The Charm School

in the center of the room wearing his uniform trousers, boots, and shirt but no tunic. “Good morning.”
    Hollis ignored him and looked around. The furniture, he saw, was all Russian but not the junk that the masses had to live with. Everything in the room looked as if it had been lifted from the lobby of the Ukraina Hotel—stolid, made-to-last lacquered furniture of the 1930s; what might be called art deco in the West, but what the Russians officially called Socialist Realism and the people called Stalinist. Adorning the walls were oversize canvasses of uncommonly handsome peasants, happy factory workers, and Red Army men prepared to do battle. The only thing missing from this 1930s time capsule, Hollis thought, was smiling Uncle Joe himself or at least a photograph of him.
    Burov followed Hollis’ gaze. “As you say in America, they don’t make it like this anymore. In recent years we’ve sacrificed quality for quantity. There are many who long to return to the time when shoddy goods and bad buildings were punished by firing squad.”
    “There are probably less extreme methods of quality control,” Hollis said dryly. “Are you a Stalinist then, Burov?”
    “We don’t use that word,” Burov replied. “But certainly, I admired the man if not all of his methods. Please, sit.” Burov motioned to the far side of the room where there was an ancient Russian porcelain stove with a wood fire in it, the only antique piece in the room. Hollis and Lisa sat in armchairs whose frames were black lacquered wood inlaid with stainless steel.
    Burov motioned to the Border Guard, who left.
    Lisa said, “If I had to guess your taste, Colonel Burov, I would have said this was it.”
    He smiled doubtfully.
    She focused on a large canvas of peasants harvesting wheat, well-built men and women with grinning ruddy faces and flowing red bandannas. She commented, “I didn’t see anything like that in the countryside, and I suspect the artist never did either.”
    “That is what we call the ideal.” He sat on the matching sofa across from them. “So how have you been faring?”
    Hollis replied, “We’re in prison. How do you think we’re faring?”
    “You are not in prison,” Burov said curtly. “Tell me then, what do you think of our school so far?”
    Hollis said, “I’m impressed.”
    Burov nodded as though he already knew that. He looked at Hollis. “First order of business. Your physical assault on Sonny Aimes.”
    “Why don’t we first talk about the physical assaults on Ms. Rhodes and myself by Viktor, Vadim, and you?”
    “That was not assault. That was official business, and as it happened before you entered the world of the school, it cannot be discussed. Why did you hit Sonny? Because he insulted Ms. Rhodes?”
    “No, I was on official business.”
    “
I
make the rules here, Colonel Hollis. I’m very strict about law and order. And very fair. I’ve given students jail time for fighting, harassing women, stealing, and so on. I shot a student for rape once. If this place is to work, there must be law and order. Unlike America.” Burov added, “If you decide to stay on here, I will conduct a full inquiry into the matter and see who was at fault.”
    Lisa said, “The Landises were not at fault. We put them in a difficult situation. It was between me and Sonny. The man is a pig.”
    Burov smiled. “Yes. He was a fine boy before he started seeing American movies.” Burov laughed.
    Lisa stood. “Good day.”
    Burov motioned her back to her seat. “No. Please. Enough verbal jabbing. I have things to discuss with you.”
    Lisa sat reluctantly.
    Burov looked at Hollis and Lisa for some time, then said, “You’ve probably heard a few things about me and how I run this camp. And you’re probably wondering what makes me tick. That’s what you people wonder about when you meet a strong personality.”
    Hollis said, “Yes, and when I meet an abnormal personality I try to guess at the type of psychosis that is affecting his brain.”
    Burov smiled thinly. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking I’m crazy. I’m not. I have developed here the finest espionage school in all the world, Hollis. Every premier and each member of the Central Committee and the Politboro for the last ten years knows my name.”
    “That’s not always an advantage,” Hollis reminded him.
    “So far, it has been. But I’ll tell you what motivates me. Two things. One, my deep abiding hate for the West, which I think you