The Charm School

“Sir, we were not able to raise you on the radio.”
    “Nor was my pilot able to raise you. You’ll do a communications check with him. Have you called the duty officer regarding our landing?”
    “No, sir, but I’ll do that now.” He said to the man near the cot, “Kanavsky, call Lieutenant Cheltsov.” Kanavsky moved quickly toward the field phones.
    Alevy drew a short, discreet breath. Things were going well. Or perhaps his years in this country had given him some insight into how these people reacted to given situations. The sergeant hadn’t called the duty officer because he didn’t want to annoy an officer, who would only have snapped something like, “What the hell do you want me to do about it? Flap my wings and intercept the helicopter? Find out who he is and call me back.”
    Alevy stepped casually off to the side so that he had the three men in his view. Kanavsky picked up the field phone and reached for the hand crank.
    Without making an abrupt movement, Alevy drew his silenced automatic and put the first round through the chest of Frolev, still standing with the AK-47 at the door. Frolev gave a start but didn’t seem to know that he’d been shot. Alevy spun and put the second round into the side of Kanavsky. The man shouted in surprise, dropped the phone, and his hand went to his rib cage.
    The sergeant reacted quickly, drawing his revolver from his holster. Alevy fired first, hitting the man in the midsection, causing him to double over and stagger back into the field desk, scattering the chess game. Alevy fired again into the crown of the sergeant’s head, and the man dropped to the floor.
    Alevy walked to Kanavsky, who was still standing, and put a bullet into his head, then went to Frolev, who was trying to get to his feet. Alevy stood off a short distance so as not to get splattered and fired once into the side of Frolev’s head.
    Alevy hung up the telephone and took the kettle off the wood stove. He found a wool glove warming by the stove and wiped the wetness from his gun hand, then cleaned the blood from his jackboots. He loaded a fresh magazine into the automatic, drew a deep breath, and reminded himself that several hundred Americans had lived and died in this place for nearly two decades. He composed himself and stepped outside.
    Brennan and Mills were already there, Brennan with the Dragunov sniper rifle and Mills with the black leather overnight bag. Alevy said in a low voice, “Bill, you tidy up in there and stay put.”
    Brennan asked, “Are you sure I can’t come along?”
    Alevy liked Brennan, and Brennan was very brave and enthusiastic but had a short attention span. “As I told you, Captain O’Shea needs some advance warning if things start to come apart. Also we don’t know if these guys phone in scheduled sit reps to anyone or if anyone calls them periodically. So if somebody calls looking for a situation report, just say nechevo —there is nothing. That’s standard radio lingo for negative sit rep.
Nechevo.
”
    “
Nechevo.
”
    “Sound bored and tired. Yawn.”
    Brennan yawned and said through his yawn, “
Nechevo.
”
    “Good. If anyone gets chatty on the phone say it again with emphasis. Be rude and hang up.” Alevy added, “I’m assuming that calls originate from headquarters, so I’ll relieve the commo man there of his duties. I’ll call you from there—you answer the phone with
Da.
Not
Allo. Da.
”
    “
Da. Nechevo.
”
    “Fine. And if anyone comes around to check this post, let them in, but don’t let them out.”
    Brennan smiled. “I’ll let the Dragunov talk Russian.”
    Mills added, “Don’t hesitate to jump on that chopper if you hear all hell breaking loose.”
    Brennan didn’t reply.
    Alevy slapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck, Bill.”
    “You too.”
    Brennan took the leather bag inside the cabin. Alevy and Mills moved quickly up the narrow pine-covered lane that led away from the
izba
and the helicopter clearing. Alevy said, “You were supposed to wait for my signal before getting out of the chopper.”
    “You were a long time in there. Did they call headquarters?”
    “They said they didn’t.”
    “Do you think Brennan will be all right on the telephone?”
    “About as good as O’Shea was with the helicopter.”
    Mills commented, “Sometimes you can overplan an operation. We don’t have that problem here.”
    Alevy smiled grimly. They had a pilot who couldn’t fly his craft, a man on the telephone who