The Charm School

understanding that the graduates never come into contact with one another for security reasons.”
    “Oh? Who told you that?”
    “Can’t remember.”
    Jeff Rooney shook his head. “There are small cells. Just like all over the world. That’s how we made a revolution here and other places. Cells, isolated from one another for security, but all working for the same thing. It was a novel concept back before the Revolution, and it still works. Makes it impossible to round up the whole organization. That’s the way I understand it is over there. Each cell works to enhance the professional life of its members.”
    “That’s interesting.”
    “Right. So, anyway, don’t worry about my security clearance, Colonel. Just give me some insights into the Air Force intelligence world and maybe some embassy jargon and how the politics work on getting these postings. I’ll do the rest. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    Rooney added, “I wish I had an old man who was an Air Force general like you do. Well, someday I’ll
be
an American Air Force general, and my kids will have it easier. The great American dream—right, Colonel? Always a little harder for us immigrants.” He laughed. “Legal or illegal. But we’ll make it. We work harder.”
    Hollis regarded Rooney closely. The Charm School, he thought, took the spycraft ideal of deep cover to its ultimate realization; it assaulted the very notion of identity that all human beings took for granted. Each man and woman on earth, Hollis reflected, was a complex matrix of language, habit, nuance, gesture, and shared mythology, the sum total of which identified them as members of a specific nation, culture, or society. And the thought that all of this could be replicated was a scary notion. But, Hollis thought, it was a very Russian notion. It was the old Russian nobility and upper classes speaking French, dressing English, and thinking German; it was the whole Russian obsession with trying to be something they were not. And this place, Hollis realized, was an advanced version of Stanislavsky’s method acting, a bizarre and grotesque stage where all the actors exited into the night and played their stage parts in the world. It was, Hollis understood, a place where the final curtain had to be drawn.
    Rooney said, “Colonel? You there?”
    Hollis focused on Rooney. “I’m here.”
    Rooney smiled. “Well, you guys probably want to snoop around a little, so we won’t keep you. But we’re having a party Friday night. You’ll get a chance to meet a lot of the people here. See Chuck over at supply for a mask.”
    “Mask?”
    “Yeah. Halloween. Friday’s Halloween.”
    “Right.”
    Suzie looked at Lisa and said, “Smile. It’s not so bad here.”
    Lisa didn’t smile or reply.
    Jeff added, “No one will hassle you if you’re straight with us. Talk to the other instructors and you’ll see. See you at the Grand Sabbat.”
    Suzie waved. “Nice meeting you both. Don’t get lost.”
    “Welcome to the campus,” Jeff added. “Don’t get too close to the perimeter.”
    They moved off down the path.
    Neither Hollis nor Lisa spoke for a minute, then Hollis said dryly, “Nice kids. Lots of ambition.”
    Lisa replied, “God forgive me, but I wanted to slit their throats.”
    “And they may have wanted to cut ours.” Hollis thought a moment, then said, “Frightening.”
    “Creepy,” Lisa agreed. She watched them disappear around the bend in the path and commented, “He’s a nearly finished product. She’s still very rough. I guess I’m supposed to polish her. I can’t believe this, Sam.”
    “It is a bit surreal.” Hollis looked into the woods. Deep purple shadows lay in the ancient
bor,
and the worn wooden trail ran from nowhere to nowhere. The wind had died, and there was a stillness all around.
Here I am,
Hollis thought,
in the heart of Russia, dead to the world, surrounded by barbed wire and engulfed in a mad experiment. Fifteen years late, but here at last.
    They headed back the way they came, but took a cross path that cut east.
    Lisa said, “Did I do all right? I mean with the ‘may’ and ‘can’?”
    “Fine. But they didn’t believe for a minute that we were willing participants.”
    “Good. I’m not much of a phony.”
    “No, you’re not.”
    They came to a ranch-style house set snugly among the pine trees. It was red brick with white trim and a green asphalt roof. A gravel driveway led to a one-car garage, but there was no sign that a car had ever