The Charm School

descent.
    “Ground speed, thirty; altitude, thirty.”
    A horn sounded, and O’Shea said, “Oil pressure dropping. We must have popped a line or gasket.”
    The recorded voice, which had stayed inexplicably silent about the fuel, said, “Imminent engine failure. Prepare for autorotative landing.”
    They were within ten meters of the ship’s upper decks now, and Hollis picked up the nose of the helicopter, reducing ground speed to near zero. The ship slid past, and the aft deck was suddenly in front of him. The deck was pitching and rolling, but never had a landing zone looked so good to him. He felt his way toward the retreating deck, and as he passed over it, the helicopter picked up ground cushion and ballooned upward. “Damn it.” The stern was gone now, and he was over the water again. Without the ground cushion, the helicopter fell toward the water.
    Hollis quickly increased the throttle and the collective pitch of the blades, causing the helicopter to lift, seconds before the tail boom would have hit the churning wake. Hollis turned the nose back toward the stern and followed the ship, focusing on its stern light, trying to hold it steady in the strong crosswind. He felt like a man trying to grab the caboose rail of a moving train.
    Written in white letters across the stern of the ship was its name, and Hollis noted it irrelevantly:
Lucinda.
    The recorded voice said, “Imminent engine failure. Prepare for an autorotative landing.”
    Hollis pushed forward on the collective stick, increased the throttle, and literally dove in, clearing the stern rail by a few feet. He pulled back on the collective pitch, and the helicopter flared out a few meters from the rising quarterdeck.
    O’Shea shut the engines down as the rear wheels struck the deck and the Mi-28 bounced into the air. The pitching and rolling deck fell beneath them, then rose and slammed the two starboard wheels, nearly capsizing the aircraft. Hollis yanked up on the brake handle, locking the wheels.
    Finally the helicopter settled uneasily onto the moving deck. Hollis looked up at the ship’s mainmast and saw it was flying the Union Jack.
    No one spoke, and the sound of the turbines and rotor blades died slowly in their ears, replaced by the sound of lapping waves. A salty sea scent filled the cabin, and the relatively smooth flight was replaced by the rocking of a wind-tossed ship. Hollis saw that there were no crew in sight and assumed that all hands had been ordered below.
    O’Shea cleared his throat and said quietly, “I don’t like ships. I get seasick.”
    Brennan said, “I fucking
love
ships.”
    Mills said to Hollis and O’Shea, “You both did a splendid job. We owe you one.”
    Hollis replied tersely, “If ‘we’ means your company, Bert, then we all owe you one too.”
    Lisa suddenly threw her arms around Hollis’ neck. “I love
you
! You did it! Both of you.” She grabbed O’Shea’s shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. “I love you both.”
    O’Shea’s face reddened. “I didn’t do… well, talk to him about my efficiency report.”
    Hollis smiled. “I’ll reconsider it.”
    O’Shea said to Hollis, “Right before I shut the engines down—”
    “I heard it.”
    “What?” Mills asked.
    “One of them,” O’Shea replied, “went out. There isn’t enough fuel in the tanks to fill a cigarette lighter.”
    “Well, we don’t need any more fuel. See, it worked out fine.” Mills reached under his seat and pulled out a plastic bag filled with black ski masks and handed it to Brennan. “Here, everyone put on one of these. No talking to the crew, no names.”
    Mills went to the back of the cabin and slid a mask over Dodson’s face. He looked at Burov and said, “Well, Colonel, the good guys won.”
    Unexpectedly, Burov laughed. “Yes? The CIA are the good guys? Your own countrymen don’t think so, no more than my countrymen think the KGB are the good guys. You and I are pariahs, Mr. Mills. That’s what sets us apart from humanity.”
    “Could be. Glad to see you learned something in your own school.” Mills took a Syrette from his pocket and jabbed the spring-loaded device into Burov’s neck. “You talk too much.” He slid a ski mask over Burov’s head. “That’s much better.”
    Brennan slid open the door, and a rush of cold air filled the heated cabin. Brennan jumped down onto the rolling deck, followed by Lisa, O’Shea, and Hollis. Mills got out last and said, “I’ll have Dodson and Burov