The Charm School

dark, casual clothes and why you have a gun in an ankle holster.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Well… I’ll help you snoop. I enjoy your company.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome. Also, I guess I feel I was in at the beginning of this… you know?”
    “Yes.” He stood and put six rubles on the table. “Well, the food wasn’t so bad. The place has ambience and no electronic plumbing like at the Prague or the other top twenty. Two and a half stars. Send a letter to Michelin.”
    She stood. “Thanks for being such a good sport. My treat next time.”
    “Next time I pick.”
    “Can you top this for ambience?”
    “You bet,” Hollis said. “I know a KGB hangout.”
    “Are you kidding?”
    “No.”
    “Neat. Take me.”
    They left the restaurant, and Hollis found himself in an agreeable frame of mind for the first time in a long while.

Part II

    Scratch a Russian, and you will wound a Tartar.
    —Napoleon Bonaparte

 
9
    Sam Hollis and Lisa Rhodes came out of Arbat Street into the square of the same name. They walked past the statue of Gogol toward the star-shaped pavilion of the Arbatskaya metro station on the far side of the square. The Prague Restaurant was to their left, where a long line of people still waited for their lunch. On the north side of the square was Dom Svyazi, a glass and concrete post office and telephone exchange. Lisa said, “That’s where the church of Saint Brois used to stand, and over there was the seventeenth-century church of Saint Tikhon. The communists demolished both of them. I have old pictures though.”
    “Are you trying to publish a book or draw up an indictment?”
    “Both.”
    They entered the metro pavilion and jostled their way through the crowd toward the escalators. At the last moment Hollis took Lisa’s arm and led her toward the opposite doors of the pavilion. They came back out onto the square behind a fountain. She said, “What are you doing?”
    “We’re not taking the metro to the embassy.”
    “Oh… don’t we have to pick up a car?”
    “Follow me. Walk quickly.”
    Hollis moved rapidly toward the east side of the square. Lisa followed. They passed a number of kiosks and cleaved through lines of people queued up for
kvass,
soft drinks, and ice cream. Lisa said, “Where are we going?”
    He took her wrist and pulled her up to a black Zhiguli parked with its engine running at the curb in front of the Khudozhestvennyi Art Cinema. “Get in.”
    Hollis went to the driver’s side, and a man whom Lisa recognized from the embassy got out immediately. Hollis slid behind the wheel, and the man closed the door. The man said, “Full tank, linkage is a bit sticky, your briefcase is in the backseat. Luck.”
    “Thanks.” Hollis threw the Zhiguli into gear and pulled out into Kalinin Prospect, then made a sudden U-turn and headed west. He looked in his rearview mirror.
    Lisa said nothing.
    Hollis accelerated up the broad avenue and within two minutes crossed Tchaikovsky Street, then crossed the Moskva River over the Kalinin Bridge and passed the Ukraina Hotel, continuing west on Kutuzov Prospect. A few minutes later they drove by the Borodino Panorama and left the inner city at the Triumphal Arch. Hollis accelerated to fifty kilometers per hour. He commented, “How many cities of eight million people can you get clear of in ten minutes? Moscow is a driver’s paradise.”
    Lisa didn’t respond.
    Hollis reached under his seat and pulled out a black wool cap and a dark blue scarf. He put the cap on and handed Lisa the scarf. “A babushka for madam. Please try it on.”
    She shrugged and draped the scarf over her head, tying it at her throat. She finally said, “I saw this in a movie once.”
    “A musical comedy?”
    “Yes.”
    Some minutes later they passed scattered highrise projects, looking like grey concrete ships adrift in a sea of undulating grassland. Lisa said, “It’s against the law for us to drive cars without diplomatic plates.”
    “Is it?”
    “Where is this car from?”
    “The Intourist Hotel. Rented and paid for with an American Express card.”
    She said in a sarcastic tone, “Then you’ve provided them with hard currency to use against us in Washington. Some spy.”
    “It was only forty dollars. A K-man could barely buy a defense worker lunch.”
    Again she shrugged.
    Hollis observed, “Moscow is getting too big for the KGB. Too much Western influence. Rental cars, AMEX, a couple of Western banks. It’s easier for