The Charm School

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?”
    “Beats me.”
    “Right. Me too. I think something stinks, Sam, and I’m wondering if you’d like to give me an off-the-record clue.”
    “I don’t have a clue,” Hollis replied. “But if what you say is true, it’s possible that Greg Fisher did pass through Mozhaisk, then doubled back for some reason, then later headed back for Moscow and ran off the road before he got to Mozhaisk again.”
    “Why is he running up and down the Minsk–Moscow road at that hour? Was he on some kind of cloak-and-dagger assignment for the spooks here in the embassy?”
    “There are no intelligence personnel in the American embassy,” Hollis said, “but if there were, they wouldn’t send people out in Pontiac Trans Ams.”
    “True.” Salerno added, “Look, I’m booked on that Pan Am flight to Frankfurt tomorrow. Let’s sit together, and I’ll tell you a few other things I discovered about this business.”
    “Maybe.” Hollis turned to leave.
    Lisa approached, and Salerno greeted her warmly. He said, “Going to miss you, Lisa. The only straight shooter in the embassy Ministry of Propaganda.” They spoke for a moment, then Salerno moved off. Lisa said, “What was he talking to you about?”
    “What do you think? He smells a rat.”
    “Eventually we may have to go to the press with this.”
    Hollis said curtly, “We are employees and representatives of the United States government. We are not press informants.”
    She put her hand on his shoulder. “True.”
    He said coolly, “If I’m more cautious than you, it’s because I’m much older than you.”
    She gave him a conciliatory smile and patted his arm. “Now, now…”
    Hollis, for the life of him, could not understand women. It seemed to him that she aggressively pursued him, then the moment he stopped being evasive, she backed off. He vaguely recalled that he’d had similar experiences with women when he was younger. There were some women and men he knew who enjoyed only the chase, and like fox hunters, had little use for the kill. He said, “Excuse me,” turned and headed back to the bar.
    Hollis saw Alevy standing there and had the impression that Alevy had been waiting for him. Alevy said, “It’s not a good idea to draw attention to the CIA station chief.”
    Hollis ordered a scotch and soda.
    “It makes some people uncomfortable.”
    Hollis moved away from the bar with his drink. “I thought you were a political affairs officer. Now you tell me you’re the CIA station chief.”
    Alevy smiled. “Well, I thank you for your thoughtfulness. What did Salerno want?”
    “He knows a few things, Seth. Any reporter in this room with a little pluck could come up with some inconsistencies in the Fisher story. Coupled with me and Lisa getting the boot, it smells a little.”
    “I suppose. You and Lisa