The Charm School (18 page)

“As I said, I’ve never been able to get a pass out of Moscow . . . except to stay at the Finnish
dacha.
”

Hollis nodded. The Finnish dacha—so named because of its architecture and saunas—was a newly built country house for American embassy staffers on the Klyazma River, about an hour’s drive north of Moscow. The ambassador’s dacha for senior staff such as himself was nearby. An invitation to spend a weekend at the ambassador’s house was very nearly a punishment. But the Finnish dacha had quickly earned a reputation, and families did not go there. One night, from his bedroom window in the ambassador’s place, Hollis had listened to the happy noises of men and women and splashing hot tubs coming from the Finnish dacha in the woods until dawn. Katherine, who had been with him then, had commented, “Why are they allowed to have so much fun and we have to drink sherry with stuffed shirts?” Within the month she had departed on her shopping trip. Hollis asked Lisa, “Go there much?”

She glanced at him. “No . . . it was sort of like the office Christmas party and on Monday morning everyone avoided everyone else. You know?”

“I think so.” Hollis saw the gravel parking field ahead with the museum to the right. He said, “I was here once. A reception of military attachés last October on the anniversary of the German-Russian battle here in 1941. Interesting place.”

“It looks it.” They kept silent as the car continued through the lot onto a narrow lane. The sun was gone, and the night had become very still. She noticed bright twinkling stars between scattered clouds. The deep, dark quiet of the countryside at night surprised her. “Spooky.”

“Romantic.”

She smiled despite herself. The moon broke through the clouds and revealed a dozen polished obelisks standing like shimmering sentries over the dead.

“Borodino,” Hollis said softly. “Fisher would have come this way, past the museum. The trick is to retrace how he got lost. Reach back in my briefcase and find the aerial survey map.”

She did as Hollis said. “This it?”

“Yes. Unfold it and put it on your lap. If we’re stopped, hit it with your cigarette lighter. It’s flash paper and will go up in a second without too much heat, smoke, or ash.”

“Okay.”

“Under your seat should be a red-filtered flashlight.”

She reached beneath her seat and brought out the light.

Hollis said, “We know he drove through the battlefield, then he said he found himself on a road in the woods north of Borodino Field, about this time at night. Further north is the Moskva River and the power station and reservoir. So he must have been between here and the river. The only woods on that aerial map is the
bor
—the pine forest. See it?”

“Yes.” She looked up from the map. “I see pine trees there in the hills. See?”

“Yes. Those are the hills just south of the Moskva. Now I’m coming to a fork in the road.”

She shone the red light on the map. “Yes. I see it here. If you take the left fork it will loop back and begin to climb that hill.”

Hollis nodded. The left fork appeared to head back toward the museum but did not. This was where Fisher must have made his fatal error. Hollis took the left fork.

With the headlights off they drove on, and the land began to rise. A few pines stood on the grassy fields, then the road entered the thick tree line, and it became very dark. Lisa cleared her throat. “Can you see?”

“Just shine the red light out the window once in a while.”

She rolled down the window, letting in a cold blast of air. The red light picked out the narrow road, and Hollis followed the beam. He said, “How you doing?”

“Okay. How’re
you
doing?”

“Fine,” Hollis replied. “Nice woods. I like that word—
bor.
Very evocative, very Russian. I think of a deep, dark pine forest of old Muscovy, woodcarvers and woodcutters, log cabins, pine pitch boiling over fires of crackling logs. Sort of fairytalish.
Bor.
”

She looked at him but said nothing.

They continued up the ridge line, the Zhiguli moving very slowly, its high rpm engine whining in first gear. Lisa said, “Can I smoke?”

“No.”

“I’m getting shaky.”

“Want to go back?”

She hesitated before replying, “Later.”

Ten minutes later they approached a sign, and Hollis stopped the car. Lisa shone the light on the sign, and they both read the words:
STOP
!
YOU ARE ENTERING A RESTRICTED AREA
.
TURN BACK
!

“This,” Hollis said, “must be the place. I was getting worried that we might have taken the wrong road.”

“We did take the wrong road.”

Hollis got out and looked around, discovering the small turnaround off the right side of the road. He opened the trunk and ripped out the wires for the back-up lights and the brake lights, then got in the car. He drove into the turnaround, but instead of backing out, continued between the pine trees until the Zhiguli was some twenty yards into the forest. He turned the car so it pointed back toward the road, then killed the engine.

Lisa said nothing.

Hollis whispered, “Keep a sharp ear and eye out. Be ready to make a quick getaway. If I’m not back within the hour, you go on to Mozhaisk and take care of the morgue business. Tell whoever asks that I didn’t come along. Get behind the wheel and lower the window. See you later.” Hollis got out, softly closed the door, and began walking through the woods on a course parallel to the road.

Lisa came up beside him. “You’re crazy.”

“Go back.”

“No.”

They walked side by side. The forest floor was springy, covered with a carpet of pine needles and cones. The spaces between the trunks were clear except for clumps of ferns and pine saplings. There was no wind, and the resinous pine scent was overpowering. There was little sound except for the soft tread of their shoes on the needles and the occasional crunch of a pine cone. The forest was very dark. Lisa whispered, “Sam, we have no business here . . . no . . . cover . . . even with diplomatic immunity.”

“Our cover is that we’re gathering mushrooms. The Russians are great mushroom gatherers. They’ll relate to that.”

“There are no mushrooms in pine forests.”

“Really? Then we’re on a sexual escapade.”

“Then we should be in the backseat of the Zhiguli.”

“Well, think of a cover yourself then. In the meantime, let’s not get caught. I assume you’re coming with me.”

“Yes.”

Within a few minutes they saw signs nailed to the trees at intervals. Hollis and Lisa approached one, and she turned the red-filtered flashlight on it and read:
STOP
!
GO BACK
.
YOU ARE IN A RESTRICTED AREA
.
YOU ARE SUBJECT TO ARREST
.

Hollis put his mouth to Lisa’s ear and whispered, “There may be sound sensors. Step lightly, like a deer.”

She nodded.

Hollis put his hand on her shoulder and felt her shaking. “Do you want to go back to the car?”

She shook her head.

Hollis drew his Tokarev pistol from his ankle holster and slipped it into his pocket. They continued through the forest. A half moon was rising and cast a weak blue light into the patches of clearing, which they avoided. Occasionally they saw signs with the same message, then Lisa pointed to a new sign in a clearing. They approached it cautiously and read:
STOP
!
ARMED GUARDS HAVE ORDERS TO SHOOT
.

Hollis whispered, “We’re almost there.”

They heard a noise behind them and spun around. Hollis dropped to one knee and brought out his automatic. Lisa crouched beside him. The pine boughs on the far side of the small clearing moved, then parted. A small doe entered the clearing and came toward them, then abruptly stopped not ten feet away, sniffed the still, heavy air, turned, and ran.

Hollis holstered his pistol and stood. They moved on. Within five minutes they found themselves facing an eight-foot-tall fence of barbed wire, tipped with coiled razor wire. A metal sign on the fence warned:
HIGH VOLTAGE
.

On the other side of the wire, the pine trees had been cut to a depth of about fifty meters. Hollis could see an inner ring of more barbed wire at the far edge of the treeless zone. A watchtower rose up from the inner wire. He whispered, “Mrs. Ivanova’s Charm School.”

She nodded. “Not charming.”

Hollis peered at the watchtower, then scanned the inner fence, beyond which he could make out the glow of lights. He took Lisa’s arm, and they walked carefully along the barbed wire, coming across the decomposed carcass of a deer that had been electrocuted. Lisa said, “Sam, let’s go now.”

He pulled her down. “Listen.”

The stillness of the forest was broken by the sound of a diesel engine, then they saw headlights coming toward them. Hollis whispered, “Get down.” They both dropped onto the pine carpet, facing the wire. The headlights grew brighter, and they could see the vehicle moving slowly through the raked sand of the clear zone between the barbed wire fences. The vehicle got closer and louder. Hollis could see it was a half-track with an open troop compartment in the rear. There were two men in the cab, and in the rear he saw six helmeted soldiers. Two were manning a swivel-mounted machine gun, two manned a searchlight, and two stood at port arms as though ready to spring from the vehicle. Hollis hoped it was a random patrol, but the soldiers looked too tense and alert. As the vehicle drew within ten yards of them, Hollis could make out the special green uniforms of the KGB Border Guards. He whispered to Lisa, “Pull the scarf over your face and cover your hands.”

Hollis pulled his knit cap down, and it became a ski mask. He put on black nylon gloves and waited. The half-track drew abreast of them on the other side of the wire, not fifteen feet away. Hollis assumed that the sound or motion sensors had picked up something and the patrol was sent to determine if it was a four- or two-legged animal. He could hear the men talking to one another, then heard a radio crackle in the truck’s cab. A transmitted voice said, “Well, are you all awake out there? What are you doing, Grechko?”

The man sitting beside the driver responded into his handset, “
Khula grushi okolachivahu.
”
Whacking pears with my prick.

The voice on the radio laughed, then said, “Shoot a bear for the colonel, and he will get you all laid in Moscow. Shoot a spy, and he will take the credit.”

Grechko replied, “Then it’s bear we’re after.”

The driver laughed as he hit the brakes and the half-track came to a halt opposite Hollis and Lisa. The searchlight snapped on, and a beam shot down the cleared area, then began sweeping the woods beyond the wire. The beam moved closer to Hollis and Lisa, illuminating the ferns and tree trunks along the ground in a bright bluish light. The beam came toward them, passed over, continued on, then came back quickly and stopped on the carcass of the deer ten yards down the fence. The beam swept away from the deer and continued on.

Hollis felt Lisa shaking beside him. He found her hand under her body and squeezed it. They waited. After a minute the half-track moved on. They remained motionless, barely breathing.

After five full minutes Hollis rose cautiously to one knee, keeping a hand on Lisa’s back. He peered intently into the darkness and listened closely, then helped her up. They turned away from the barbed wire, and Hollis saw, not ten feet into the trees, two KGB Border Guards moving toward them, carrying AK-47 rifles at the ready.

In an instant Hollis realized Lisa had not seen them, and they had not seen him or her. Lisa moved toward him to say something. The KGB men saw the motion. Hollis, in a single movement, pushed Lisa to the ground, dropped into a crouch, and drew his Tokarev automatic. Hollis fired the silenced pistol and saw the first man slap his hand to his chest. The second man looked dumbstruck as he stared at his falling companion, then turned to Hollis and brought his rifle into the firing position. Hollis put two rounds into the man’s chest, then stepped the ten feet toward them. He saw they were both still alive, lying on their backs, blood bubbling at their lips. They were both very young, perhaps still in their teens. Hollis took both AK-47’s by their straps and slung them over his shoulder. As he threw pine branches over the two men, Lisa came up beside him. “Oh . . . oh, God . . . Sam!”

“Quiet.” He slung a rifle over her shoulder, took her by the arm, and they moved in long rapid strides through the pine forest. Hollis was no longer concerned about the sensors since there were patrols out now, making their own noise.

Within ten minutes they intersected the road some distance from the car. Hollis got his bearings and found the Zhiguli among the trees. They threw the AK-47’s into the back and jumped inside. Hollis started the engine and threw the car into gear, but instead of heading onto the road, turned and went deeper into the woods, maneuvering through the widely spaced tree trunks.

“Sam, where are you going?”

“Not back on the road, to be sure. You shine that red light ahead and find room.”

She leaned out the window with the light.

Hollis wove through the pine forest. Behind them they could hear a vehicle and see headlights on the road they’d come up. Lisa said, “These trees are getting closer. Watch out.”

Hollis crushed both fenders between two tree trunks, and the Zhiguli got stuck. He tried to throw it into reverse but the linkage stuck. “Damned piece of junk.”

Hollis got it into reverse, pulled out, and found another way through the trees. Low-lying boughs fanned the windshield, leaving sticky needles on the glass. Hollis knew that it was possible to get a vehicle through an evergreen forest, and in fact whole columns of trucks and armor passed through these Russian pine forests during the war without having to knock down a single tree. It was just a matter of finding the spaces. “Keep that light out there, Lisa.”

“Okay. Look over there.” She pointed the light, and Hollis saw a wide opening toward which he headed. It was a game trail, like a tunnel through the boughs, the width and height of a good-sized buck. The Zhiguli fit into it nicely, and Hollis accelerated to five kph.