The Charm School (88 page)
Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a steady flapping sound, like the wings of dark angels, he thought, coming to lift his soul away. The wind picked up and he opened his eyes. The sky was pitch black above him, and he saw the darkness descending on him like some palpable thing. Then he saw the wings of the angel whirling in the night sky and understood that it was no gas-induced apparition but a helicopter, clearing the air around him, creating a small pocket of life in the dead zone.
Hollis shook his head. “No! Go away!” Haiphong harbor was his second chance. He deserved that one, but he didn’t deserve this one. “Go away!”
The helicopter slipped to the side, and he saw her kneeling in the open door, ten feet above him, her hand extended toward him. Beside her was Brennan, and in the window was Mills. In the pilot’s seat O’Shea was flying with far more skill than he was capable of.
Hollis shook his head and waved them off.
“Sam! Please!” She leaned farther out the door, and Brennan pulled her back, then threw a looped line down to him.
The helicopter hovered a moment, and Hollis saw it was being buffeted by its own downdraft. He realized that O’Shea would sit there until he either crashed or was killed by the gas. Hollis drew the looped line under his arms and felt his body leave the ground, swinging through the air, then he felt nothing.
Sam Hollis felt his body swinging through the black void. The sensations of weightlessness and motion were soothing and pleasant, and he wanted it to last, but by stages he realized he was not floating but sitting still.
He opened his eyes to blackness and stared at distant lights until they came closer and took the familiar form of a cockpit instrument panel. He focused on a clock in front of him and saw it was nearly six. He assumed it was
A
.
M
. He turned his head and looked at O’Shea, sitting in the pilot’s seat beside him. “Where the hell are you going?”
A
.
M
. He turned his head and looked at O’Shea, sitting in the pilot’s seat beside him. “Where the hell are you going?”
O’Shea glanced at him. “Hello. Feeling all right?”
“I feel fine. Answer my question, Captain.”
Lisa leaned between the seats and kissed him on the cheek. She took his hand. “Hello, Sam.”
“Hello to you. Hello to everyone back there. Where the hell are we going? The embassy is only twenty minutes—”
Bert Mills, sitting behind him, said, “We can’t go to the embassy with this load, General. Captain O’Shea, Bill, and I are officially in Helsinki. You and Lisa are officially dead. Dodson died almost twenty years ago, and Burov is a major complication.”
Hollis nodded. He knew all that. “We’re going to the gulf.”
O’Shea replied, “Yes, sir. Gulf of Finland. To rendezvous with a ship.” O’Shea added, “Congratulations on your promotion.”
Typical military, Hollis thought. No congratulations on being alive, but promotions were important. He grunted. “Thanks.”
Mills asked, “How do you feel physically?”
Hollis moved his legs, then his arms, but didn’t feel any lack of coordination. His vision was good, and his other senses seemed all right. He smelled a faint odor of vomit and realized it was coming from his sweat shirt. He hadn’t voided his bladder or bowels, which was good. He realized the right side of his face was numb and put his fingers to his cheek, feeling a gauze pad over the area where Burov’s teeth had ripped his flesh. The numbness, he assumed, was caused by a local anesthetic and not the effects of nerve gas. “I’m all right.” He turned in his seat and stared at Mills. “You administered pralidoxime?”
Mills nodded, acknowledging that what they were discussing was the antidote for nerve gas, not sleeping gas.
“Did I convulse?”
“Slight. But if you feel all right, then you’re all right. That’s how that stuff is.”
Lisa said, “I didn’t think sleeping gas could make you so sick.”
No one replied.
Hollis turned and looked around the dark cabin. Lisa was kneeling on the floor between the seats, Mills was directly behind Hollis, and Brennan was sleeping peacefully in the seat behind O’Shea. In the two rear seats were Dodson and Burov, odd seating companions, he thought. They both were held upright by shoulder harnesses.
Mills said, “Dodson will be okay. He just needs a few square meals. Burov . . . well, he needs his face rebuilt. I hope there’s no brain damage.”
“He started with brain damage,” Hollis replied. Hollis felt Lisa squeeze his hand, and remembering his one regret, squeezed it in return. He said, “Good to see you.”
She said, “We waited for you, but . . .”
“You weren’t supposed to wait, and you weren’t supposed to come back and risk everything.”
Mills said, “We took a vote, and I lost. Nothing personal, General. Just for the record.” Mills added, “Also for the record, you and Seth shouldn’t have waited for me. But thanks.”
Hollis turned back to the front and scanned the instrument panel, his eyes resting on the fuel gauge. “How far are we from the gulf ?”
O’Shea replied, “Based on average airspeed and elapsed traveling time, I estimate about a hundred and fifty klicks. I have a land navigation chart, but I can’t see any landmarks below. We’re on a heading for Leningrad. When we see the lights of the city, we’ll take a new heading.”
Hollis looked at the airspeed indicator and the altimeter. They were traveling at 150 kph at 1,600 meters. He read the torque gauge and tachometer gauges, then checked the oil pressure and oil temperature, battery temperature, and the turbine outlet temperature. Considering the load weight and the distance already traveled, the helicopter was performing well. The only problem he could see was with the fuel: there didn’t seem to be enough of it. He tapped the fuel gauge to see if the needle moved.
O’Shea thought Hollis was drawing attention to the problem and said softly, “I don’t know.” He forced a smile and using an old pilot’s joke said, “We might have to swim the last hundred yards.”
Hollis replied, “You burned some fuel coming back for me.”
O’Shea didn’t reply.
No one spoke for some time, and Hollis noted that for all the euphoria they must have felt over a narrow escape, the mood in the cabin was anything but jubilant. He suspected that everyone’s thoughts were flashing back to the Charm School and forward to the Gulf of Finland. The here and now, as Brennan was demonstrating, was irrelevant. He said to Mills, “If I understand you correctly, you, Brennan, and my former aide here are still in Helsinki and most probably will not be returning to Moscow to resume your duties, diplomatic or otherwise.”
Mills replied, “That’s a safe assumption.”
“And Burov and Major Dodson will disappear into the American Charm School.”
Mills nodded tentatively.
“And Lisa and I will get a ticker tape parade in New York.”
Mills stayed silent for a moment, then said, “Well . . . did Seth speak to you?”
“Yes. I know that Lisa and I were not supposed to be on this helicopter. But now that we are . . .”
“Well . . . I suppose we can say your helicopter accident was a case of mistaken identity. I guess we can work out your resurrection.”
“Thank you. You worked out our death real well.”
Mills smiled with embarrassment.
Lisa looked from one to the other. “I’m not completely following this, as usual.”
Hollis looked at her. “It wasn’t sleeping gas. It was nerve gas. Poison.”
“
What . . . ?
”
What . . . ?
”
“There will be no negotiating or swap for the others. Everyone back there, including Seth, is dead.”
“No!”
“Yes. You and I were supposed to be dead too.”
“Why . . . ?” She looked at Mills. “Seth . . . dead? No, he can’t be
dead
. Bert said he would be taken prisoner and exchanged for Burov. Bert?”
dead
. Bert said he would be taken prisoner and exchanged for Burov. Bert?”
Mills stood. “Sit here.” He took her arm and moved her into his seat. Mills squatted on the floor and drew a deep breath. “It’s very complicated to explain, Lisa.”
Hollis said, “No, it’s not, Bert. It’s very simple. You just don’t want to say it out loud.” Hollis said to Lisa, “The State Department, White House, Defense Intelligence, and the CIA cut a deal. Mrs. Ivanova’s Charm School is closed forever, and Mrs. Johnson’s Charm School is about to open.”
Mills said, “I don’t think you should say anything else, General. I don’t think Seth would have wanted her to know any of this.”
Hollis ignored him and continued, “The two seemingly insolvable problems were, one, how to identify the Russians in America, and two, how to deal with the Americans held prisoner in Russia. A man named General Surikov provided the solution to the first problem, which allowed Seth to provide his solution to the second.” Hollis related to Lisa what Alevy had told him.
Lisa stared at Hollis’ reflection in the Plexiglas window as she listened. When Hollis finished, she said in a surprisingly strong voice, “And that was all Seth’s idea?”
Hollis nodded. “To his credit, he felt remorse over the consequences of his finest moment. And he couldn’t bring himself to let you die. He was ambivalent about me right to the end. I shouldn’t even tell you that, but you have a right to know everything.” He added, “That’s what you always wanted.”
“I don’t think that changes how I feel about him right now.” She thought a moment. “I can’t picture all those people dead. . . . All those men, their wives, the children . . . Jane, the kidnapped American women. . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t believe he made up that lie about sleeping gas and prisoner exchanges.” She looked at Hollis. “You knew it was a lie, didn’t you?”
“It seemed a bit too good and didn’t fit the facts.”
She nodded but said nothing.
Hollis said to Mills, “I consider that my life and Lisa’s life are still in danger.”
Mills seemed uncomfortable. “I’m not the source of the danger. We’ll work something out.”
“Like what? Life tenure in the new Charm School?”
“I think that all Seth ever wanted from you two is a promise never to reveal a word of this to anyone.”
Hollis noted that Mills’ voice had that tone in it that one uses in speaking of recently deceased heroes.
The legend begins.
Hollis looked at Lisa and saw she had her hands over her face and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
The legend begins.
Hollis looked at Lisa and saw she had her hands over her face and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Hollis turned back toward the front and concentrated on the problem at hand. His eyes swept the gauges again, and he noted an increase in oil temperature and a drop in pressure. The fuel needle was in the red, but the warning light was not on yet. He said to O’Shea, “You’ve done an admirable job of burning fuel. Reduce airspeed.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Well, according to my instructions, which I opened only after I was airborne, our rendezvous with the ship must occur before dawn. The ship won’t identify itself after daylight. There may be Soviet naval and merchant vessels in the area.”
“I see.”
O’Shea added, “First light in that part of the world isn’t until zero seven twenty-two hours. We’re cutting it close even at this speed.”
Hollis nodded. He’d thought the problem was only fuel. Now it was the sunrise. Hollis looked at the airspeed indicator, then the more accurate ground-speed indicator. Airspeed was still 150 kph, but actual ground speed was only 130. They were obviously bucking into a strong headwind.
Hollis looked out the windshield. Thin, scudding clouds flew at them, and occasionally he could feel the turbulence of the gusting north wind.
The sky above was layered with clouds, and there was no starlight. Below, Hollis could not see a single light. He’d flown this route to Leningrad with Aeroflot, and he knew this part of Russia. Much of it was an underpopulated expanse of forest, small lakes, and marshes. Last autumn he’d taken the Red Arrow Express from Leningrad back to Moscow, and the train had passed through the same country he’d seen from the air. The villages had been dilapidated, and the farms badly kept. It was a cold, unforgiving stretch of country below, not the sort of place where one would want to forceland a helicopter.
Hollis said to O’Shea, “Did you try a higher altitude?”
“No, sir. I didn’t want to burn any more fuel on a climb.”
Hollis took the controls on his side. “Take a break. Stretch.”
O’Shea released the controls and the stretched his arms and legs. “Do you want to fly it from the right-hand seat?”
“No, but I don’t want to try a crossover either. I’ll let you sit in the pilot’s seat as long as you don’t take it seriously.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hollis knew that helicopter flying, which needed continuous concentration and constant hands-on, could fatigue a solo pilot within an hour. O’Shea had been behind the stick for close to two hours, alone with the falling fuel needle.
Hollis said, “Let’s go upstairs.” He increased the collective pitch for a slow rate of climb, increased the throttle, and held the craft level with the cyclic stick. The increased torque caused the nose to yaw to the left, and O’Shea reminded him, “It’s backwards.”
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