Glen Allen - The shadow war

He threw the plastic back over the box, stuffed the bundle partially inside his jacket, and began to climb. The bulky package sticking partway out of his jacket made it difficult. Once, his hand slipped on the freezing metal rung, and he hung sideways for a moment, out over the dark abyss of the well. He swung his hand back to the ladder, continued climbing.

By the time he reached the top of the ladder, he was panting, his breath making explosive gray puffs in the air. He climbed awkwardly out of the well. Setting the bundle down, he lowered the hatch, spun the wheel.

His hands were freezing, almost completely numb.

He grabbed the gloves and started running toward the fence, the bundle tucked under one arm as he struggled to pull his gloves on with his teeth as he ran. The cold air was beginning to burn his throat, his eyes filling with tears and making it difficult to see.

By the time he reached the fence, the gloves were over his hands, and he was thankful he didn't have to touch the bare, cold metal with his fingers.

But what if the fence current was back on?

He shrugged off the thought. He'd know soon enough anyway.

Then he realized he had a problem: he could never climb the fence holding the bundle.

He backed up a few feet, tossed the bundle over the fence, then launched himself onto it and began to climb. The only sound now was the wind and the rattle of the fence as he clamored up it.

How much time? his mind thundered. How much time?!

He jumped from the top of the fence, fell, picked himself up and went over to the bundle. He bent down to pick it up, then stopped. Only two inches from the bundle a thin metal bar protruded above the light covering of snow. He realized it was probably the trip sensor for a mine.

He reached down and snatched the bundle up, carefully stepped around the mine sensor, and began running again. He felt the Makarov thumping against his side in the parka pocket, could hear his blood pounding in his ears. The tears in his eyes blinded him. He stumbled, went sprawling on the ground, the bundle clattering a few feet away.

He rose up, grabbed the bundle. All about his feet he could see the tiny, dull-gray tips of more mine sensors. And now he was disoriented. Which hill was the right one? Then he saw the faint outlines of the road that bordered the minefield.

He forced himself to run again, sprinting, lifting his feet in their clumsy boots, trying to make himself lighter, faster.

He fought the urge to jump toward the boundary of the road; he didn't have the strength, anyway. His feet were like lead, his chest was burning, the cold air making his throat tight, the wind seeming like a living thing that wanted to knock him down, blow him back toward the fence, back into the mines that must any second now become active.

And then he was across the road.

Benjamin fell to his knees, gasping for breath, the bundle clanging as it dropped from his hands. A light snow was falling now, the flakes landing on his upturned face. A dim grayish glow was appearing in the east as the sun worked to force its light through the low-hanging clouds. For a moment, he stayed down on all fours, fighting to catch his breath, to fight off the numbness from the cold, to still the pounding in his head.

After a minute, he straightened, slid the parka sleeve back from his wrist, looked at his watch.

A minute to spare, he thought. He wanted to laugh.

He stood up, bent slowly and picked up the bundle, tucked it under his arm. Then he walked, each step seeming an eternity, along the road and around the hill.

He could see Boris's jeep.

But now there was a truck next to the jeep. And the truck's lights were on, shining into his eyes, blinding him.

Through the glare he could make out three figures in front of Boris's jeep. In the middle was Natalya, and to her left was Boris. He was holding the hunting rifle-and seemed to be pointing it in Benjamin's direction.

And to Natalya's right stood someone very tall, in a dark parka; someone with short, very blond hair.

It was Hauser.

He, too, was holding a gun. But it wasn't pointed at Natalya; it was pointed at Benjamin.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Wainwright," Hauser said, shouting over the wind. "That was very impressive."

Hauser was standing next to Natalya-but to Benjamin's surprise, he wasn't holding her. She was simply standing there, staring at him, with an utterly indefinable expression on her face.

"Boris," said Benjamin, not quite sure if he was asking a question or not.

"He's not the only predatel, the only betrayer here, Benjamin," said Natalya.

Benjamin went completely still.

"You?!"

Natalya said nothing-as though words wouldn't convey what she felt. Boris merely shrugged, smiled.

"Whatever is," he said, pointing with the tip of his rifle to the bundle under Benjamin's arm, "worth many rubles. I'm just businessman."

"And you, Natalya," Benjamin said, the words biting like acid. "Are you just a businessman?"

"Never mind about that, Wainwright," Hauser said. "It's been a helluva ride. I never thought you'd get this far. Congratulations."

Benjamin was still catching his breath. He wanted to stall for time, even if he wasn't sure why.

"You knew?" he shouted through the wind. "All along, you knew it was here?"

Hauser laughed. "Hell, no. We didn't know where the damn thing was. We didn't know if it really existed. Just rumors, over the years. And it was their problem, not ours. Until Fletcher got too curious."

"And too good," said Benjamin. "So you killed him, then used Samuel and me to track this down."

Even as he talked, he was furiously trying to figure out a way to separate Hauser from Natalya and Boris. Then he remembered the Makarov in his pocket. Boris's rifle was sloping down at the ground, not pointed directly at him. If I just slip my hand into my pocket…

Hauser chuckled. "And just like a good hunting dog, you brought us right to it. With a little push from that Amazon Gudrun." He smiled when he saw the surprise in Benjamin's eyes. "That's right, bright boy. But I guess not too bright, eh?" And then the smile vanished. "Now, set the package down and step back."

Benjamin bent slowly, placed the bundle on the ground, then stood and took a step back. He calculated he was about eight feet from Hauser. But if Hauser stepped forward to get the bundle, and if it took a few seconds for Boris to react…

Hauser took a step forward, then turned and dragged Natalya with him.

"And what do you get out of this, Natalya? A promotion?" Benjamin sneered.

She shook her head, even as she struggled in Hauser's grip. "You don't understand…"

"Yes, you've said that a lot since we met." Even though Benjamin's chest was rigid with anger and pain, he wanted to keep talking while he moved his gloves toward his pockets, as if trying to warm his hands. "To betray a naive American, that I get. But your own father?"

Natalya bent her head, silent. Hauser stepped closer.

"Ancient history, Mr. Wainwright," he said. "And now that we have Fletcher's computer back, all the loose ends have been… snipped off."

"Then Anton is with you, too," Benjamin said. It wasn't a question. Did they also know about the copy of the program on the CD, which was back at Boris's cabin? They had to; Natalya would have told them.

But then, what did any of that matter? He didn't think Hauser was letting them go anywhere.

"Or you've killed Anton," Benjamin said. His hands were inches from his pockets. "Like Dr. Fletcher and Mrs. Gadenhower."

"You have to be committed for the long haul," Hauser said. "That crazy bee lady thought it was all just an idea, just a theory. That's how you academics are, isn't it? Big ideas, but when the time comes to ante up…" He finished with a shrug.