The Charm School

log cabin he’d seen in the satellite photo. A narrow dirt track, barely visible among the pine trees, began at the cabin and ran a hundred yards south to the main camp road.
    Most of the mile-square camp was not much more discernible from a few hundred feet, Hollis saw, than it had been from the satellite a few hundred miles up. Yet, because he had seen much of the world from the air, he could sense the general layout. There was a roughly circular gravel road that ran around the inside of the perimeter, probably a service road for the watchtowers. The main camp road was two lanes of winding blacktop that roughly bisected the camp from east to west. This road passed through the main gate and was actually a continuation of the one they had taken up from Borodino Field.
    As they descended to about a hundred feet, Hollis saw on the main road a grim-looking concrete building in the center of the camp, probably the headquarters. Not far from that was a long wooden building with a green roof whose purpose he could not guess.
    Some distance south of these two buildings was another clearing, but this one was man-made, a perfect rectangle, the size of a soccer field, which it undoubtedly was, and which could double as a parade ground or assembly area, a standard facility for any school or prison camp. In fact, as the helicopter got lower, he could see bleacher stands that would accommodate close to five hundred people.
    Between the soccer field and the south perimeter of the camp, he saw the metal roofs of long barracks-like buildings that would be the separate compound within the compound for the KGB Border Guard detachment.
    Hollis sketched an aerial map in his mind and committed each detail to memory.
    As they descended to about fifty feet, his eye caught something odd, and he looked at an area of the treetops about midway between the dachas and the headquarters. He realized that he was looking at a huge camouflage net covering about an acre, supported by living pine trees whose tops poked through the net. An axiom of both combat flying and spying was that neither aerial photographs nor overflights were a substitute for a man on the ground. He was about to be the man on the ground.
    The helicopter settled onto the snow-dusted landing field. The copilot drew his pistol and slid open the door. Marchenko climbed out first, followed by Vadim. The copilot motioned with his gun at Lisa, and she took her bag and icon and jumped down from the helicopter, refusing Marchenko’s hand. The copilot looked at Hollis a moment and asked, “Where did you think you were going to take this helicopter?”
    “That’s my business.”
    “The American embassy, perhaps?” He glanced at the pilot and said, “Neither of us would have flown you there.”
    Hollis got his bag and held it in his cuffed hands. He stood, crouched over in the low cabin. “Then I would have killed you both and flown it myself.”
    The copilot backed away from Hollis. “You’re a real murderer.”
    “No, I’m an American Air Force officer who is being kidnapped.”
    The copilot’s eyes widened in surprise. “Yes?”
    Marchenko called out, “Come along!”
    “Call my embassy and tell them Colonel Hollis is here. I’ll see you get fifty thousand rubles for you and your friend here.”
    Again, the copilot glanced over his shoulder. “Get moving.”
    Hollis edged toward the open door.
    The copilot said softly, “You shouldn’t have broken that man’s wrist. Do you know who those two are?”
    “Intourist guides. Remember my offer.” Hollis jumped down from the helicopter to where Marchenko stood with Lisa and Vadim near a Zil-6, a Red Army vehicle somewhat like an American jeep but larger. Hollis heard the helicopter lift off and felt the rush of wind pushing him forward.
    Marchenko opened the rear door of the Zil and said, “Colonel Hollis, then Vadim, then Miss Rhodes.”
    Hollis pushed his cuffed wrists under Marchenko’s nose, “Unlock these.”
    Marchenko shook his head. “Get in, please.”
    Hollis said to Lisa, “Get in first.”
    She got in, and as Vadim tried to follow, Hollis shouldered him aside and got in the middle beside Lisa. Vadim sat beside Hollis and said in Russian, “I’m going to beat your fucking face to a pulp.”
    “With which hand?”
    “You shit—”
    “Please!” Marchenko shouted. “Enough!” He got into the front passenger seat and said to the driver, “Headquarters.”
    The Zil moved across the grass field toward