Glen Allen - The shadow war

Hauser had reached the bundle. Benjamin expected him to bend down and pick it up.

"Now, Ms. Orlova," Hauser said, keeping his eyes on Benjamin, "if you would kindly pick that up for me."

Natalya looked back at him, to Benjamin. Then she moved toward the bundle.

Benjamin had to interrupt him, to distract them.

"And what then?" he shouted at Hauser. "You'll kill us all?"

"He just wants package," Boris shouted. "Give it to him, we all go home, nobody dies."

"You're a fool, Boris," Benjamin said, keeping his eyes on Hauser. "They can't let us go. Not now that we know it exists. He'll have to kill you, too, just for being here."

He saw Boris look toward Hauser's back. Natalya, too, turned from where she knelt near the bundle, looked up at Hauser.

"That was not the arrangement," she said steadily.

"Nobody gets killed," Boris said. He raised the rifle a little, moving it toward where Hauser stood. "That is deal."

Hauser swiveled toward Boris and fired before Boris could react. Benjamin saw Boris's head twist to one side, his rifle discharging with a loud roar up into the sky.

Even as Boris fell, Benjamin launched himself at Hauser. As Hauser was turning back toward him, Benjamin slammed into his chest, pinning Hauser's arm and sending them both down onto the ground.

Benjamin heard the explosion of Hauser's pistol and felt the blow in his shoulder simultaneously. It was a searing pain, like a white-hot poker shoved into his flesh. As he flinched, Hauser pushed him to the side. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Natalya crouching, as if about to to leap- but at which one of us?

And then Hauser had fought free, was standing over him, pointing his pistol at Benjamin's head.

Benjamin's hand had found the Makarov. He pulled the trigger, firing through his parka.

There was an eruption of fiber and down from Hauser's parka as the bullet creased his arm. Before Benjamin could fire again, Hauser recovered, raised his pistol, aimed it again at Benjamin's head.

There was a tiny puff of snow at Hauser's feet, and a sound, faint in the wind, like a tree limb cracking. Hauser instinctively looked down at his feet. As he did so, there was another crack, this time much louder. Everything seemed to stand still.

Hauser towered over him, like a statue, the gun still pointing downward; Natalya was half crouched, startled and motionless; Benjamin could feel the burning in his shoulder, the warmth of something liquid running down his chest inside his parka, the frigid wind brushing across his face. His vision started to narrow, and he knew he was passing out.

Hauser toppled to the ground like a felled tree. His head was lying on its side, only a foot from Benjamin's own. Benjamin could see a dark red stain spreading across the ground, under Hauser's head.

And then Benjamin knew he was hallucinating.

Because, as his vision narrowed even further, he saw Samuel Wolfe bending down over him. And in this hallucination, Wolfe was dressed all in white, like a ghost.

Or an angel.

Benjamin woke up. He tried to raise his head, but it felt enormously heavy.

He looked down. He was covered in blankets. His shoulder felt like a truck had run over it.

He looked around him. He recognized the log walls in the bedroom of Boris's cabin. On a small cot against the wall he saw Boris lying unconscious, a white bandage around his head. Blood was seeping through the bandage.

Benjamin could hear voices coming from the other room.

He felt woozy and weak, but he forced himself to sit up. His left shoulder throbbed. It was wrapped in thick bandages and strapped against his side with a blue nylon sling.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Immediately he felt dizzy and collapsed back down on the bed. But then he tried it again and managed to stay standing. Then, walking slowly and leaning against the wall, he made it to the door and opened it.

Boris's tiny living room was positively crammed with people.

The first one he made out was Natalya, as she stood up and came toward him, a look of concern in her eyes.

"Benjamin!" she said. "You should be lying down."

She came to him, but he shoved past her, pushing her arms away.

Nikolai Orlov was sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace. He smiled at Benjamin, said " Privet, Mr. Wainwright," and stood up and came to stand next to Natalya.

Somewhat groggily, he turned from Natalya and Nikolai to the rest of the room. In a chair with his back to Benjamin was Anton Sikorsky. He turned around, looked at Benjamin. "Ah," Anton said, "you're alive. Good." And then there was the third person, standing next to Anton.

It was Samuel Wolfe. And he appeared to be completely substantial, not at all the ghost-or angel-of Benjamin's hallucination.

He was still wearing a white snow parka and white nylon pants.

"Hello, Benjamin," he said. He walked forward. "Let me be the first to congratulate you. And now, please, sit the hell down."

Natalya led Benjamin-he grudgingly allowed her to take his arm-to a worn overstuffed chair in the corner and pushed him down into it. She bent over him and examined his shoulder.

"Is it bleeding?" she asked. "Did you tear the stitches?"

"No," Benjamin said, looking at her. "And why exactly do you care?"

Finally Natalya's composure was shattered. She started to cry, at the same time yelling at him in Russian. Benjamin couldn't tell what she was saying, but if it was an apology, it was a very strange one, indeed.

Nikolai stepped over to him. "She was only protecting me, Mr. Wainwright."

"Protecting you? And he," pointing to Anton, "gave them Jeremy's computer. What the hell is he doing here?" Benjamin looked around the circle of faces. "Would someone mind telling me what's going on?"

"First, we should toast your courage," said Nikolai. He went to the shelf with the rows of clear bottles of Boris's homemade vodka.

"I don't suppose you have any scotch there," Wolfe said doubtfully.

"Only vodka," Nikolai said.

While Nikolai poured drinks for everyone, Natalya brought Benjamin some pills, handed him a glass of water. He took them without a word, then looked at his shoulder. "How long-," he began.

"Eight hours," Wolfe said. "But I think you'll live. The bullet went clean through. And Natalya is quite the amateur physician." He accepted a small tumbler of clear liquid from Boris.

"Nuclear disaster nurse training," she said, fussing over Benjamin's shoulder. "You need a real doctor, and soon."

"How…," Benjamin started. He went dizzy again for a moment, recovered. "How did Hauser know?" He looked at Natalya again, his eyes hard. "You?"

"No," Nikolai said, handing him a glass of vodka. "Was me who betrayed you."

Benjamin was speechless.

"Let's everybody sit down," Wolfe said. "You've got some catching up to do."

"But first, toast," said Nikolai. He lifted his glass up, looked at Benjamin, said, "To Benjamin. Za uspekh! " and tossed off his drink. The others followed suit, but Benjamin looked at his skeptically.

"Go ahead," said Nikolai. "Vodka contains most amazing healing powers."

Benjamin tossed his back, too. It burned his throat, but the dizziness passed and his head felt clearer. Maybe, he thought, there's something to this healing powers stuff after all.

Nikolai circulated among them, refilling their glasses.

"Now," Wolfe said. "You probably have some questions."

"A few dozen," said Benjamin, "For instance-"

"What am I doing here? Benjamin," Wolfe began looking quite serious, "let me start by apologizing. I'm sorry I had to deceive you. I know you thought I was in Edith's lab when it exploded. I wanted everyone to think that, and if you believed it, well, it would make the sleight of hand more convincing."