Glen Allen - The shadow war

"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."

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 Natalya'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.