The Charm School

hurt.”
    “I’ll let you fly.”
    “Okay. You pray. I’ll fly. Later we’ll switch.”
    Lisa looked at Hollis’ hands on the controls. This was a different Sam Hollis from the one she’d known in Moscow or in the Charm School. It struck her that he belonged in this aircraft, and she recalled what Seth Alevy had said to her at Sheremetyevo Airport about the world of pilots: They were a different breed, but she thought she could love him just the same.
    The voice said again, “Your fuel reserves are nearly gone,” then, “Make preparations to terminate your flight.”
    No one spoke for some minutes, then O’Shea said, “Hey, did you hear about the Aeroflot pilot who ran low on fuel crossing the ocean and dumped fuel to save weight?”
    No one laughed, and O’Shea said, “It’s funnier on the ground.”
    Hollis looked at the instrument panel clock. It was 6:59. Sunrise was in twenty-three minutes, after which time the freighter was to turn off its landing lights, making it indistinguishable from any other freighter in the area. At their present speed they could cover about sixty kilometers before sunrise. But for the last ten minutes of the flight they would have to reduce their speed to eighty kph, according to the instructions. Hollis said to O’Shea, “Our options are two: We can decrease speed, conserve fuel, and we’ll probably make it to our rendezvous, but it will be well after dawn. Or we can increase speed and our rate of fuel consumption, which is the only way we could possibly make our rendezvous before dawn. Of course, if we increase fuel consumption, we may not get that far. What’s your professional opinion, Captain?”
    O’Shea replied as though he’d given it some thought. “I’m betting that there’s more fuel left than we think. That’s just my gut feeling. I say full speed ahead.”
    Mills said, “I vote to cut speed and conserve fuel. Our primary obligation is not to get to that freighter before dawn—it’s to get out of the Soviet Union, and out of the reach of the KGB. I want to make sure we reach the gulf. I’d rather go into the drink than have them get their hands on us. We know too much.”
    Hollis replied, “You have no vote, Bert. This is a technical matter. But your opinion is noted. Lisa?”
    “I’m with Bert. I’d rather drown than run out of gas over land.”
    Hollis nodded. “Should we wake Brennan for his opinion?” Hollis heard the sound of popping bubble gum, followed by Brennan’s voice saying, “We dead yet?”
    Mills replied, “We’re working on it.”
    Brennan stretched and cleared his throat. “Hey, Colonel, glad to see you up and around. How you doing?”
    “Fine. I’m a general.”
    “Oh, right. Sorry. Hey, did we do a tit for tat on them, or what? I mean to tell you, we kicked some ass. Right?”
    “Right. Did you hear our problem?”
    “Yeah. That’s a tough one. Whatever you guys decide is okay with me.”
    Hollis wished everyone was as unopinionated.
    Brennan added, “I hate flying. Glad we’ll be down soon.”
    O’Shea said, “Your call, General.”
    The disembodied voice said again, “Your fuel reserves are nearly gone. Make preparations to terminate your flight.”
    “Full speed ahead.” Hollis pushed forward on the cyclic stick, dropping the craft into a nose-down attitude, and simultaneously increased the throttle and adjusted the collective stick. The airspeed indicator rose to 180 kph with a corresponding rise in ground speed. Hollis said, “Never believe a Russian.”
    They continued north. The fuel warning light glowed steady red, and the recorded voice gave its warning in the same indifferent tone. Hollis had always thought that these cockpit recordings should get shriller each time they came on. But tape players did not fear death.
    O’Shea called out, “Look!”
    Hollis, Mills, Lisa, and Brennan looked to where O’Shea was pointing. Slightly to starboard of their flight path, on the black distant horizon, they could see a faint glow. Hollis announced, “Leningrad.”
    O’Shea said, “About twenty klicks. Maybe seven minutes’ flight time.”
    Hollis looked at the clock. It was 7:04. Eighteen minutes to sunrise. If they got to Pulkovo in seven minutes and changed heading, they would get to the lighthouse in about another five minutes. Then a ten-minute flight to the rendezvous point with the freighter. That sounded like twenty-two minutes.
    O’Shea said, “We’re racing the sun now,