The Charm School

them down with lead map weights. “These are the names of the men, living and dead… all dead now, who were in the Charm School from the beginning.”
    “That was what Lew Poole gave you?”
    “Yes.” He stared at the curled papers. “Simms… here’s Simms… .” He looked off into the distance and spoke. “On the Vietnam memorial, they have crosses beside the names of the missing.”
    “Yes, I’ve seen that.”
    “And if a missing man is confirmed dead, they carve a circle around the cross.” He looked at Lisa. “I want these men to be officially recognized as dead and their families notified. I want this list put to some good use.”
    She nodded, then asked, “Is that list… dangerous to have… I mean, the Charm School never existed.”
    Hollis replied, “I think it would be dangerous for us
not
to have it. This is the only real evidence that you and I have that the Charm School did exist. It is our insurance policy.”
    She nodded in understanding.
    Hollis said, “I’ll send this along with a letter to my father in Japan. I’ll have a seaman post it in Liverpool before we get off the ship. Then when we get to London, we’ll talk about things with our friend, Mr. Banks.” He looked at her. “So what do
you
want from all this?”
    She smiled. “I’ve got it.
You.
”
    He smiled in return.
    She added, “And we have Gregory Fisher’s murderer, don’t we? I mean, I know that Burov is not the sole murderer. The system is a killer. But a little justice was done.”
    Hollis sipped on his coffee. Lisa yawned. Through occasional breaks in the clouds, shafts of sunlight came in through the portholes and lay on the table for a time. A seaman appeared at the door and said, “Captain Hughes wishes you to know that we’ve passed Kronshtadt. We are in undisputed international waters.”
    “Thank you.”
    Lisa looked at Hollis. “Another step home.”
    “We’ll get there.” Hollis stood and went to the starboard porthole. He stared out to sea awhile, then turned and found Lisa standing in front of him. They looked at each other, then spontaneously she threw her arms around him.
    The steward opened the door of the chart room, mumbled something, and backed out.
    She buried her face in his chest. “My God, Sam, I’m so tired… . Can we make love this morning…? My parents buried their daughter… . They’ll be delirious to see me… . Come home with me… . I want to meet your odd family… . Sam, can I cry for Seth? Is that all right?”
    “Of course. You’re shaking. Let me take you to your room.”
    “No, hold me.” She said softly, “Can we pretend that after our lunch in the Arbat we flew to New York and nothing happened in between?”
    “No, we can’t do that. But we can try to make some sense of it. Try to understand this whole mess between us and them. Maybe I’ll teach you about Soviet air power, and you explain Gogol to me. We’ll both learn something that no one else cares about.”
    She laughed. “I’d like that.” She hugged him tighter. “Later I’ll tell you a Russian bedtime story.”
    They stood silently for a long time, listening to the sounds of the ship and the sea, feeling the roll and forward momentum of the freighter as it moved westward, away from Russia.

Chapter 1
    A man wearing the white robes of a Bedouin, Bulus ibn al-Darwish by name, known also by his Al Qaeda nom de guerre as al-Numair–The Panther–stood to the side of the Belgian tour group.
    The Belgians had arrived in a minibus from Sana’a, four men and five women, with their Yemeni driver, and their Yemeni tour guide, a man named Wasim al-Rahib. The driver had stayed in the air-conditioned minibus, out of the hot August sun.
    The tour guide, Wasim, spoke no French, but his English was good, and one of the Belgians, Annette, a girl of about sixteen, also spoke English and was able to translate into French for her compatriots.
    Wasim said to his group, “This is the famous Bar’ an Temple, also known as Arsh Bilqis–the throne of the Queen of Sheba.”
    Annette translated and the tour group nodded and began taking pictures.
    Al-Numair, The Panther, scanned the ruins of the temple complex–over an acre of brown sandstone walls, towering square columns, and open courtyards, baking in the
    desert sun. American and European archaeologists had spent many years and much money uncovering and restoring these pagan ruins–and then they had left because of tribal suspicion, and more