The Charm School

concourse. Alevy pointed at the ceiling, and they walked back to the crowded terminal building. They stood quietly among the milling people for a minute, then Alevy said, “Did you want to speak to me?”
    Hollis replied, “I assume the meeting went well, or you’d be in a less playful mood.”
    “It went fine.”
    “You got the microfilm?”
    “I did.”
    “Did you look at it?”
    “Briefly.”
    Hollis drew a deep breath of impatience. “I can either pull teeth, or I can knock them all out, right here.”
    Alevy regarded Hollis a moment, then his eyes became unfocused as though his mind just got a phone call. He refocused on Hollis and said, “Sam, I promise you, you’re still on the case. You have my word on that.”
    Hollis studied Alevy’s face a moment. “Okay. Was the microfilm good stuff?”
    “The jackpot. But I don’t know how the FBI is going to proceed with it.”
    “That’s their problem, not ours.”
    “Well, it’s everyone’s problem. I’d like to see us just go public with the photos—TV and newspapers, movie theaters, shopping malls. That would blow every one of those Russian agents whether they’re White House janitors, defense workers, or congressional aides.” Alevy added, “However, I think the government wants the FBI to try to round them up quietly.”
    “But you’d like it public. That would finish the summit and arms talks once and for all.”
    “All that nonsense deserves to be dead and buried. What benefit is there to us to talk peace and trade, when the Soviets have massive economic problems and social unrest? As our mutual hero, Napoleon Bonaparte, said, ‘Never interrupt an enemy while he’s making a mistake.’”
    Hollis smiled. “You
are
a manipulative son of a bitch.”
    “Thank you. Speaking of manipulators, do you know who Charlie Banks works for?”
    “Probably State Department Intelligence.”
    “Right. You’re sharper than you look.” Alevy moved toward a group of Japanese businessmen who were talking loudly and animatedly, providing good sound cover from directional microphones. Hollis followed him. Alevy said, “State Department Intelligence here in Moscow spend most of their time spying on people like you and me. They think we’re trying to sabotage their diplomatic initiatives.”
    “Where would they get an idea like that?”
    “Beats me. Anyway, SDI would be harmless except that they’re an arm of the venerable and powerful Department of State. And in the matter of the Charm School, Charles Banks is watching the situation very closely and reporting, I believe, directly to the President.”
    “He’s watching
you
very closely. What I don’t understand is how anyone is going to resolve the problem of the Charm School without all hell breaking loose.”
    “There are ways to resolve it quietly. As long as Dodson doesn’t show up.”
    “What if he does show up?”
    Alevy replied, “I doubt if he’d make it over the wall. The militia and KGB have orders to shoot on sight. But if he did, by some miracle, get inside the embassy or get to a Western reporter in Moscow, then Banks, the Secretary of State, and the President will be singing my company song.”
    Hollis said, “I keep thinking that if Dodson did get over the wall, he might not be home free. Is that an insane thought?”
    “Yes, but it’s a good thought. I think old affable Charlie Banks is under orders to have Dodson killed to shut him up.” Alevy added, “And you think I’m nuts and immoral? Our government is ready to write off three hundred American airmen for some abstraction they call détente. Hell, I can’t even pronounce it, and the fucking Russians don’t even have a word for it.”
    “Seth, I’ll try to separate the white hats from the black hats on the plane. Meet me in D.C., and we’ll talk to some of my people in the Pentagon. I won’t get involved in conspiracies, but we can talk about ways to bring those men home and not make them pawns in everyone’s power game.”
    “All right. I’ll meet you in D.C.”
    Hollis asked, “By the way, what did you think of General Surikov?”
    “I spoke to him in the basement of the antique shop for half an hour. I don’t think he liked me.”
    “He doesn’t have to like you. You’re not going to be his control officer. He’s leaving.”
    “Well, that’s the other thing. I agree with you that he’s a legitimate defector. But I don’t think he’s going to make it in the West.”
    “A lot of people who