The Charm School (76 page)

The duty officer was Lieutenant Cheltsov, the man Hollis and Lisa had spoken to when they were released from the cells. Cheltsov stood to attention behind his desk. He glanced at Hollis and Lisa and said, “Again?” then looked quizzically at the Border Guard, who shrugged. Cheltsov addressed Alevy, “Yes, Major?”

Mills drew his silenced automatic and put a single shot through the Border Guard’s head. Lieutenant Cheltsov watched the man fall, but nothing seemed to register with him. He stared at the dead man on the floor, then turned to Alevy, who shot him once in the forehead. Cheltsov fell back into his chair, his arms outstretched, and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling, the bullet hole in the center of his forehead spouting blood.

Lisa put her hand to her mouth, turned away, and faced the front door.

Alevy said to Hollis, Lisa, and Mills, “Bolt the front door, wait five seconds, then bring those bodies into the commo room.” He crossed the lobby and opened the door to the communications room. The commo man sat at the telephone switchboard, reading a magazine. He turned and looked at Alevy, then stood. “Yes, sir?” He saw the automatic in Alevy’s hand.

Alevy motioned him away from the switchboard, then shot him twice in the chest, sending the man crashing into the radio console. Alevy walked to the telephone switchboard. It was a manual board, he noticed, and with the operator dead, no calls could be connected.

Hollis and Mills came in, dragging the bodies of Lieutenant Cheltsov and the guard. They pushed the two dead men under the radio table.

Alevy looked at the switchboard connections and found the contraction
Verto
—“helicopter.” He plugged the wire in, pushed the ringer button, and held the headset to his ear. A voice, sounding bored and tired—and nervous, he thought—said, “
Da. Nechevo.
”

“Bill, it’s me.”

“That’s good.”

“Anyone else call?”

“No, thank God—”

“Anything to report there?”

“No. Quiet.
Nechevo.
”

“Okay, you won’t be getting any calls on the telephone except from us.”

“Both radios are squawking away.”

“Hold on.” Alevy moved to the radios and turned the volume up on the speakers. He listened a few seconds, then said to Brennan, “Normal traffic. Don’t worry about it.”

“Right. You in charge there now?”

“Getting there.”

“You find them?” Brennan asked.

“Yes, they’re both with us now.”

“Great. Say hello.”

“All right. Listen, Bill, if your end of the operation starts to come apart, you and O’Shea beat it. And if you’re still around at three forty-five, and we don’t show up, you leave before that gas gets to you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Lisa will be at this switchboard until further notice.”

“Good.”

“See you later.” Alevy said to Lisa, “Hold Brennan’s hand awhile. Connect any calls going through this switchboard and listen in. With your other ear, monitor the traffic on these two radios. Okay?”

She nodded.

Alevy said to her, “We shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes. If you hear trouble, call Brennan, then get out of here and make it to the helipad. I’d like one witness to this place to make it out. Okay?”

She glanced at Hollis, who nodded.

“Okay,” Alevy said. “Sam, let’s go to the room where they monitor the listening devices.”

Hollis squeezed Lisa’s hand and went to the door, opening it slowly. “Clear.” Alevy and Mills followed him into the lobby.

Hollis led them to a short corridor off the lobby that ended in a black metal door marked
MONITORING STATION
. The three men held their pistols at the ready, and Hollis twisted the doorknob slowly. He took his hand off the knob and shook his head to Alevy. “Locked.” He raised his hand to knock, then noticed a button on the doorjamb and pressed it.

A few seconds later a voice called out. “Who is it?”

Hollis replied, “Cheltsov.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hollis moved to the blind side of the door as Alevy and Mills holstered their pistols. Alevy whispered to Hollis, “Stay here and keep watch.”

The door swung out, revealing a young man in his shirtsleeves. The man looked at Alevy and Mills, jumped back quickly, and saluted, his eyes scanning left and right for Lieutenant Cheltsov.

Alevy and Mills strode into the monitoring station, a small windowless room of precast concrete, lit by fluorescent bulbs. Six men sat at individual consoles with earphones, listening, Alevy assumed, to the input from various electronic security devices around the camp, switching channels from time to time.

Along the far wall was a bank of reel-to-reel tape recorders. On the left-hand wall, Alevy saw a large map of the camp, marked with numbers showing, Alevy guessed, the locations of the listening devices.

The young man in his shirtsleeves, still holding his salute, asked, “Can I help you, Major?”

Alevy replied tersely, “Carry on.”

The young man hurried back to his console and put on his earphones.

Alevy and Mills stood in the center of the room and looked around. Alevy noticed a red light over the door, which he guessed must flash when the door button was pushed so as to alert the men with headphones that someone was there. Alevy spoke to Mills in a soft voice. “How do you want to take them?”

Mills cleared his throat. “They’re unarmed, Seth. Can we take them without blood?”

“I would, Bert, if we had a bit more time.” Alevy noticed a few of the men glancing at him and Mills, and he gave them a stern look, sending them back to their monitoring. Alevy said to Mills, “You do those three, I’ll do these three here, and we’ll meet at the middle. On three . . . one, two, three—” Alevy and Mills drew their silenced automatics and began firing.

Hollis, outside the door, heard bodies hitting the floor and thrashing around. Someone screamed. He reached for the door, but it opened, and Mills came out, looking, Hollis thought, as though it was he who had lost blood. Alevy followed, closing the door behind him. Alevy said to Hollis, “The cells.”

Hollis led them back to the lobby, then turned into the long corridor that ran to the rear of the headquarters building. They came to the cell doors and quickly checked the bolts until they found one that was shut. Hollis opened it and looked inside. A man lay on the floor and even in the dim light Hollis could see his clothes were torn and he was badly battered.

Alevy said, “I guess that’s Dodson.”

Hollis knelt beside the man and checked his pulse. “Alive.”

Alevy said to Hollis, “Take him to the commo room. Wait there with Lisa.”

Hollis stood. “Where are you two going?”

“Where can we get a vehicle?”

“Should be one or two Zils out back.” He moved to the door of the cell. “Down that corridor.”

“Okay,” Alevy said, “we’ll bring it around front.” He added, “Sam, if you don’t see us in ten minutes, you and Lisa take off for the helipad. Okay? Don’t try to carry Dodson.” Alevy asked, “If I don’t catch up with you later, where can I find Burov?”

“East end of the main road,” Hollis answered. “Big dacha. Guards and dogs. Think about that.” Hollis added, “Don’t forget about the men in the guard room down the corridor.”

Hollis went back to Dodson and lifted him onto his shoulders.

* * *

Alevy and Mills walked rapidly into the corridor that Hollis had indicated and came to a door marked
GUARD ROOM
. Alevy opened the door, and he and Mills walked into a small barracks room in which was a field desk and telephone and six double bunk beds, all unoccupied except for one bottom bunk in which was a naked man and woman. A sergeant’s KGB uniform and the woman’s clothes were strewn on the floor. The sergeant sat up quickly and hit his head on the top bunk, then scrambled out of the bed and stood naked at attention. The woman pulled the sheets over her head.

Alevy asked, “Sergeant, where are the other guards and drivers?”

The sergeant seemed to have trouble finding his voice, then replied, “One guard and driver are making the rounds of the posts with the corporal of the guard. The other guard and driver are at their fixed post at the rear door of this building.”

“Is anyone else in the building?”

“The duty officer, the communications specialist, and the men in the monitoring room. Major, I can explain about—”

“About-face, Sergeant.”

The sergeant did an about-face, and Alevy drew his pistol and shot him in the back of the head, sending him sprawling over the strewn clothes. Mills put three rounds into the huddled figure beneath the blanket. The woman thrashed around, then lay still. Mills and Alevy caught each other’s eye for a moment, then turned away and went out into the corridor.

They found their way to a rear foyer and opened a metal door that led down a ramp to a concrete slab on which sat a Zil-6. A harsh mercury-vapor light on the building illuminated the rear courtyard, and beyond the Zil, Alevy saw what looked like a medieval catapult. A KGB man sat on the running board of the Zil, smoking a cigarette. Standing near him was a bulky Border Guard with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. The two men saw the door open, and the driver stood. The other man turned and faced Alevy and Mills.

Alevy walked up to them, and when they saw he was an officer, they came to rigid attention. Alevy said to the driver, who was wearing a holster and revolver, “I am Major Voronin, from Moscow, and this is Captain Molev. We are making a security check of this installation.”

“Yes, Major.”

“Is this your fixed post?”

“Yes, Major.”

“What is your name?”

“Strakhov, sir.”

“What are your duties?”

“I and Private Filenko here secure the rear door of the headquarters. I provide transportation to the sergeant of the guard if he requests it.”

Alevy glanced at Filenko, whose AK-47 was still slung over his shoulder. He turned back to Strakhov. “When do you expect the other driver to return?”

“There is no set time, Major. It depends on how long the corporal of the guard spends at each post.”

“Does he check the three men at the helipad during his rounds?”

Strakhov looked at Alevy a moment, and Alevy could see he was thinking about something. Alevy knew his Russian was good as long as he kept it short and if he didn’t have to make extensive use of specific occupational jargon. Obviously he was sounding less like a KGB major from Moscow on a snap inspection.

Alevy noticed too that Filenko no longer had his head and eyes straight ahead, but was looking at Mills. Mills, Alevy suspected, was probably looking less like a KGB captain by the second. Alevy recalled the question that he and Hollis had batted around—the question of Americans passing for Russians and vice versa. Alevy turned to Filenko. “Let me see your weapon.”

Filenko unslung his automatic rifle and as per regulations, stood with it extended at the position of present arms. Alevy grabbed the forestock with his right hand, but Filenko did not release his grip. The two men stared at each other a moment, and Filenko said, “Major, may I have the password for the night?”

Mills didn’t understand what was being said, but he didn’t like what he saw. His hand moved slowly toward his holster.

Suddenly the door through which they’d come burst open, casting a shaft of light over the concrete.

The four men looked toward the door and saw a naked woman standing there, her body red with blood. She staggered out onto the ramp and stumbled toward them, pointing at Alevy and Mills and crying out in Russian, “Murderers! Murderers!”

Before Alevy could react, he felt the AK-47 yanked from his hand and felt the muzzle press into his stomach. Filenko shouted, “Hands on your head.”

Alevy placed his hands over his service cap, and Mills followed as Strakhov drew his revolver.

The woman staggered a few feet closer toward them, then fell to her knees, grasping the folds of Mills’ greatcoat. Alevy noted the location of the three wounds: one in the buttocks, one in the lower back around the right kidney, and a grazing wound along the woman’s right temple. He noticed too that Mills was quite pale and looked as if he might become sick. The woman collapsed at Mills’s feet.

Strakhov asked Mills, “Who are you?”

Mills didn’t understand a word and stared at the man.

“Answer me, or I’ll shoot you on the spot.” He pointed his pistol at Mills’ face.

Alevy said, “He cannot speak. Throat operation.”

Strakhov shouted, “On your knees!”

Alevy knelt, and Mills did the same. Strakhov said to Filenko, “Keep a watch on them. I’ll get Lieutenant Cheltsov.” He ran, pistol in hand, toward the rear door of the building and disappeared inside.

* * *

Hollis moved quickly through the front lobby with Dodson over his shoulders. He approached the door of the commo room and said, “Lisa, coming in.”

The door opened, and Lisa, pistol in hand, stepped aside.

Hollis laid Dodson on the floor.

“Sam . . . is that Jack Dodson?”

“I’m sure it is.”

“He’s been . . . tortured.” She asked, “Is he going to live?”

“I’m certain Burov left enough life in him to make the execution worthwhile. His vital signs are good. He’s probably heavily drugged so he can’t try to kill himself. He’ll come out of it. We’ll take him home.”

She nodded, then fell into his arms. “Sam, let’s get out of here.”

“Soon. How’s Brennan?”

“I just spoke to him.” She smiled. “He says he’s bored.”

“Good. What’s on the radio?”

She glanced at the two radios on the table. “Not much. Normal talk so far. Towers calling one another, motorized patrols talking to one another.”

“Has anyone tried to radio here?”

“I haven’t heard any calls for headquarters.”

Hollis nodded. The standard military procedure was that headquarters called the posts, asking for situation reports. The posts called only if there was a problem. He wondered when the dead commo man was scheduled to call the towers, gate, and other posts again. He asked, “Has anyone tried to place a telephone call?”

“No. The switchboard is quiet.”

“Good.” Hollis thought that this operation had all the “S” elements of a successful covert operation—surprise, speed, security, and secrecy. But if the secrecy was blown, they’d have to contend with six hundred Border Guards. Hollis glanced at the two bodies on the floor.
Very angry Border Guards.
He said to Lisa, “You’re doing fine.”