“Go ahead. I need to be alone awhile.”
“All right.” She kissed him and went into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Hollis shut off the lamp and sat in the darkness alone with his thoughts. It occurred to him, not for the first time, that after all was said and done, Alevy had simply betrayed and abandoned them. And Hollis could think of professional reasons why Alevy would do that — Alevy-type reasons. Yet, the feeling, if not the fact, remained with Hollis that Alevy for all his deviousness was not capable of this ultimate betrayal. Unless of course he felt he had been personally betrayed. And perhaps Lisa had betrayed Seth Alevy, her lover. Hollis didn’t know. And perhaps Alevy felt that Hollis had betrayed him as well. Sexual jealousy was as potent a force in the affairs of men and women as anything else and had brought nations and kings to ruin.
Hollis stared into the darkness. The time passed, and though he was tired, he felt no need for sleep. A strange confidence took hold of him, and he knew that one way or the other this was going to be the last day for the Charm School.
39
It had become cold in the cabin of the Mi-28. Alevy, Mills, Brennan, and O’Shea each took turns outside the helicopter, scanning the rim of the gravel pit with the night scope mounted on the Dragunov sniper rifle. With a roll of black tape, Mills had changed the helicopter’s identification number from P-113 to P-413, on the chance that other aircraft, or even the Charm School, had picked up radio traffic concerning the crash of 113.
The Aeroflot pilot began moaning in the darkness, and Brennan, who was outside the helicopter with the rifle, poked his head through the door and said to Alevy, “We should have brought a blanket for him.”
Alevy wondered at Brennan’s compassion for a man he had been prepared to throw out of the helicopter at a thousand meters. Alevy said, “It’s above freezing. He’ll live until someone finds him in the morning.” Alevy took another chloroform pad from his pocket and gave it to Brennan. “Put him back to sleep.”
Brennan went off into the darkness and came back a few minutes later. The pilot stopped moaning.
The next hour passed without incident. Captain O’Shea had the sentry duty and was scanning the narrow ramp road that led down into the pit. He suddenly lowered the rifle and jumped onto the rung step at the door. “Something coming down the road.”
Brennan leaped out of the helicopter and snatched the rifle from O’Shea. He knelt, pointed the rifle toward the road, and adjusted the focus toward the dirt ramp about a hundred meters away. O’Shea scrambled back into the pilot’s seat and prepared to take off.
Brennan tracked the movement, took aim, and fired. The silenced rifle coughed, and the flash-suppressed muzzle glowed briefly. Brennan stood and went back to the open door of the helicopter. “Big buck. Dropped him.” He added, “Very good rifle.”
At 1:30 A.M, Alevy said, “Let’s go.”
Bert Mills, who was standing sentry, jumped back into the helicopter and gave Brennan the rifle.
O’Shea started the two turbine engines and let them warm for a few minutes, scanning the gauges.
Alevy, sitting in the copilot’s seat, asked O’Shea, “Do you remember how to fly it?”
O’Shea forced a smile. “I do. But I don’t know how to take off.” He placed the cyclic stick in a neutral position and moved the collective pitch stick in the full down position. He twisted the throttle on the collective stick, at the same time pushing the stick forward. The helicopter began to become light on its wheels, and the torque effect caused the nose to swing to the left. He put pressure on the right foot pedal to bring the nose back to a constant heading. The helicopter rose vertically in a cloud of sand and gravel.
O’Shea let it rise, checking the torque gauge and the rpm as he held it steady in its vertical climb. The helicopter rose out of the pit and into the north wind.
Below, there was a flash of brilliant light as the phosphorus grenades exploded, consuming the pile of baggage and clothing.
O’Shea eased the cyclic forward, and the Mi-28 began a diagonal climb on a northerly heading. At eight hundred meters, O’Shea swung the nose west and adjusted the controls for a straight and level flight.
Alevy commented, “You’ve taken the excitement out of helicopter flying.”
O’Shea settled back in his seat. “I’ve got this thing tamed.”
“Glad to hear it.”
O’Shea said, “Bill and Bert, you spot for aircraft. They can’t see us without lights. Seth, find me the Minsk — Moscow highway or the Moskva River.”
Alevy looked out the windshield. The night had remained clear, and the starlight gave some illumination to the ground, though the moon was nearly set. Alevy scanned the terrain below, finally picking out the Moskva River, looking like a thin ribbon of tarnished pewter, winding through dark fields and forests. He said to O’Shea, “Slip south of the river.”
O’Shea turned to a southwest heading.
Alevy stared at the ground below, and within a few minutes he said, “There. The highway. See it?”
O’Shea craned forward. “Okay.” He swung the helicopter on a due west heading and followed the highway.
Mills called out, “Eleven o’clock, level.” To their front, coming toward them, they could see blinking navigation lights. The closing speed of the two craft was fast, and the lights were suddenly very near and coming toward them on a collision course. O’Shea banked the Mi-28 to the right, and the other craft, a mammoth Mi-8 cargo helicopter, shot past on their port side. O’Shea exclaimed, “Jesus…” He took a deep breath and said to Alevy, “If he spotted us without our lights, he’ll make a report. “We’d be less likely to arouse suspicion if we were running with our lights on.” He added, “If they’re looking for us, Seth, they’ll be using airborne radar anyway.”
Alevy replied, “I hope that where they’re looking for this helicopter is in the woods outside of Sheremetyevo. No lights.”
They continued west, land navigating between the Moskva and the highway, which ran roughly parallel to the river. Alevy looked at the airspeed indicator, which showed 120 kph. He said, “We should be seeing the lights of Mozhaisk soon.”
Brennan commented, “I don’t see any lights. Nobody lives down there.”
Mills leaned forward and pointed to the left. “There. Is that Mozhaisk?”
Alevy looked at the lights about five kilometers ahead. There weren’t many of them at this hour, but he could definitely pick out a string of lights that appeared to cross the Moskva River. That would be the Mozhaisk Bridge. Alevy replied, “There’s not much else around here, so that must be the town. Guide on that, Captain.”
“Right.” O’Shea corrected his heading and pointed the nose of the Mi-28 directly toward Mozhaisk.
Within a few minutes they could see the illuminated center of the small town where the two main streets crossed; the north-south street leading to the bridge and the east-west street, which was the old Minsk — Moscow road.
Alevy said, “Drop to about five hundred and follow the river.”
O’Shea descended toward the Moskva and passed over the bridge. At this altitude the river seemed more luminescent, reflecting the cold starlight and the last available moonlight. O’Shea commented, “I used to love river flying. Went up the Hudson in a Piper Cherokee once. Did the entire Colorado in a Cessna… now I’m doing the Moskva… in a borrowed Mi-28… a Headstone.”
No one spoke for some minutes, then Alevy said, “Reduce airspeed.”
O’Shea brought the helicopter’s speed down to ninety kph.
Alevy looked at his watch, then at his aerial map and said, “Gentlemen, we’ll be landing very soon.”