The Charm School

Lisa. “Stand.”
    She stood.
    “Take the revolver.”
    She hesitated, then took it from Hollis.
    “You see,” Burov said, “you do what I tell you even though
you
have the gun now. Shoot me.”
    “No.”
    “Ah, what are we learning now? Civilized people think ahead. What happens after you kill me? Are your problems over? No, they have just begun.” Burov smirked. “But a real patriot would have sacrificed his life to take mine.”
    Lisa looked at the revolver in her hand. She said, “There is only one reason I won’t shoot you. Perhaps you can comprehend it. I am a believer in God. I will not take a life, not even yours.”
    Burov snatched the pistol from her. “Yes? Christians don’t kill people? Perhaps I should go back to my history books. How does that little rhyme go… ‘After two thousand years of masses, you’ve progressed to poison gasses?’ What hypocrites you all are.”
    “We’re trying. You’re not.”
    Burov sat on the edge of his desk and stared down at her. “Let me give you some advice, Ms. Rhodes. If you can convince your friend here to submit to us, you will be safe. Without him, you are nothing. Just a woman. Do you remember at Mozhaisk morgue when you pulled your hand away from me in revulsion? Well, picture, if you will, so many more dirty Russian hands on you—no, don’t swear at me. I know you both have a little backbone left. Just shut your mouths and think about everything we’ve discussed here. Stand.” Burov threw the pistol on the desk and spoke in an almost friendly tone, “Well, then. Are you feeling up to a walk in the fresh air? I’m sure you’re curious.” Burov motioned them toward the door and spoke to the guard. He said to Hollis and Lisa, “I’ll join you in a while.”
    The guard led them downstairs and indicated a bench near the front doors where they had first entered the building, then left them alone.
    Hollis looked around the lobby. Like the rest of the place, it was sparse, but there was, as always, the picture of Lenin staring down at them. The picture was hung over the front desk, and Hollis noticed that the duty officer there was the same lieutenant who had played games with his pistol when Hollis was writing his appeal. The lieutenant glanced up at him and smiled.
    From where Hollis sat he could see the open door to the communications room and saw an operator sitting at the switchboard. The man connected a call manually, and Hollis realized it wasn’t an automatic board. To the operator’s left was the radio console he’d seen when he first entered this building. He recognized a shortwave set but couldn’t see the rest of the console.
    The lieutenant said in Russian, “Curiosity is how you got here.” He stood and closed the door of the communications room. He turned to Hollis and Lisa and held out a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke?”
    They both shook their heads.
    “My name is Cheltsov.”
    Hollis replied in Russian, “I really don’t give a shit.”
    Lieutenant Cheltsov shrugged and sat back at his desk. He stared at them. “I’ve come to like Americans.”
    Hollis asked, “Do they like you?”
    The lieutenant smiled. “Everyone here gets along as best he can. This is not a prison.”
    “You could have fooled me.”
    “Well, you’ll see. Colonel Burov is a very smart man. There is much freedom here for the Americans. That’s because Americans are used to much freedom. Correct?”
    “Except for American communists.”
    “That’s not completely true. We know what goes on in America.”
    “And how does that knowledge compare with what you were taught in school? About American communists for instance?”
    The young officer shrugged. “The Party knows what’s best for the people to know.”
    Lisa spoke. “You certainly don’t believe that anymore.”
    Cheltsov lit a cigarette. “I certainly do. So you will be instructors here?”
    “We’re considering the offer,” Hollis replied. “Tell me more about how smart Colonel Burov is.”
    The man smiled. “Well, he is smart enough to let you people have the run of this place as long as you produce results. If he discovers that an American instructor has lied to a Russian student about something in America, then…” The man put his forefinger to his temple and cocked his thumb. “You understand?”
    Hollis asked, “And are you the executioner, Cheltsov?”
    The man didn’t reply.
    “Do you speak English?” Lisa asked.
    “No. None of the cadre—the KGB—speaks