“Well, let’s record your answer to my next question. Where is Mr. Fisher’s car?”
“That’s a question for the Moscow police.”
“They claim they don’t have it. A team of forensic experts has arrived from America to examine the car. Where is it, Colonel Burov?”
“I’ll look into it.”
“Please do. And try to be more helpful than you’ve been with other things I’ve asked you for. Well, Colonel, I have to get back to the spy satellite photos, if you have nothing further. The new solid-fuel rocket plant outside of Kaliningrad is coming along nicely, but I see a lot of loose material lying around. Tell someone to get it squared away out there.”
Burov ignored this and said, “By the way, a friend of mine in London told me your wife spends half her days in Bond Street. I hope she doesn’t have your credit cards. Or perhaps the man she’s with is paying. He looks prosperous from what I’m told.”
Alevy whispered, “Drop it, Sam. You can’t win that game.”
Hollis nodded. “Okay, Burov, I’ll keep you informed about Major Dodson.”
“I’ll do the same for you. Incidentally, another friend of mine, from the Foreign Ministry, called and told me the disturbing news of your unscheduled departure. I enjoyed working with you. Perhaps we can have lunch before you leave, Monday. Would you consider Lefortovo restaurant again?”
“Of course. I’ll try to work it into my schedule.”
“Good. Who will I be dealing with after Monday?”
Alevy pointed to himself.
Hollis said into the phone, “Seth Alevy. You remember him.”
“Oh, yes. We all know Mr. Alevy here. I’m very much looking forward to meeting him again. Send him my regards.”
“I most certainly will.”
“If I don’t see you, Colonel, or don’t speak to you, have a very safe trip home.”
“I plan to.”
“Good evening.”
“Good evening to you, Colonel Burov.” Hollis hung up. “You son of a bitch.”
Alevy said, “Jesus, that guy has a command of English, doesn’t he?”
“He’s been hanging around a lot of Americans.”
Alevy nodded. “Well, you got him exercised about Dodson. He’s wondering now if we know only a little bit about the Charm School or if we know everything. Sometimes it’s good to beat the bush and see what comes out. Sometimes it’s rabbit, sometimes it’s bear.”
“Bear’s okay. I’m loaded for bear.”
Alevy smiled. “This is bear country.”
“No sweat, Seth. You can handle it. Write me about it.”
Alevy laughed. “You bastard. You piss him off, then leave me to face him.”
“You volunteered. I’d hand him over to my replacement.”
“No, I’ll take charge of Burov. He’s a good contact. I think I might even get along with him down the road after this business is resolved. I could work with him.”
“Birds of a feather.”
Alevy didn’t respond.
“I have to go.” Hollis opened the safe-room door and left. Alevy followed him down the hallway.
In the living room Alevy said, “I have some sending and receiving to do tonight. Come back here at one A.M.”
Hollis moved toward the top of the stairs. “Why?”
“I might have more answers by then. I know I’ll have more questions. Think about what goes on in the Charm School.”
Hollis went down the stairs, retrieved his coat, and let himself out. He said aloud to himself, “What the hell do you think I’ve been thinking about?”
21
Sam Hollis looked for a dish towel, couldn’t find one, and wiped the kitchen counter with his handkerchief, then threw the handkerchief in the trash can.
Hollis missed the Russian maids, but the number of FNs inside the embassy was down to about a dozen. While security was improved, housekeeping was hit or miss. The American couple who did the cleaning now, Mr. and Mrs. Kellum, were more thorough than the Russian women had been. But then, the Kellums were looking only for dirt, whereas the Russians had had other things to look for. Unfortunately, the Kellums got around to his place only about once every two weeks, and it showed. Hollis threw coffee cups and beer glasses into the dishwasher and slammed it shut. The doorbell rang. “Damn it.”
He went into the living room and kicked magazines and newspapers under the couch, then scooped up three ties and dumped them behind the books on his bookshelf. The doorbell rang again. “Hold on.” He placed an ashtray over a scotch spill on the coffee table and bounded down the stairs. He opened the door. “Hello.”
She came inside wearing an ankle-length white wool coat, a Russian blue fox hat, and carrying a canvas bag. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, which he thought was more intimate than on the mouth. She stomped her boots on the rug and handed him the bag. “Snowing,” she said.
He helped her off with her things and put the hat and coat in the foyer closet. Hollis saw that under the stylish coat she’d worn into the city, she was wearing a black velour sweat suit.
She sat on the stairs, pulled off her boots and socks, and massaged her feet. “Where were you?” she asked.
“I was in the kitchen.”
“No, I mean earlier this evening.”
“Oh, I was sending and receiving.”
“Boy, I wish I had a secret room where I could tell people I was, even if I wasn’t. That could come in handy sometimes.”
He led her up the stairs.
“Captain O’Shea got all shifty when I asked him where you were. I looked for you in the lounge.”
“I was in the radio room. Sending and receiving.”
They stepped into the living room. She asked, “Are you seeing anyone else? I never asked you that, because I am naive. But I’m asking you now.”
Hollis was momentarily nostalgic for a wife who didn’t care where he was. “There’s no one else. What’s in the bag?”
“The best that Gastronom One has to offer.” She walked into the center of the living room and looked around at the eclectic collection of Asian, South American, and European furniture. “Is this your wife’s taste?”
“We picked up pieces all over the world.”
“Really? Does she want it back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you having it moved?”
“My next duty station, I guess. Do you want this stuff in the kitchen?”
“Yes.” She followed Hollis into the kitchen and unpacked the canvas bag. Hollis looked at the jars and cans — pickled vegetables, horseradish, salted fish, canned sausage, a piece of smoked herring, a box of loose tea, and a carton of cookies labeled cookies. The Russians were into generics. Hollis had tried those cookies once and thought they smelled like rancid lard and pencil shavings. He said, “Where’s the beef?”
“Oh, they don’t carry real food at that Gastronom. Only specialty items. I’ll just make a platter of zakuski, and we’ll pick. I’m not very hungry.”
“I am. I’ll go to the commissary.”
“There’s enough here. Make me a vodka with lemon while I put it together. Where’s your can opener?”
“Right there.” Hollis got his Stolichnaya out of the freezer and filled two frozen glasses. “I don’t have lemon. No one has lemon.”
Lisa reached into her pocket and produced a lemon. “Got this in the lounge. The bartender is in love with me.”
Hollis cut the lemon and put a wedge in each glass. They drank, opened cans and jars, and looked for bowls, plates, and serving pieces. Hollis found that he didn’t know his kitchen very well.
“Go sit on the couch,” she said. “I’ll serve you there. Go on.”
Hollis went into the living room and found a magazine under the couch.