The Charm School

of the castle timbers. I sometimes think of these little courses we teach as silicon chips. We’re supposed to implant the right microcircuitry on those chips so they can go into the big computer of the Russian student’s brain. But we put little scratches on those chips as we’re making them. Small imperfections that escape quality control. Then the Russian heads West with these little glitches, and maybe his computer works fine most of the time, and maybe he gets a malfunction at a noncritical moment. But one day, in the right situation, like when he’s sailing along at Mach two and sixty thousand feet and the engines are at full power, he’ll try a maneuver, and the imperfect microchip will fail him at a crucial moment. And the small malfunction at that time and place will be fatal. Like maybe one of those bozos in there will be playing cards someday with a CIA man and pulling aces and sixes and make a stupid comment. You understand?”
    “Perfectly.”
    “We try.”
    “I know.”
    “So, do you smoke Cuban cigars?”
    “No.”
    “You do now.” Poole took two aluminum cigar tubes from the pocket of his warm-up jacket and handed them to Hollis, who slipped them in his pocket. Poole said, “All the names of the Americans past and present who’ve been in this place. Signatures where possible, dates of first incarceration here, and dates of death where appropriate. That’s dynamite there, Colonel, if you can get that out of here and to the embassy.”
    “I know that.”
    “But maybe they don’t want dynamite in the embassy.”
    “They may not. But they’ll do what they have to do.”
    “Will they? Do you have any hope of—well, I won’t ask you again.” Poole inquired, “How was your morning?”
    “I assume you know we went up to see Burov. Is it common to be asked to his house?”
    “It used to be. Like being asked to take sherry with the headmaster. But the ethics committee ruled it out years ago. We only go if given a direct order by him to report. Never take a drink or even a glass of water. I think he’s insulted, so he never asks anymore.”
    “All right.”
    “Can you tell me what he wanted?”
    “Well, basically he wanted to shoot us. But he’ll settle for our working here.”
    Poole nodded. “If you could be sure he’d only
shoot
you, I’d advise you to tell him to shove his job. But he’ll put you through an interrogation that won’t be very pleasant.”
    Hollis replied, “I know that. But we have the choice of a more pleasant interrogation by drugs and polygraph if we take his job offer. Either way, he’s going to get things from us that I’d rather he didn’t know.”
    Poole looked at Hollis, then at Lisa, and asked her, “Are you in intelligence?”
    “Yes. But only very recently. I used to write press releases.”
    Hollis continued, “I have to give him an answer by six. We’ll tell him yes, but I’m going to buy time between then and the polygraph.”
    Poole stared at Hollis. “What are you buying time
for
?”
    Which, Hollis thought, was a very good question. If he were to answer Poole, he would say, “Time to get the people in Washington moving.” He knew that Seth Alevy would be presenting to the President a very convincing case to prove that Lisa Rhodes and Sam Hollis had been kidnapped, not incinerated in that helicopter crash; and that they were being held in the Charm School. Alevy would also tell the National Security Council that Hollis had more information in his head than they would ever want the Russians to know. Alevy would hint at dark things, would cajole, plead, and threaten. And Alevy might even have General Surikov in the White House at this very moment, presenting a very chilling microfilm show of three thousand Soviet agents to a stunned President and his security advisers. Eventually, even Washington would realize that something had to be done and the hell with détente.
    “Buy time for what?” Poole repeated.
    Hollis did not respond to the question, but informed Poole, “Burov says they’ve captured Dodson.”
    “Jack… captured?”
    “That’s what Burov said.”
    Poole seemed stunned, then pulled himself together. “Now comes the bloodbath.”
    “I’ll speak to Burov tonight. I’ll see what I can do.”
    “You can’t do a thing.”
    “But I’ll give it all I’ve got.”
    “All right… that idiotic Halloween party is tonight. Begins at seven. We all have to show up with our women.”
    “I’ll talk to you then.”