The Charm School

breasts, then knelt and ran his tongue over her belly, down to her pubic hair, and touched his tongue to her labia.
    “Oooooh… my word… .” She knelt in front of him and they fondled each other beside the electric warmth. She said, “This guy’s as big as a billy club. You’re all right.”
    “What a relief.”
    She looked at him sternly. “You conned me out of my clothes.”
    “Not me.”
    They rose together and lay in the heavily quilted bed. Hollis got on top of her, and she guided him in, then wrapped her legs around his back. She whispered, “Sam… it was silly of me… this is what I needed… your love.”
    “This is all we’ve got here, Lisa.”
    “Sam, I want to live. We need more time together… it’s too soon to have it end.”
    “Yes, it
would
be too soon. I love you, Lisa. Remember that.”
    They moved slowly, unhurriedly, like people who know they have many hours to themselves but not many more days, like servicemen on leave from a war, as Hollis recalled, when time was measured in minutes, and each minute was full of self-awareness and small pleasures never before experienced or appreciated.
    Lisa’s hands ran smoothly and slowly along his neck and shoulders down to the small of his back, then up his spine. Hollis cupped his hands under her buttocks and brought her up as he forced his groin down deeper into her. He came and his spasm brought her to climax.
    They lay still, listening to the absolute quiet of the room, their breathing, and the blood pounding in their ears.
    Lisa held him tight. “Our victory.”
    * * *
    They jogged along the main road. Other joggers, mostly men, passed them in either direction. Everyone waved. Lisa said, “Friendly group. Just like Sea Cliff on a Saturday morning. But where are the women?”
    “Russian women don’t jog, I guess.”
    “Right. I never saw one in Moscow.”
    They turned right on the main road and walked a few hundred meters. Lisa asked, “Where are we going?”
    “To call on Burov at home.”
    “You can go without me.” She turned, but he took her arm. Lisa said, “I will
not
call on that man’s home.”
    “He’s asked us to stop by.”
    “I don’t
care
. Don’t you understand? Try to put yourself in my place, as a woman. Do you want me to be graphic? He stood there in that cell while the matron gave me a very thorough search.”
    Hollis nodded. “I understand. I’ll tell him you’re not feeling well.”
    “Why do you want to go there?”
    “I have a job to do. I have to see whatever I can see.”
    “But for what
reason
?”
    “I don’t know exactly, but I don’t want to be unprepared for whatever is going to happen.”
    Lisa stayed silent a moment, then turned and walked toward Burov’s house.
    The main road ended at a wide turnaround on the far side of which was a guardhouse, a tall razor-wire fence, and a wire gate. Two KGB Border Guards watched them approach. One of them unslung his rifle and cradled it under his arm.
“Stoi!”
    Hollis and Lisa stopped and one of the guards walked toward them. “Go away!” he said in English. “Go!”
    Hollis said in Russian, “We have an appointment with Colonel Burov. I am Colonel Hollis.”
    The guard looked them up and down, then said in Russian, “Are you the new Americans?”
    “That’s right. Though my Russian is somewhat better than yours.”
    The guard glared at him, then turned and went back to the guardhouse, where he made a telephone call. He motioned to Hollis and Lisa, and they passed through the gates onto a blacktopped path, just wide enough for a vehicle. Adjacent to the guardhouse was a kennel where six German shepherds roamed inside a wire mesh enclosure. The dogs immediately began barking and pawing at the mesh.
    Hollis and Lisa continued up the path. Burov’s dacha was set among towering pines that had been thinned out to let some light pass through to the house and grounds. Tree stumps dotted the carpet of brown pine needles and cones.
    The dacha itself was a two-story clapboard structure with somewhat contemporary lines and oversize windows. Parked in a gravel patch beside the house and enclosed in a newly built carport was the Pontiac Trans Am. Hollis walked up to the front door and knocked.
    The door opened, and a KGB Border Guard motioned them inside. They entered into a large anteroom that held the guard’s desk, chair, and a coatrack.
    The guard showed them through to a large pleasant living room with knotty-pine walls.
    Burov stood