The Charm School

have a spat?”
    “No.”
    “Good. I want you to stay close to her at least as far as Frankfurt.”
    “Don’t worry about it.”
    “Okay. By the way, if you have no other plans tonight, would you do me a favor?”
    “No.”
    “Stop by around midnight. My place.”
    “When do you sleep?”
    “At the ambassador’s staff briefings.” Alevy asked, “Do you know anything about the Mi-28 chopper?”
    “Only the technical stuff. Newest Soviet transport helicopter. Why?”
    “I have to do a report. Can you bring me what you have?”
    “I’ll have O’Shea drop it off.”
    “You can drop it off. Midnight, my place.” Alevy turned and walked off.
    Hollis said to himself, “I knew it.”
    Hollis spent the next hour talking to the various air attachés from the NATO member nations. There was information to be exchanged, thank-you’s to be said, and promises to stay in touch, professionally. The good thing to be said for military spies, Hollis thought, was that they were military first and spies second. Hollis made his farewells, then slipped out of the reception hall and went up to his office, where he intended to stay until his midnight meeting with Alevy.
    His phone rang, and he answered it, “Hollis.”
    “What are you doing in your office at eleven o’clock?”
    “Saying good-bye to my secretary.”
    “You’d better not be, Hollis. Are you coming home tonight?”
    Home.
The word took him by surprise. “I have a midnight meeting with the political affairs officer.”
    “Where?”
    “His place.”
    “I expect you in my bed before dawn.”
    “I’ll think about it.”
    “What’s there to
think
about?”
    “I have some work to do here,” he said. “I have to go.”
    “I have your underwear. And your toothbrush.”
    “These are not secure phones.”
    “There was that thing I wanted to try, where I bring my legs up over my head—”
    “Okay, okay.” He smiled. “I’ll see you later.” He hung up.
    Hollis went to the window and looked out into the darkened city. “Meeting with Alevy. Then Novodevichy Convent tomorrow. Sheremetyevo Airport, Monday morning. Pan Am to Frankfurt.” Then London, Washington, or New York as the mood struck him. That was the plan. That was
his
plan. There were other, conflicting plans out there. He liked his plan the best.

 
26
    The blue Ford Fairlane sat in the underground garage, deep below the trees and grass of the embassy compound’s main quad. Betty Eschman, the wife of the naval attaché, was behind the wheel. “Ready, Sam?”
    “Ready.” Sam Hollis sat on the floor in the rear of the car, his back to the door. Lisa was opposite him. In the rear seat, their legs tucked under them, were two young women from the consular section, Audry Spencer and Patty White. In the front passenger seat was Jane Ellis, a commercial officer.
    The engine started, and Hollis felt the Ford move forward. He said to Betty Eschman, “Remember, they’re not allowed to stop you when you’re leaving. If a mili-man steps in the driveway, hit the horn and keep going. He’ll move. Okay?”
    “Okay. I did this for my husband once.”
    Jane Ellis said, “Why bother with the horn? He’ll move. Sideways or horizontally.”
    The two women in the back laughed, a bit nervously, Hollis thought.
    Lisa offered, “Two points for a mili-man, Betty.”
    The Ford went up the ramp and surfaced beside the chancery building, into the grey morning that was gloomier than the subterranean garage. Betty Eschman drove slowly through the forecourt of the embassy compound.
    Hollis ran the simple plan through his mind again. There were only two places in all Moscow where Protestant services were being held this Sunday morning. One was a small Baptist church in a far suburb. The other was the chapel in the British embassy where an Anglican chaplain flew in from Helsinki on alternate Sundays. The American embassy did the honors on the alternating sabbaths and holy days. It was fortunate that today was the turn of the British and that the four women normally went over there together. There was nothing, therefore, that should arouse the curiosity of the embassy watchers, who knew the routines of the American embassy.
    Betty Eschman said, “We’re passing the Marine guards now. Here goes.”
    As she approached the sidewalk, one of the militiamen stepped out of his booth, walked into the driveway, and held up his hand. Betty Eschman blasted the horn and stepped on the accelerator. The militiaman