Brennan said, “I want you to know something, Mr. Alevy. I have a lot of confidence in you, and I don’t think for a minute this is a suicide mission. Also, I like Colonel Hollis. He’s a straight shooter. And I liked his lady. That’s why I’m here and not in London.”
No one added anything to that for a few minutes. Then O’Shea said, “I don’t want anyone to get anxious about the flying. Think about what you have to do. I’ll take care of the flying.” He added, “The principles of flight remain the same even here and even if the rotors do go the wrong way.” He tried a laugh, but it came out wrong.
Bert Mills said, “This damned uniform is pinching my crotch.”
Brennan remarked, “That’s because KGB tailors don’t have to allow room for balls.”
Alevy said to Brennan, “Bill, there’s a blue Beriozka bag I left back there. I got Bazooka bubble gum and some other things. Pass it around.”
“Bazooka? Hey, thanks.” Brennan found the gum and passed the bag to Mills, who took a candy bar. He passed it up to O’Shea, who declined. Alevy sucked on a hard candy. Brennan blew a big bubble, and it popped. Brennan said, “Hey, it’s Halloween. Happy Halloween.”
No one answered.
Brennan added, “I’ve seen some scary costumes for Halloween, but these outfits are the scariest fucking things I’ve ever seen.”
Mills forced a laugh. “Where we’re going you’ll see about five hundred more of those scary outfits.”
“Thanks,” Brennan said.
The minutes passed in silence except for the ticking of the cooling engine and the sound of popping bubble gum. Alevy said to everyone, “Relax.”
38
The VFW hall held close to a thousand people, but it was the quietest thousand people Hollis had ever been among.
The building was surrounded by armed KGB Border Guards, and no one was permitted to leave until midnight. The main recreation room was darkened, lit only by black candles and the grinning faces of jack-o’-lanterns. In the barroom and all the side rooms, men and women congregated, speaking in hushed, angry tones. Occasionally someone would weep. For the amount of food and liquor available, Hollis noticed that no one was drunk, and the food remained untouched, even by the students, who Hollis thought seemed very uncomfortable. The masks, Hollis reflected, were off, literally and figuratively; no one was wearing the party masks, and no one was acting his part.
In the center of the recreation room sat a black-draped coffin on a bier, a party decoration that had taken on another significance. No one stood around the coffin.
Burov had not put in an appearance, and Hollis pictured him in his dacha, sitting with his wife near the porcelain stove, reading Pushkin or perhaps watching an American movie on videotape.
Hollis, who knew he would not be among the ten randomly picked for execution, felt somewhat guilty at being one of only two Americans in the hall who wasn’t contemplating his imminent death. Lisa, he knew, felt the same.
When he had told Lewis Poole of Burov’s plans to execute Dodson and ten others, they had discussed the possibility of not putting out the news. But Poole, Lisa, and he had concluded that everyone had a right to know.
There had been some incidents during the so-called party: Jane Landis had spit in the face of a student, and the stereo that had been playing funereal music to set the mood of the theme party had been kicked to pieces by one of the kidnapped American women, Samantha Wells. Two American fliers, Ted Brewer and another man, had gone outside and tried to push their way past the cordon of Border Guards but were forcibly carried back inside. Captain Schuyler, whom Hollis had met on the path with Poole and Lieutenant Colonel Mead, had punched one of the students, but the fight had been quickly broken up.
To the students’ credit, Hollis thought, they took the verbal abuse and looked rather sheepish. Certainly, Hollis reflected, the school would be closed for weeks if not months after this mad night.
General Austin sat in a small study, speaking briefly with groups of men and women, twenty and thirty at a time until most of the two hundred eighty-two Americans under his command and their wives and girlfriends had been addressed by him. Hollis made his way into the study and heard Austin say, “To attempt to escape is our only pure and uncompromised act here. So we shall try again and again and again. There won’t be ten years between attempts. There won’t even be twelve months until the next one. And if they want to shoot us ten at a time for each attempt, so be it. This school is closed.”
Hollis listened awhile, then went into the barroom and got a glass of beer. Lisa found him and held his arm. “Sam, I can’t take much of this.”
Hollis glanced at his watch. “Another few minutes. At midnight it’s over.”
He looked around the long barroom and spotted Sonny and Marty talking in a corner. At a small table sat the four students he’d met in their cottage. One of them, Erik Larson, was looking more like Yevgenni Petrovich Korniyenko, Hollis thought. In fact, all the students seemed not to know how to act anymore, and Hollis wondered why Burov had subjected them to this. Perhaps there was a lesson here for them too. And the lesson had to be that the state was all powerful and that disloyalty equaled death. But they already knew that.
Commander Poole came up to Lisa and Hollis. He said, “The men — and the women — are prepared to stick together. We can start a revolt, right here and now. We can refuse to leave here and hold the students hostage. We can march on Burov’s house. We can all rush the main gate, and perhaps some of us will get through and make it to the embassy.”
Hollis looked at Poole, and they both knew that Poole was not stating viable options, but was enumerating different forms of suicide. Hollis said, “They have the guns, Commander. That’s what the twentieth century is all about. Whoever has the rapid-fire automatic weapons is in charge.”
Poole nodded with his head down. “So we take the eleven losses and let it go at that?”
“Yes. We have to live to try again and again. Someone has to get out of here. That’s what General Austin is saying, and he’s the boss. And you know, I don’t think things will be the same around here after tonight.”
“No.” Poole thought a moment. “And you know what else? That’s for the better. We’ve all gotten too cozy with these people. We have our comforts, our women, our children, our intellectual freedom… it was hard for us to get angry and stay angry. That’s all changed now.” He looked at Hollis and Lisa. “I think your presence here was the slap in the face that we needed to bring us out of it.”
Hollis cleared his throat. “I may have sounded hard at General Austin’s house, and I assure you my views haven’t changed. But I didn’t mean to leave the impression that I am not concerned for your welfare.”
“I understand.”
Midnight came, and people began streaming silently out of the hall.
Poole said to Lisa, “We’ll pray tonight.” He said to Hollis, “Burov has imposed a curfew for twelve-thirty A.M., so we are all effectively under house arrest until dawn. We can’t meet or discuss this any further. The penalty for breaking curfew is to be shot on sight. So I will wish you both good-night and see you on the soccer field in the morning.” He turned and left.
Hollis asked Lisa to wait around until all the Americans and their wives were gone. Oddly, Hollis thought, most of the students stayed on. He noticed they began drinking, and as he suspected, one of them approached him and Lisa.
Jeff Rooney greeted them with less ebullience than the first time they’d met. Neither Hollis nor Lisa returned the greeting.