Glen Allen - The shadow war

"That's not a problem," said Kalinin from the doorway.

Wolfe and Nikolai entered, Nikolai cradling his left arm, and also sat at the table. Immediately Natalya turned to Nikolai, started to remove his parka so she could check his wound. Nikolai looked at Benjamin, smiled broadly, said "We match!" then accepted a glass of vodka Wolfe handed him and tossed it back.

Now Kalinin entered, telling his men to wait outside. He glanced down at the tall man lying in the doorway, cocked an eyebrow appreciatively.

"I see one here," he said, "and I sent two men into the woods to search for the other."

"Could you see from the air?" asked Wolfe, watching Kalinin very closely. "Are there any more?"

"No, I don't think so," Kalinin said. He went to the fireplace, removed his gloves and began warming his hands. He barely glanced at Boris, lying unconscious on the bedroom floor.

"And what means 'not a problem'?" asked Anton. He held up the burned journal. "You have any idea how important this is?"

"No," Kalinin replied. Then he turned around. "Nor do I want to know."

"Then you won't mind getting these men to a hospital," Wolfe said.

Kalinin didn't answer immediately. He walked to the shelves of vodka, took down a bottle, removed the cork and sniffed it, frowned, put it back.

"This is contraband," he said. "It will be confiscated." Then he walked to the table, held out his hand to Anton. "As will all contraband."

Anton, mouth open, looked to him, then to Wolfe.

"Is joking?" he asked.

"No," said Wolfe, watching Kalinin. "I think not."

"Then, you're here to finish their job," Benjamin said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Kalinin, his hand still out, turned to Benjamin.

"I'm an officer in the Army of the Russian Federation," said Kalinin coldly. "Not a hired killer. My duty is to keep secrets of the Motherland safe and secure, not to punish foolish young adventurers." Then he faced back to Anton. "Please?" he said.

As though giving up the Holy Grail, Anton placed the singed journal in Kalinin's hand. "And those," Kalinin said, pointing to the pages from Analiz 55 spread across the table. Anton began scooping the pages together.

"Vasily, if you only knew what was in those pages," Nikolai pleaded, "you would understand, it is they who betrayed us. "

"I don't think Vasily is interested in the truth," Wolfe said.

"Truth?" Kalinin shot back. "Today, two American agents, a runaway Russian diplomat, and an ex-Red Army officer tried to breach the security of a Russian nuclear missile base, after impersonating journalists and bribing officials." Kalinin smiled. "You mean that truth?"

"But we know the truth," said Benjamin. "We know what is in those documents, even if you take them. We'll tell-"

"Who will you tell, Mr. Levebre? And without these," Kalinin waved the pages in the air, sending loose ashes floating about their heads, "who would possibly believe you?"

The next few days were a blur to Benjamin. Once Vasily had confiscated their "contraband," he'd acted as though they were merely tourists who'd wandered astray. He'd arranged for them to be transported to Krasnoyarsk-all except Boris, whom Vasily had indicated would be busy for some time answering questions about his "business" dealings. Whatever Boris's other failings, Benjamin made sure Vasily knew that, at the last minute anyway, Boris had been unwilling to participate in Hauser's cold-blooded murder plan.

As for the events at shakhta thirty-four and Boris's cabin… apparently Vasily would obtain a medal for thwarting a terrorist plot to infiltrate the Uzhur-4 base; and it was implied Nikolai would share in that medal, as well as an increase in his pension… as long as he went along with Kalinin's story.

From Krasnoyarsk they'd flown to Moscow, and then, rather than to D.C., to Nice, for a brief rest all of them needed.

It was in Nice that Wolfe had told Benjamin of his intention to go back to the Foundation, to confront Arthur Terrill and give him the chance to fill in the remaining pieces of this forty-year-old puzzle. Benjamin had insisted on going with him, whether for moral support or because he wanted to see the Foundation through new, wiser eyes, he wasn't sure.

He'd also insisted that Natalya wait for him in Nice. Things still needed to be smoothed over with the Russian embassy, and for a while she'd be better off out of the country. He assured her the trip to Massachusetts would take a day or two at the most, then he'd join her in Nice and they could enjoy it properly, like the tourists they'd only pretended to be before.

Now, on the plane from Nice to D.C., Benjamin and Wolfe spoke of what would happen with the Foundation's all-important contract. Benjamin was certain it would all lead to an investigation of the Foundation.

"Once I go back to the library and get the real Bainbridge diary, reveal what Morris's ancestors were up to and how they've been covering up ever since…"

Wolfe turned to him, smiled indulgently. "Benjamin, your commitment to optimism astounds me. What on earth makes you think the diary is still there?"

"I concealed it fairly thoroughly after I was done. Besides, this is the Library of Congress, not the Morrises' private estate. How could they…"

Wolfe shook his head. "Haven't you learned anything about the reach and fanaticism of power from what we've been through? The Morrises aren't just backers of the Foundation; through Montrose and his contacts they have friends in nearly every branch of government. Especially with this administration. Once they learned the diary still existed, they'll have had the library scoured for it. And without the diary, you have only your notes for evidence of this huge conspiracy, the notes of a young postdoc fellow who fled the Foundation in possession of secret government property, entered the Russian Federation on a false passport, and was involved with a known smuggler and other shady characters in a plot to steal nuclear materials and sell them to terrorists."

"What!" Benjamin shouted. Wolfe shushed him, indicating the other passengers around them. "That's not what happened," he continued, lowering his voice to a near-whisper.

"No," said Wolfe. "But I bet that or a similar version is just waiting to be spread all over the Internet, should you make a stink about the diary." Wolfe patted his knee. "Whatever results will be far more subtle. Enjoy our first-class ride," he said. "Anton's paying for it."

Benjamin decided, for now, to take Wolfe's advice. He summoned the stewardess, ordered some champagne, tilted back, and tried to focus on Natalya waiting for him in Nice.

A day later, they were driving up the winding, graveled road to the manse. Benjamin was eager to confront Terrill. And he was angry.

The day before, while in D.C., Benjamin had gone to the Library of Congress, to see if Wolfe had been right.

There had been no trace of the diary. And no record of a crate of books from the Morris family.

So now the only remaining evidence for all the intrigue they'd uncovered was on the walls of the manse at the American Heritage Foundation.

"When we get to the manse," Benjamin said to Wolfe on the drive out, "I'll show you that damn mural, and you can tell me then if you think I'm insane. It's just too much of a coincidence. First King Philip's War, then the Newburgh plot, then Arthur's little arrangement with the Soviets. And the Foundation is connected to them all, one way or another."

Wolfe looked just as skeptical now as he had when Benjamin first told him about the mural.

"Coincidences are just an improbable alignment of events," Wolfe said flatly, echoing Anton. "Not evidence of collusion. And think what you're suggesting. While I might allow that some of your Puramists survived to the Revolutionary War, and perhaps even had their own agenda, to suggest they continued for another two hundred years…" He shook his head. "The Morrises are an old and powerful family. Of course they have connections throughout American history. But that doesn't mean they're at the center of some arcane conspiracy." Wolfe pulled through the Foundation's gates. "Just show me this sinisterly suggestive mural of yours, and we'll go from there."