Glen Allen - The shadow war

As they drove through the Foundation's gates, Benjamin thought back to how he'd felt two weeks before, passing through this same portal. He recalled his burning eagerness to be admitted through those gates and into the world of power and privilege of the Foundation; how, in Arthur Terrill's office, he'd thought of the Foundation as a sort of magnificent theater, one in which he desperately desired to know the machinery behind the stage. Now, that theater seemed to him like a papier-mache facade concealing not tantalizing secrets, but brittle fossils.

They parked outside the manse-once again Benjamin was struck by the almost preternatural stillness of the Foundation's grounds-climbed the portico's steps, and entered the manse's foyer.

And came to a dead stop.

The mural was gone.

From floor to ceiling, the walls had been painted a universal thick, bright white. There wasn't a trace of the mural visible anywhere.

Benjamin could only stare in silence, but Wolfe harrumphed. "Well, now," he smirked. "A preservation project?" He turned to Benjamin. "I apologize. Apparently there was more to that mural than met my eye. Let's see if Arthur's wearing a false beard and dark glasses."

He led the still-stunned Benjamin to Terrill's office, opened the door without knocking.

Arthur was sitting behind his desk, rifling through papers, just as when Benjamin had first met him. Only now Arthur didn't look confident and officious; he looked gaunt and harried.

"Mr. Wolfe and Mr. Wainwright," Terrill said tersely. "I must say I'm surprised but pleased to see you again."

They walked to Terrill's desk, neither choosing to sit down.

"Pleased?" Benjamin said with skepticism.

"Any results of this entire misadventure that would prove fatal were, as far as I was concerned…" And then he seemed to run out of steam and slumped back in his chair.

"Unavoidable?" offered Wolfe. "God, Arthur, what happened to you?"

Terrill looked down at his desk, began to straighten papers, stopped himself.

"I'm not sure you would understand, Samuel." He looked up at him. "I'm not sure you've ever really believed in anything that strongly. Which is why you never really… fit in here."

"Oh, you're wrong there," Wolfe said. "But now I know there's nothing more dangerous than believing the ends justify the means."

Terrill's eyes went bright. "But if those ends are vital to the survival of your country-"

"And if those means change the very nature of that country?" Wolfe said. "What survives then?"

Terrill didn't respond, and Benjamin spoke up.

"I'd like to know one thing," he said. "How did Jeremy become involved in all this?"

Terrill sighed, looked down at his desk. "Old colleagues from RAND recommended him. We gave him money and his head. He'd already written brilliantly about nuclear war and game theory…" He looked up. "When he started to report the preliminary results of this TEACUP program… well, I was against letting him continue. But others saw an opportunity. There'd always been concerns about possible… fault lines. It was felt by some that Dr. Fletcher's work might reveal those fault lines so that we could better… repair them."

Wolfe snorted. "Don't you mean conceal them?"

"Do you really think, Samuel," Terrill said to Wolfe, suddenly energized again, "that the average person wants to know all this, wants to understand how… insane it all was? If we'd told them we couldn't protect them, that no matter how many bombs we had they would be no safer… Do you think they wanted to hear that truth? But by creating an enemy they could understand, we provided our people with unity, with purpose-"

"And stability," said Wolfe sarcastically. "I know the speech, Arthur. From the thirties and in another language. And it's no more convincing now than it was then."

"But surely even you, Samuel, can see that this… arrangement made the world safer-"

Wolfe shook his head emphatically. "You only made the terror acceptable."

Terrill's eyes darted about, as though seeking an answer.

"There were traditions to defend," Terrill said, almost pleading, "ideals to sustain-"

"Ideals?!" said Wolfe, finally losing his temper. "Tell that to Jeremy Fletcher. Tell that to Edith Gadenhower, and who knows how many others." Wolfe calmed himself. "You weren't upholding ideals Arthur. You were merely clinging to power by any means necessary."

Arthur looked at Wolfe with a mixture of resentment and resignation.

"And we noticed the 'renovation' work in the foyer," Wolfe continued. Still Arthur didn't say anything. "It won't matter, Arthur. Not in the long run. I would guess there are other 'fault lines' waiting to be stumbled upon, as Fletcher did."

"I wouldn't look for them, Samuel," Terrill said. Now he looked… frightened.

"Oh, I'm beginning to suspect we're not the only ones looking."

Now Arthur's eyes flashed, as though Wolfe had struck a nerve, but he said nothing.

"You could still salvage something from all this, Arthur," Wolfe said, his tone changing to that of an old friend giving unwanted-but-wise counsel. " You could tell the story. Let people decide for themselves. Isn't that one of the ideals you did all this to sustain?"

Terrill smiled ruefully. "You don't understand, Samuel. Not even now."

And Benjamin realized that Terrill looked not like an arrogant conspirator, not even like the director of a powerful institution… but rather like a man who'd received news he'd been found guilty and would pay the price.

Wolfe hung his head, sighed. He turned to Benjamin. "We should go, Benjamin. I believe Arthur has some… sorting out to do." He looked once more at Arthur. "Good-bye, Arthur," he said.

And then he and Benjamin turned and walked out of the room.

Just as Wolfe and Benjamin were driving out of the Foundation's gates, there was a sharp, short noise from the manse that echoed across the Foundation grounds. The noise sent a flock of crows in the tree outside Terrill's office scattering into the gray afternoon sky.

Reagan airport was crowded. As Benjamin looked at the faces of all the people hurrying to their destinations, to business meetings and vacations and everyday lives, he wondered: Would they behave any differently if they did know the truth?

He realized this sounded slightly cynical, like something Wolfe would ask; and he wondered if more than Wolfe's fondness for scotch had rubbed off on him.

He and Wolfe stood together at the entrance for the security line. He found himself searching for something to say, something equal to the incredible experiences of the last two weeks.

"It's infuriating," he said finally. "Here we know about the biggest fraud ever perpetrated in modern times, and we can't say anything about it to anyone."

"You're an historian," Wolfe replied calmly. "So of course you want to set the record straight. But believe me, if we tried to tell this story without the proof to back it up, even those who weren't in on it would oppose us. Nobody wants that kind of… revelation. Not now, not with these new enemies without flags or borders."

Benjamin didn't look convinced.

"Besides, I think you're making an excellent decision decamping to Nice. Whatever happens here, better to watch from the sidelines. And I can't think of better sidelines than the south of France or better company than Ms. Orlova."

Benjamin smiled. "And you?" he asked. "Are you going to sit on the sidelines somewhere?"

Wolfe looked serious. "Not quite. There are still too many questions I need answered."

"Such as?"

"Such as… did it ever strike you as strange, Benjamin, that we got as far as we did?"

"I thought you said Terrill and Hauser allowed us to get that far, that it was all part of their plan?"