The Charm School (69 page)

He tried to get into Alevy’s mind, which was not totally impossible because they were both in the same business and ostensibly had to think alike to solve the same sort of problems. He thought that Alevy not only knew he and Lisa had been kidnapped, but guessed that they had probably been taken to the Charm School. Alevy would not want Lisa to spend much time in Burov’s hands, because Alevy, above being an intelligence officer, was a man in love. And Alevy would not want Hollis to spend too much time in Burov’s hands either, because Alevy did not want Hollis’ brain in Burov’s possession too long.

Lisa broke into his thoughts. “I think we underestimated Burov’s intellect.”

“Yes, I was impressed with his little speech.” Hollis added, “What makes him tick is a weighted chain. He’s cuckoo.”

Lisa laughed. “You
are
too glib for your own good. Let’s go back and tell him that one.”

“Later.”

“What do you want to do between now and six
P
.
M
.?”

“Explore. Discover. Are you up to a long day?”

“Sure. I like watching you work. You intrigue me.”

He put his arm around her, and they continued down the main road.

They passed the shopping plaza, then the headquarters building and approached the VFW hall. Hollis said, “I’m to run into Poole here by accident at ten
A
.
M
.”

They climbed the porch steps and went into the building. There were about a dozen instructors in the rec room and twice that many students. Four men played billiards at one end of the room, and a group was in front of the television watching
Platoon
.

They found Poole at a card table with three students playing poker. Poole had a stack of chips in front of him and a wad of camp scrip. One of the cardplayers was Jim Hull, the young man whom Lisa had caused some discomfort in the gym. He smiled at Lisa, but she gave him a frosty look that sent him back to his cards.

Poole looked up from his hand. “Oh, hello, Colonel. Ms. Rhodes. Do you want to sit in?”

“No, thanks. Someone told me you were on the firewood committee.”

“Oh, sure. I’ll be with you in a second. Let me finish out the hand.”

Hollis and Lisa sat at a nearby table.

The men played out the hand, and one of the students took the pot with aces and sixes. Poole said to the three students, “That’s called the dead man’s hand.”

“Why?” one of them asked.

Poole explained, “It was the hand that Wild Bill Hickock was holding when he was shot in the back by someone in Deadwood. That’s a town somewhere in the American West. I don’t remember what state. But it’s an unlucky hand, even if you win with it. Aces over sixes. When someone gets that hand in poker, you say ‘dead man’s hand.’” Poole stood. “I’ll be back later. Don’t swipe my money.”

The three young men smiled.

Poole led Hollis and Lisa outside and stood at the edge of the main road some distance from the VFW hall.

Hollis remarked, “Dead man’s hand is aces over eights.”

“Really? How stupid of me.” He grinned and whispered, “I have to pull a fast one on them at least once a day, or I’m depressed.”

Lisa asked, “Have you ever been caught?”

“Sure. About a dozen times. Then Lena—that’s my wife—does a week in the slammer.” He looked at Hollis, then Lisa. “She doesn’t care. She’s proud of me when they take her away. She did four years in a logging camp before she came here. The cells here are like R and R in comparison, and she doesn’t have to do laundry in the slammer or make the bed because there are no beds. I cook her a big meal when she comes home.”

Lisa said, “But surely they can do more to her and to you if they chose to.”

“They can. But they hesitate. I explained to you, they’re using more carrots and fewer sticks now. They’ll go through the stick phase again one day. In fact, I kind of sense it coming.”

“And will you still sabotage the curriculum?” Lisa asked in a quiet voice.

“Absolutely. You know, it may not seem much to you—these little lies, like the aces and sixes. But I remember a true story I read once about a British flier imprisoned with other pilots in a German castle during World War Two. He was there a few years, not fifteen or twenty years, but his sense of frustration at not being able to do damage to his enemies became obsessive. So he would cut slivers of dry rot from the castle timbers and implant them in sound timbers, knowing that fifty or a hundred years later, the whole castle would be eaten by rot. Can you understand the psychology of that?”

“Yes,” Hollis replied. “I’ve heard of similar stories.”

Poole put his arms around them and drew them closer. He spoke softly. “Well, that’s sort of what we feel here and what we do here. Only we have our modern version of the castle timbers. I sometimes think of these little courses we teach as silicon chips. We’re supposed to implant the right microcircuitry on those chips so they can go into the big computer of the Russian student’s brain. But we put little scratches on those chips as we’re making them. Small imperfections that escape quality control. Then the Russian heads West with these little glitches, and maybe his computer works fine most of the time, and maybe he gets a malfunction at a noncritical moment. But one day, in the right situation, like when he’s sailing along at Mach two and sixty thousand feet and the engines are at full power, he’ll try a maneuver, and the imperfect microchip will fail him at a crucial moment. And the small malfunction at that time and place will be fatal. Like maybe one of those bozos in there will be playing cards someday with a CIA man and pulling aces and sixes and make a stupid comment. You understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“We try.”

“I know.”

“So, do you smoke Cuban cigars?”

“No.”

“You do now.” Poole took two aluminum cigar tubes from the pocket of his warm-up jacket and handed them to Hollis, who slipped them in his pocket. Poole said, “All the names of the Americans past and present who’ve been in this place. Signatures where possible, dates of first incarceration here, and dates of death where appropriate. That’s dynamite there, Colonel, if you can get that out of here and to the embassy.”

“I know that.”

“But maybe they don’t want dynamite in the embassy.”

“They may not. But they’ll do what they have to do.”

“Will they? Do you have any hope of—well, I won’t ask you again.” Poole inquired, “How was your morning?”

“I assume you know we went up to see Burov. Is it common to be asked to his house?”

“It used to be. Like being asked to take sherry with the headmaster. But the ethics committee ruled it out years ago. We only go if given a direct order by him to report. Never take a drink or even a glass of water. I think he’s insulted, so he never asks anymore.”

“All right.”

“Can you tell me what he wanted?”

“Well, basically he wanted to shoot us. But he’ll settle for our working here.”

Poole nodded. “If you could be sure he’d only
shoot
you, I’d advise you to tell him to shove his job. But he’ll put you through an interrogation that won’t be very pleasant.”

Hollis replied, “I know that. But we have the choice of a more pleasant interrogation by drugs and polygraph if we take his job offer. Either way, he’s going to get things from us that I’d rather he didn’t know.”

Poole looked at Hollis, then at Lisa, and asked her, “Are you in intelligence?”

“Yes. But only very recently. I used to write press releases.”

Hollis continued, “I have to give him an answer by six. We’ll tell him yes, but I’m going to buy time between then and the polygraph.”

Poole stared at Hollis. “What are you buying time
for
?”

Which, Hollis thought, was a very good question. If he were to answer Poole, he would say, “Time to get the people in Washington moving.” He knew that Seth Alevy would be presenting to the President a very convincing case to prove that Lisa Rhodes and Sam Hollis had been kidnapped, not incinerated in that helicopter crash; and that they were being held in the Charm School. Alevy would also tell the National Security Council that Hollis had more information in his head than they would ever want the Russians to know. Alevy would hint at dark things, would cajole, plead, and threaten. And Alevy might even have General Surikov in the White House at this very moment, presenting a very chilling microfilm show of three thousand Soviet agents to a stunned President and his security advisers. Eventually, even Washington would realize that something had to be done and the hell with détente.

“Buy time for what?” Poole repeated.

Hollis did not respond to the question, but informed Poole, “Burov says they’ve captured Dodson.”

“Jack . . . captured?”

“That’s what Burov said.”

Poole seemed stunned, then pulled himself together. “Now comes the bloodbath.”

“I’ll speak to Burov tonight. I’ll see what I can do.”

“You can’t do a thing.”

“But I’ll give it all I’ve got.”

“All right . . . that idiotic Halloween party is tonight. Begins at seven. We all have to show up with our women.”

“I’ll talk to you then.” Hollis added, “Commander, is it too early for you to have a drink?”

“Normally, yes. But I’ll make an exception this morning.”

“Good day.”

Poole walked off as if in a trance.

36

Sam Hollis and Lisa Rhodes sat in Colonel Burov’s office. Also in the office were two KGB Border Guards standing at parade rest directly behind them.

Burov said, “What have you decided?”

Lisa replied, “We’ve decided to work here.”

Burov nodded and looked at Hollis. “I want to hear it from
you,
Colonel.”

Hollis said, “I will work here.”

“Good. And you will both submit to interrogations with truth drugs and polygraph machines. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you understand that you will not attempt to dissemble and confuse the machines. You will tell the truth the first time you are asked a question. If you lie even once, you go to the electroshock table. If you lie twice, you may go to the firing squad. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Now let me ask you some questions, without drugs or polygraph. And your answers had better prove true when you get on the machine. First question—Does American intelligence know of the general nature of this facility? Colonel?”

Hollis replied, “Yes.”

Burov stared at him a moment, then asked, “They know there are American fliers held here?”

“Yes.”

“Do they know how many?”

“No.”

“What do they plan to do about the Americans held here?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t? That answer had better not send the needle off the polygraph paper, or you’ll find out how painful an electric shock to the genitals can be.” Burov looked from Hollis to Lisa, then asked Hollis, “Is your presence here a result of my cleverness or Seth Alevy’s cleverness?”

“I’m not following you.”

“But you are. Did you and Alevy know you might be kidnapped?”

“No.”

Burov’s eyes fixed on Hollis, and he stayed silent for a long time, then asked, “Is there an American intelligence operation of any sort planned against this facility?”

“I don’t know of any.”

Burov said, “You know, Hollis, if I see that you’ve lied to me twice so far, you go right to the wall, sparing yourself the electric shock. But perhaps I didn’t impress that upon you. So I’m going to ask you the same questions again.” Burov proceeded to ask the questions in the same words and got the same responses from Hollis. He rephrased the final question, “Has Seth Alevy even hinted to you of an armed or clandestine American mission directed toward this camp?”

“No, he has not.”

Burov smiled thinly. “I hope for both our sakes that you are telling the truth.” He looked at Lisa. “And you. Are you in any way involved in intelligence work?”

“No.”

“No? You are simply involved with intelligence men?”

Lisa nodded. “Yes.”

“How unfortunate for you. If there were a next time for you, I would advise you to sleep with less dangerous men.”

Lisa started to reply but then simply nodded.

Burov went on, “Your two spy friends have gotten you into this. I can’t get you out of it now. But I can see to it that you live comfortably if you do what I say.”

Again she nodded.

Burov said, “You heard Colonel Hollis’ response to my questions. Were his responses true, to the best of your knowledge?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what an electroshock table is?”

“I think so.”

“Good. Next question, Ms. Rhodes. Did you and Colonel Hollis speak with General Austin at his cottage two nights ago?”

“Yes.”

“Did you speak to Commander Poole at that time, and also again near the recreation building earlier this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Was an escape plan or a rescue mission discussed on either of those occasions?”

“No.”

“No? Well, we’ll see how many strikes you have when we attach you to the polygraph.”

Burov looked at Hollis. “In baseball you get three strikes. Yes? Here we play softball. The game is easier, but you only get two strikes in softball, and you’re out.” Burov smiled.

Hollis said to Burov, “That’s a bad analogy.”

“Metaphor,” Lisa corrected.

“I can’t keep them straight,” Hollis admitted.

Burov’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. “I love your language. I really do. The spoken language. But the English-speaking peoples think that anyone who doesn’t speak their language is a moron. That’s a source of great amusement for you. But do you know something? When a person is strapped to the electroshock table, only one language comes out of his or her mouth, and it doesn’t resemble any human language you have ever heard.”

Burov looked at them both, then said, “Tomorrow morning two interrogators will arrive here from Moscow. The first is a polygraph and drug expert. Your sessions with this man may last several weeks, and aside from some drug hangovers, you will not be uncomfortable in any way. The second interrogator is a man they call the
elektromonter
—the electrician. He dwells in the basement of the Lubyanka, and he has seen things there that would make the three of us sick.” He added, “Luckily for you the choice is yours, not mine.”