The Charm School by Nelson DeMille Page A

younger than Hollis. He wore a nicely tailored three-piece tweed suit with a green knit tie. He was too tall and too lean and reminded Hollis of an unbearded Lincoln, though somehow better looking. He’d been married once, but no one here knew anything about that.
    Hollis said, “How was your party?”
    “Fine. Lots of dissidents. Good food. Sukkot is a happy holiday. You should have come.”
    “Then who would have gone chasing across Moscow?”
    “I’m certain,” Alevy said coolly, “that my people could have handled that.”
    Hollis did not hear Alevy add the word “better,” but it was there. Hollis said, “The kid asked for a defense attaché.”
    “I’m sure he didn’t know a defense attaché from a middle linebacker. I’m not sure I do either. The next time, Sam, something like this comes up, please call me or someone in my section.”
    Hollis didn’t respond but recalled what he knew of Alevy. Seth Alevy was a Philadelphian, a Jew, and a Princeton graduate, not necessarily in that order. He had once told Hollis in a rare, candid moment that he hated the Soviets and had joined the CIA “to do maximum damage to the regime.” Getting into the CIA had not been difficult. Alevy had majored in Russian studies and Russian language and had thereby come to the attention of the CIA, as he knew he would.
    Alevy poured himself a vodka.
    Hollis threw the tin of caviar on the table. “Some tost, maslo, and smetana would be fine.”
    Alevy examined the tin. “Very nice stuff.” Alevy and Lisa got crackers, butter, and sour cream. Hollis opened the tin with his knife.
    Alevy regarded Hollis for some time, then asked, “They rough you up, Colonel?”
    Lisa heaped a spoonful of black caviar on a buttered cracker. Hollis said to her, “I would have asked for red, but I can’t stand the word krasnya anymore.”
    Lisa laughed. “I thought I was the only one.”
    Alevy’s eyes went from one to the other. He asked again, “They rough you up?”
    Hollis stared at Alevy across the table. “You know damned well what happened.”
    “Well,” Alevy replied, “if they had gotten out of hand, my people would have stepped in. You were covered.” Alevy added, “They tell me you kept your cool.”
    “How is Brennan?”
    “He didn’t fare as well as you. The cops finally caught up with him. They kept him standing around in the rain for half an hour, then just gave him a ticket and left. But before Brennan could get back to his car, a bunch of khuligans appeared and beat him with iron pipes, robbed him, then smashed up the car. And there’s never a cop around when you need one.” Alevy added, “He made it back here instead of going to a hospital. He got his nose broken again, but he says he got a few licks in. Doc Logan says he’ll be okay, but he has to go West for proper care.”
    Hollis nodded. Score another point for the KGB tonight, he thought.
    Lisa was spreading sour cream on a plate of crackers. Alevy helped himself to the caviar. “Where did you get this? How much?”
    “Moskvoretsky Bridge. Forty bucks.”
    “I could have done better. You ever hear a Jew argue with a Russian about price? Anyway, I assume this black marketeering is part of your tale. If you’re feeling up to it now, we’re listening.”
    Hollis glanced at Lisa.
    Alevy said, “It’s all right. I had a top secret clearance done on Ms. Rhodes some months ago.”
    “Why?”
    “Regulations. We were dating.”
    Hollis poured another vodka for himself. “What is her need to know?”
    “Let me worry about that.”
    Hollis thought a moment, then nodded. “Okay. From the beginning. I was in my office doing the report you asked for earlier. The phone rang. It was Ms. Rhodes.” Hollis related the events of the evening, leaving out what the French woman had told him. A half hour later he poured himself a glass of mineral water and said, “So, as I approached the embassy, I expected to be met. By friends. But apparently you thought it would