude to Charles Banks for arriving here sober. And of course, warm thanks to Captain O’Shea and my staff for their personal devotion, which they will transfer to their next boss without skipping a beat.” Hollis made some serious farewell remarks, then concluded on a lighter note. “When I get home, and as I’m tooling down the highway in my ’Vette through the glorious Virginia countryside, listening to the Air Force–Army game and eating a banana, my thoughts will be of you here, drinking your breakfast vodka as you watch the snow rise over your windowsills.”
This brought some hisses and laughter. Everyone was clearly drunk by now, Hollis thought, except him. He saluted and stepped away from the podium to the accompaniment of applause.
Martindale introduced Lisa, who also got a standing ovation, as the combo played “Lara’s Theme.” She took the microphone. “Thank you all so much. I’ve never been kicked out of a country before, and I never knew it could be so much fun.” Lisa thanked the people in her office who made her tour of duty tolerable and said, “I also want to thank Charles Banks, who tried so hard to keep me out of trouble. Charles, for those of you who are not honored to know him, is a man torn between his duty as the ambassador’s personal aide and his desire to be a human being. A man whose familiarity with Russia has prompted him to declare that Borodino is the best Italian red wine produced in the Soviet Union.”
Banks called out, “I always order it with babushka.”
Lisa concluded, “I wish I could stay with you and continue my work here. I know that somewhere down the line we’ll all cross paths again, but this will remain the incomparable assignment of a lifetime for all of us. Thank you.”
As everyone clapped, Hollis unexpectedly took the microphone again and said, “I would be remiss if I did not thank a man who has become a friend of mine and of Lisa Rhodes, for his wise counsel and for showing me the ropes in Moscow. I’m speaking of a very industrious political affairs officer, Seth Alevy.”
Alevy was standing off to the side, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his vest. He nodded perfunctorily in acknowledgment of the scant applause. It was obvious to Hollis that very few of the three hundred people present knew Seth Alevy, and those who did were not his fans.
Lisa glanced over at Hollis with a warm smile and a wink.
Hollis and Lisa stepped down from the platform as Martindale said, “Dance music, maestro, please. Have fun, everyone.”
The combo played “In the Still of the Nite,” and Lisa took Hollis onto the dance floor. As they danced, she said, “That was very nice of you to thank Seth.”
Hollis grumbled a reply.
“My alarm clock is crushing your pear.”
Hollis took a bite out of the pear and passed it to her. She bit into it and laughed. She said between chews, “This is the first time we’ve danced. I love this song.”
“Five Satins, 1956.”
“Who? When?”
Hollis smiled.
She held him closer, and they glided over the parquet floor. “Did you grind to this when you were a horny little guy?”
“Sure did.”
“God, I can’t believe you were getting erections before I was born.”
“I couldn’t wait for you.”
The combo segued into “Since I Don’t Have You.”
Lisa said, “I’m not being facetious, but there’s obviously some degree of status attached to being kicked out of the Soviet Union. I never realized just how much contempt and disdain we have for this country. I mean, Gary Warnicke’s skit was a mockery—no wonder the ambassador is coming late.”
“It’s just a lot of frustration and nervous energy pouring out.”
“It’s more than that, and you know it. It’s scary, Sam.”
“What is?”
“How much we
hate
them.”
Hollis didn’t reply.
Lisa looked around the dance floor. “These press people won’t report—”
“They damned well better not, or they’ll never see the inside of this or any other American embassy again. This is strictly off-the-record, and they knew that when they were invited.”
“Yes, they’re a good crew. Here in Moscow we realize we’re on the same side. They’re pleasant to work with.” She said, “I’m sad. I don’t want to leave.”
“Things could be worse. We could be dead.”
She didn’t reply.
“Never look back on this place, Lisa. Never go back, even if they allow you to. Promise me that.”
“No, I won’t promise that.”
Hollis stepped away from her. “I badly need a drink.”
“Stay sober enough to do me some good tonight.”
“I won’t promise. You can dance with Alevy if you want. You don’t need my permission anyway.”
“No, I don’t. But thanks for saying that.”
Hollis made his way across the dance floor and found the bar, where he fell into conversation with four NATO attachés.
The band suddenly stopped, and James Martindale announced the ambassador and his wife. Hollis noticed that the party calmed down a bit. Hollis excused himself and walked toward the ambassador, meeting Lisa heading the same way. She said to him, “Is it all right if we present ourselves to the ambassador together?”
“It’s all right with me. Listen, I’d like to spend part of my home leave with you.”
“I’ll think about that.”
“What is there to think—”
The ambassador and his wife approached and greeted Hollis and Lisa. They exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, and everyone smiled. Neither the ambassador nor his wife commented on the sashes or the pear and alarm clock, which struck Hollis as the height of savoir faire if not stupidity. Lisa said, “You both missed some very funny speeches.”
“Oh,” the ambassador’s wife said, “we’re so sorry we were detained.”
They chatted a moment longer, then the ambassador said, “I’m deeply appreciative to both of you for your contributions to the diplomatic mission here. Charles tells me he’s spoken to you on certain matters of national importance and that you both understand the reasoning and so forth. I’m very happy that you do. Colonel Hollis, Ms. Rhodes—Sam and Lisa—have a pleasant and safe journey home.” Everyone shook hands.
The ambassador’s wife said, “Please excuse us, we have another engagement that we accepted before this was arranged.”
Lisa watched them go and commented, “They could send programmed androids for that job, and no one would notice.”
“What is there to think about?”
“Nothing. That’s the point. It would take ten minutes to program the ’droids.”
“What is there to think about spending some time with me?”
“Oh, that. I have to think about . . . well . . . my parents . . . you’re a little older than I, and you’re married.”
“Did you just discover that?”
She smiled wanly. “Let me think about how to make it right.”
“Do that.”
“Are we having our first fight?”
“Quite possibly.” Hollis turned and walked toward his staff, who were standing together talking.
Hollis was intercepted by Mike Salerno, a reporter for the Pacific News Service. Salerno took Hollis aside. “Funny speech, Colonel. Everyone is in a rare mood tonight. You guys should do that once a month. Catharsis. When one of us leaves, we get together at somebody’s place, and we do the same kind of thing.”
“No wonder the KGB harasses you.”
“Yeah . . . I guess they listen in, don’t they?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least.” Hollis had met Salerno on a few occasions and found him somewhat pushy but straightforward and down to earth.
Salerno went on, “You know that we’ve kicked out your counterpart in D.C. and also some Soviet Tass dork in retaliation for Lisa. The Reds are probably having a similar party in Washington tonight. Doing Uncle Sam skits.” He laughed, then finished his drink and said, “What’s the actual reason behind you guys leaving?”
“Pretty much what the official version is, Mike. We took an unauthorized trip.”
“Yeah. But they usually give you a break the first time for something petty like that. Especially with the sweet smell of détente in the air.”
“It was actually the second time for both of us.” To forestall further questions, Hollis added, “As you may have deduced, we went to see the site of the famous Russian nonvictory at Borodino. Moscow gets claustrophobic.”
“Hey, don’t I know it? It takes me a month to get permission to visit some godforsaken tractor factory in the Urals.”
“Tell them you don’t want to see a tractor factory in the Urals. You’ll be on the next train.”
Salerno laughed. “You got that right, Br’er Bear.” He took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Hollis, saying, “To a safe trip.”
Salerno finished the wine, seemed to consider a moment, then asked, “Are you leveling with me, Sam?”
“Yes.”
“You went out that way to take charge of the body of Greg Fisher.”
“Right.”
“And you detoured a few K’s to Borodino and were spotted.”
“Correct.”
“Hell of a fucked-up country, isn’t it?”
Hollis replied, “When in the third Rome, do as they tell you. Excuse me.”
“Hold on a second, Sam. Look, I know there’s more to this Greg Fisher story than anyone is saying. One theory is that he was killed by robbers and the Soviets don’t want that getting around. Makes the world’s first workers’ state look a little less like paradise. Right?”
“I saw the inventory of the boy’s effects. Everything from money to felt-tip pens. There was no foul play.”
“No? Can I tell you something I found out?”
“If you’d like.”
“I called Greg Fisher’s parents in New Canaan and found out that an autopsy had been performed. They told me a few other things. So I’m thinking about this kid who’s tear-assing along the Minsk–Moscow highway at night, under the influence of alcohol according to the autopsy, and I’m not buying it. I’m thinking about all the rules the kid had to sign in Brest when he crossed the border—seat belts, drinking and driving puts you in jail, and night driving can get you in trouble with the KGB. And Mr. and Mrs. Fisher tell me Greg was a very careful kid—okay, parents say that about dead kids. But I’m starting to wonder now.”
Hollis said, “We’re not supposed to talk business here.”
“Just hear me out, Sam. Okay? So, the other day I go on my own unauthorized trip in a car. First I poke around Mozhaisk, and for a few rubles a truck driver leads me to the accident site west of Mozhaisk. The car is gone by now of course, but I see where it went off the road heading east and plowed into the tree. I even find some glass from the windshield where the kid’s head went through. Okay. But the truck driver says something about the kid’s car causing a big stir in Mozhaisk. How did the kid get to Mozhaisk if he died west of the town?”

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