"Dead?" She looked closely at him. "He was a friend of yours."
"Yes. But there's more," he said. And then it all came out in a torrent, as though he'd been waiting for someone to simply let go with-someone he could trust.
He went on to tell her about Samuel Wolfe, about their discovery of Fletcher's computer program. He told her of their interview with Edith Gadenhower, and their visit to the Morris Estate. When he came to the part about Edith's death, the look on her face changed from serious to alarmed.
He told her about what he'd discovered in the mural at the Foundation, about the fire and Wolfe's disappearance, about his discussion that day with Anton Sikorsky. Finally, he finished by telling her about his visit to the Library of Congress and what he'd discovered there.
Benjamin stopped, afraid that, in his need to finally share all that had happened with someone, he had overwhelmed Natalya. But instead, she seemed to accept it all, to immediately grasp the most significant points. And it was then she began asking questions.
"Then this Anton Sikorsky," Natalya said, "seems to understand this TEACUP program?"
"Yes," Benjamin said. "He said it was very similar to work he did years ago, in the Soviet Union. For the Ministry of Defense. He's the one that recognized this Script 55."
She looked again at the computer screen, then seemed to make up her mind about something. She turned back to Benjamin.
"I must apologize, Benjamin," she said. "I was very… cold with you earlier."
"I understand," Benjamin said. "As I said, you don't know me, and-"
"It was more than that," she interrupted him. "I told you that I researched our archives for information about all this. I didn't find anything, nothing relevant, that is. Until I checked our own restricted archives."
"Restricted?" asked Benjamin.
"We may be years past perestroika, Mr. Wainwright, but there are still many, many secrets too sensitive to reveal. Those secrets are kept in various archives, with names like the Institute of Historical-Archival Studies, and the Russian Center for the Preservation and Study of Documents Relating to Modern History." Benjamin winced. Natalya nodded and said, "It is every bit as difficult to access as it is to say. Anyway, only those with special clearance are allowed to view documents in these archives. But I have another source. My father."
Benjamin wasn't sure how much to tell her about Myorkin's letter. It was the one bit of information he'd held back, not certain how she would react to the implication her father might be involved in all this.
"He was in the… security service?" he asked, deciding to find out more about her father first.
She smiled. "No, not him." She shook her head. "My father was in the Red Army, one of the first officers of the Strategic Rocket Forces. His first posting was to a nuclear missile base in Siberia during the Cold War."
Benjamin nodded. "And you're about to tell me he knows something about all this."
"Yes, exactly," she said. "He told me he did not know this name, this Script 55 and ' borba s tenyu. ' But even when he told me, I did not believe him. And then today, someone called me from Russia. And asked me to do something quite exceptional."
"What was that?"
"To visit. That may not sound so strange, but coming from my cousin Olga, believe me, it is very strange, indeed. When I tried to call my father to ask what this is all about, he did not answer. And I have not been able to reach him all day." She shook her head. "So you see, I was upset about this. It worries me. It worries me even more because he seems to be worried about me. "
"I have to tell you, Ms… Natalya. I told you Jeremy had written to a Russian journalist seeking information about this Script 55? What I didn't tell you was this journalist, a Fyodor Myorkin, wrote back. And in his letter he mentioned your father's name." Benjamin placed his hand over Natalya's. "Perhaps… well, knowing that, perhaps you don't want to be further involved with this. Perhaps you're taking a considerable risk even discussing this."
Natalya's eyes were steady, unafraid.
"From what you've told me about this Foundation," she replied, "so are you."
They looked at each other. Benjamin found himself wanting to tell Natalya everything-about Wolfe's suspicions regarding Fletcher's death, about Gudrun's veiled warnings, about every indication he had that, by getting more deeply involved, Natalya was putting herself at even graver risk than she realized. But he hardly knew where to start, and for a moment neither of them said anything.
The spell was broken when they heard someone approaching down the hall outside her office. A security guard poked his head into her doorway.
"Is everything all right, Natalya Nikolayevna?" he asked. He eyed Benjamin suspiciously.
"Yes, Sander," she said. "Everything is fine."
Benjamin noticed she had quickly clicked the button to remove the window of file names from the screen.
"The performance is over," the guard said. "They've started proposing toasts."
"Thank you, Alexander, I will be down in a moment."
The guard gave Benjamin another questioning look, and then left.
Natalya sighed. "I had better put in an appearance. This toasting can go on for hours, but I think I can slip away soon."
She turned and looked at Benjamin.
"I would like to meet this Anton Sikorsky," she said. "Tonight."
CHAPTER 34
Natalya and Benjamin were in a cab, headed to Anton's house in Georgetown. There had been a light rain during the reception, and the streets glistened, reflecting the streetlamps and car headlights. The tires of the taxi shushed along the wet streets.
Natalya was quiet beside him, huddled into her black fur coat. The collar was turned up, her blond hair down now and flowing over it. What with the thick, dark fur outlining her brilliant blond hair and pale, beautiful face, Benjamin thought her profile was quite regal.
The taxi reached the intersection with Anton's street. While they were waiting to turn right, he heard Natalya ask, "Is Anton's house down there?"
Benjamin leaned forward and looked past her down the street. In the middle of the street, almost exactly in front of Anton's address, there were two police cars, their red-and-blue lights spinning and casting flashes of light against the buildings. He saw a man standing on the sidewalk, talking to one of the policemen; a very tall man, with very blond hair.
"Shit!" said Benjamin.
The light turned green, and the cab began to turn into Anton's street.
"No!" said Benjamin. "Straight! Go straight!"
The cabbie shrugged, spun the wheel, and they headed through the intersection.
Natalya turned to him, her eyebrows raised.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But back there…"
"The police cars?" she asked.
"Well, yes that, too. But the man talking to them, he's named Hauser, Eric Hauser. And he's head of the Foundation's security." He let that information sink in.
Natalya thought for a moment. She leaned over the seat and said to the cabdriver, "Take us to Dupont Circle."
"Why there?" Benjamin asked.
"Because that is where I live," Natalya said simply.
Benjamin shook his head. "I don't think that's such a good idea. If they've followed me to Anton's… Better if I drop you at your apartment, then go to my place."
"And I think that is not such a good idea. You said something about being followed today."
"Well," Benjamin sighed, "yes. But if I don't stay there-"
"We'll go to my apartment and you can call Anton from there," Natalya said. "If everything is all right, you can take the taxi back here. If it is not… well, you can stay at my place and we can visit him in the morning."
"Are you sure?"
Benjamin found himself fervently hoping she wasn't merely being polite.
"I am sure," she said, and smiled. "That will give us more time to talk. And I have a feeling there is more you wish to tell me."
Twenty minutes later found them in Natal
ya's apartment on Dupont Circle. Before Natalya changed out of her evening gown, she'd invited Benjamin to make himself a drink, if he liked. She pointed to an array of alcohol in the small kitchen-"I don't have much of a liquor cabinet, I am afraid, but I believe there is some brandy"-and then disappeared into her bedroom.
He felt like what he needed was coffee, not another drink. He figured he'd had about four hours of sleep in the last thirty-six. But he was afraid that, if he did get the chance to sleep, the coffee would just keep him awake. So he'd poured himself a very small snifter of brandy-the bottle said RUSSIA-KIZLYAR-1885, which surprised him; he wasn't used to thinking of brandy as one of their national products-and then gone to the telephone.
He dialed Anton's number. It rang once, twice, three times… When the message didn't come on after ten rings, he hung up.
Just then Natalya came out of the bedroom. She'd changed into a white pullover and black jeans. Her feet were bare, she'd taken off the necklace and most of her makeup-and Benjamin still thought she was achingly beautiful.
"Nothing?" she asked. She came into the kitchen and poured herself a small snifter.
"No," Benjamin said. "Either he's not there, or not answering."
"Well," Natalya said. She went to a chair by the window and sat down. "Please," she said, "sit down."
Benjamin went to the couch. Before he sat down he removed the tuxedo jacket, folded it neatly over the back of the couch-and as he did, an envelope fell out of the pocket.
He threw the jacket over the back of the couch, bent and picked up the envelope.
"What is that?" asked Natalya.
"I don't know," said Benjamin. "It was in the jacket, which belongs to Anton's son. Perhaps it's his." Then he turned the envelope over and saw BENJAMIN written on the outside.
"Anton must have put it there," he said. "But why?" He looked at Natalya, shrugged, tore open the envelope. Inside was a brief note in the same scratchy handwriting Benjamin had seen on Anton's blackboard. Benjamin quickly scanned the message.
"I'll be damned," he said.
"What does it say?" asked Natalya. "Unless it's too-"
"No, no. Here." He handed her the note. Benjamin- Maybe you will need this. Anton
Below that was a name and address.
Henri Vielledent
Credit Agricole Bank
Washington, D.C. Account Number 07041776
And below that was Anton's signature.
"It seems," Natalya said, "you have a benefactor."
"Apparently," Benjamin said, taking back the note. He felt for his wallet, carefully folded the note, and placed it inside. Then he looked down at his too-long trousers.
"I feel a little ridiculous, still in this monkey suit," he said.
"Monkey suit?" Natalya asked.
"Slang for tuxedo," he said, sitting down heavily, the fatigue-to say nothing of the champagne and brandy-catching up with him. "I didn't bring any clothes from the Foundation, my suit is at Anton's. I feel quite the orphan."
Natalya took a sip of her brandy. "Are your parents nearby?" she asked.
"No," he said. "They're both… they were killed in a car accident. About five years ago."
"Oh, I am sorry."
"I miss them," Benjamin said-and was immediately surprised at how quickly he'd admitted such a thing to a near stranger. "My father was an historian, too."
"Another academician," Natalya said. "A family tradition?" She smiled.
"Not quite," he said. "I have a brother who lives out on the West Coast. He does something in Hollywood, I've never quite understood what. And a sister who's what you would have called an 'imperialist exploiter.' She's a stockbroker, in New York."
"These days," she said, "such a person is a hero of the new Russia."
"You don't approve of the new Russia?" he asked.
She looked down into her brandy, tracing the rim of the glass with her finger as she spoke.
"You grow up in one country, you are accustomed to it, whatever its flaws. Then one morning you wake up, that country is gone, and in its place is a country whose people you do not recognize." She looked up at him. "Sometimes since then I feel like an orphan, too, Benjamin."
He liked the way she said his name. "Natalya," he said, "you said your father was a…"
"A rocketchiki, " she said. "That's what they called themselves. It would translate into English as something like 'rocketman.' "
Benjamin laughed.
"What is funny?" asked Natalya.
"Nothing, it's just that there was an American comic book character by that name. Rocket Man." She wasn't smiling, and he continued. "Then your father was one of the men with his finger on the red button?"
"Actually it was a white button," she said. "And yes. He was in the first graduating class of the Kamishinsboye ryssheye artileriyskoye uchilische, the Kamishin Artillery Academy."
"Artillery?" asked Benjamin, confused.
"You have to remember those times," Natalya said. "They disguised their purpose, you see. The only insignia they wore on their uniforms was of the artillery division. Anyway, he was assigned to one of their first underground missile bases. It was considered a posting of considerable prestige. But it was a city in the wasteland of Siberia, a town built practically overnight. It was given the name of a village nearby that had existed for hundreds of years, but the town itself didn't appear on any maps."
"What was it called?" Benjamin asked. He leaned forward and put his snifter on the coffee table, rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. But he couldn't repress a yawn. "Sorry," he said. "I'm interested, really." He leaned back against the couch.
"The village was named Uzhur," Natalya said. "But the military base was called Uzhur-4." She looked down at her own drink, was quiet for a moment.
"Very," Benjamin searched for the right word, "cryptic." And then he remembered something Anton had said. "Uzhur-4, you said?"
Natayla nodded. "Why, you know of it?"
"No, not me. But Anton mentioned it tonight… or this afternoon…" Again he rubbed his eyes. "Anyway, go on."
Natalya looked pensive as she continued. "It was both a terrifying and a protected place," she continued. "We were surrounded by electrified fences, and there were soldiers everywhere. But on the other hand, we had many amenities other citizens of the 'socialist paradise' could only dream of. I remember how proud we were when a telephone was installed in our apartment, the first private line in the city. Of course, we knew it was monitored. But who was there to call?" She smiled. "When we went on vacation to Sochi, we were flown to the airport in a large helicopter. I thought of it as my helicopter. And when we took a train, we always had our own private compartment. Strange," she said, "but for all its forbidding atmosphere, I was happy there."
She looked up at Benjamin. He was slumped against the back of the couch, his eyes closed. He was sound asleep.
Natalya went into her bedroom, came back out in a moment with a blanket and pillow. She lifted Benjamin's legs onto the couch, took off his shoes, then placed the pillow under his head and pulled the blanket over him.
She stood looking down at Benjamin for some time, as though she was balancing some kind of decision. Finally, she turned off the lamp next to the couch and walked off to her bedroom.
CHAPTER 35
Benjamin woke to Natalya's face above him. She was holding a cup of coffee in one hand. The scene reminded him of Wolfe getting him up early, shoving coffee in his face. He preferred this version.
"Good morning," Natalya said. "Did you sleep well?"
Benjamin looked down. Apparently during the night she'd pulled a blanket over him, placed a pillow under his head.
He sat up, accepted the coffee.
"Yes, for the first time in several days," he said. He took a drink of the coffee-it was quite strong, and he winced.
"Too strong?" she asked. "I am afraid I like it very strong. American coffee, well, to me it usually tastes like weak tea."
"No," Benjamin sa
id, taking another sip. "It's good." He looked around for a clock. "What time is it?"
"About seven thirty," she said. "I woke up at six, but you were sleeping so soundly, I decided to let you rest."
"Oh," Benjamin said. He smiled at her. "I'm afraid I dropped off while you were speaking. Sorry to be so rude. These last few days at the Foundation… well, there wasn't much time for rest."
"So I understood."
She went to the kitchen, returned with a plate with some croissants and a bagel, a dab of cream cheese, another of red jam. "I was not sure what you would eat for breakfast, so I went to the Starbucks across the street." She set the plate on the coffee table. "But perhaps you would like to wash and change first."
Benjamin was already munching one of the croissants. He looked up at her.
"Change into what, exactly?" he said, his mouth still half full. "This," he plucked the tuxedo shirt, "is all I've got right now."
"Ah," Natalya said, sitting down next to him. "Of course."
"But first," and he stood up, "I think I should try Anton's again."
"Yes, please, go ahead."
While Benjamin went into the kitchen to use the telephone, Natalya sat for a moment, staring out the window. It was a bright, cloudless day, a relief after the gray clouds and rain of yesterday.
She was sipping her coffee and still looking out the window when Benjamin returned.
"Still no answer," he said. "And I didn't want to leave this number on the message."
He came and stood next to her.
"I'm really not sure what to do now. Dr. Fletcher's computer is at Anton's, though I have the CD. We could drive by his house again, but if he isn't answering his phone…"
"Does he have the password for the computer?" Natalya asked.
Benjamin thought back. "No," he said. "I started it for him. I never told him the password."
"Well, that is reassuring," Natalya said.
"You mean, you think Anton is…"
"A betrayer?" finished Natalya.
"I know it doesn't look good, what with the police and Hauser there. But they might have simply followed me." Benjamin shook his head. "I can't quite believe Anton is on their side."
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