The Charm School

about possible American fliers. Make sure it’s worth your life. Or at least make sure someone can pick up the ball after you’re gone. In other words, fill me in on what you know before they kill you.”
    “If I did that, Seth, you wouldn’t be so worried about my safety.”
    “My, aren’t we thinking like a paranoid spy? Hey, did you find out where Gogol’s grave is?”
    “I’m not even convinced he’s dead.” Hollis left Alevy’s office and took the elevator down to the ground floor of the chancery. The big open lobby was filled with embassy men and women leaving work. Some of them waited for spouses, children, or friends; some walked to the rear of the building toward the quad, a short commute home. A few people reboarded the elevators for the ride down to the recreation areas. A few men and women, always in groups of two or more, walked toward the gate, into the city of Moscow and a night of sightseeing or something more interesting.
    In some ways, Hollis thought, the scene before him resembled any highrise office lobby at quitting time. But on closer inspection, one knew that this was something quite different. These men and women, despite their respective job or rank, shared lives within the citadel walls, shared common bonds and experiences, problems, sorrows, and joys. They were three hundred Americans in a city of eight million Russians.
    Hollis spotted Lisa talking to three men whom he recognized from the commercial section. She didn’t see him, and he watched her smiling and laughing with them. Two of the men were good-looking and obviously on the make. Hollis found he was annoyed.
    She glanced around the lobby and saw him. She excused herself and walked over to him. “Hello, Colonel.”
    “Hello, Ms. Rhodes.”
    “Do you know Kevin, Phil, and Hugh from FCS? I can introduce you.”
    “Some other time. We have a cab waiting.” He walked toward the door, and she followed. They went out into the cold air and headed toward the gates. She shivered. “Good Lord, that wind’s from the north now. That’s it until May.”
    Hollis said, “I wanted to call you the last two days… .”
    “Forget it, Sam. Step at a time. I was swamped with work anyway. Dinner was a good idea. Thanks.”
    “Right.” He took her arm and turned her toward him. “I still think I owe you an explanation. Just listen. Before we went to Mozhaisk, I told you it could be dangerous, and you saw what I meant. Every day is a danger now, every time we leave this gate. This is not just dinner tonight… I guess what I’m asking is, do you want to get involved with me and with what I’m doing?”
    “Taxi’s waiting.”
    Hollis took her hand, and they walked through the gate. The U.S. Marine guards saluted, and the Soviet militiamen eyed them. The KGB embassy watchers, sitting in the Chaikas, put down their newspapers and picked up their binoculars.
    Hollis saw two taxis at the curb waiting for fares. Moscow taxis as a rule didn’t wait for anyone anywhere, but Western embassies were an exception. Hollis picked a white Lada and got in. He said to the driver, “Lefortovo.”
    The driver glanced back at him.
    Hollis said in Russian, “The restaurant, not the prison. It’s on Red-something street. Does that help?”
    Lisa laughed.
    The driver pulled out. “I know where that place is.”
    Hollis glanced back and saw one of the Chaikas make a U-turn and follow.
    Lisa said to Hollis, “Lefortovo is the name of a restaurant?”
    “Yes.”
    “Never heard of it. Is that the KGB hangout you promised to take me to?”
    “That’s it.”
    “The State Bureau of Naming Things is not known for market research, but that name is
repellent
. Like Lubyanka or Dachau.”
    “They’re not looking for tourists.”
    Lisa said, “This is going to be an adventure. You’re a lot more exciting than you look.”
    “Thank you.”
    The driver butted in as Moscow taxi drivers tended to do. “You speak Russian?”
    “A little.”
    “Maybe you want to pick another restaurant.”
    “Why?”
    “That one is not nice.”
    “Why not?”
    “Police. Too many police go there. No one else likes it.”
    “You mean KGB?”
    The driver didn’t respond. He lit a cigarette and filled the cab with acrid smoke. “If you give me two dollars, we’ll forget the meter.”
    “I can’t give you dollars.”
    “Do you have any gum, lipstick, cigarettes?”
    Lisa rummaged through her bag. “Here’s an Estée Lauder lip gloss for your