The Charm School

stood. “Where are you two going?”
    “Where can we get a vehicle?”
    “Should be one or two Zils out back.” He moved to the door of the cell. “Down that corridor.”
    “Okay,” Alevy said, “we’ll bring it around front.” He added, “Sam, if you don’t see us in ten minutes, you and Lisa take off for the helipad. Okay? Don’t try to carry Dodson.” Alevy asked, “If I don’t catch up with you later, where can I find Burov?”
    “East end of the main road,” Hollis answered. “Big dacha. Guards and dogs. Think about that.” Hollis added, “Don’t forget about the men in the guard room down the corridor.”
    Hollis went back to Dodson and lifted him onto his shoulders.
    * * *
    Alevy and Mills walked rapidly into the corridor that Hollis had indicated and came to a door marked GUARD ROOM . Alevy opened the door, and he and Mills walked into a small barracks room in which was a field desk and telephone and six double bunk beds, all unoccupied except for one bottom bunk in which was a naked man and woman. A sergeant’s KGB uniform and the woman’s clothes were strewn on the floor. The sergeant sat up quickly and hit his head on the top bunk, then scrambled out of the bed and stood naked at attention. The woman pulled the sheets over her head.
    Alevy asked, “Sergeant, where are the other guards and drivers?”
    The sergeant seemed to have trouble finding his voice, then replied, “One guard and driver are making the rounds of the posts with the corporal of the guard. The other guard and driver are at their fixed post at the rear door of this building.”
    “Is anyone else in the building?”
    “The duty officer, the communications specialist, and the men in the monitoring room. Major, I can explain about—”
    “About-face, Sergeant.”
    The sergeant did an about-face, and Alevy drew his pistol and shot him in the back of the head, sending him sprawling over the strewn clothes. Mills put three rounds into the huddled figure beneath the blanket. The woman thrashed around, then lay still. Mills and Alevy caught each other’s eye for a moment, then turned away and went out into the corridor.
    They found their way to a rear foyer and opened a metal door that led down a ramp to a concrete slab on which sat a Zil-6. A harsh mercury-vapor light on the building illuminated the rear courtyard, and beyond the Zil, Alevy saw what looked like a medieval catapult. A KGB man sat on the running board of the Zil, smoking a cigarette. Standing near him was a bulky Border Guard with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. The two men saw the door open, and the driver stood. The other man turned and faced Alevy and Mills.
    Alevy walked up to them, and when they saw he was an officer, they came to rigid attention. Alevy said to the driver, who was wearing a holster and revolver, “I am Major Voronin, from Moscow, and this is Captain Molev. We are making a security check of this installation.”
    “Yes, Major.”
    “Is this your fixed post?”
    “Yes, Major.”
    “What is your name?”
    “Strakhov, sir.”
    “What are your duties?”
    “I and Private Filenko here secure the rear door of the headquarters. I provide transportation to the sergeant of the guard if he requests it.”
    Alevy glanced at Filenko, whose AK-47 was still slung over his shoulder. He turned back to Strakhov. “When do you expect the other driver to return?”
    “There is no set time, Major. It depends on how long the corporal of the guard spends at each post.”
    “Does he check the three men at the helipad during his rounds?”
    Strakhov looked at Alevy a moment, and Alevy could see he was thinking about something. Alevy knew his Russian was good as long as he kept it short and if he didn’t have to make extensive use of specific occupational jargon. Obviously he was sounding less like a KGB major from Moscow on a snap inspection.
    Alevy noticed too that Filenko no longer had his head and eyes straight ahead, but was looking at Mills. Mills, Alevy suspected, was probably looking less like a KGB captain by the second. Alevy recalled the question that he and Hollis had batted around—the question of Americans passing for Russians and vice versa. Alevy turned to Filenko. “Let me see your weapon.”
    Filenko unslung his automatic rifle and as per regulations, stood with it extended at the position of present arms. Alevy grabbed the forestock with his right hand, but Filenko did not release his grip. The two men stared at each