That alcove was the X on Leverotov's tiny map. And inside that X was a secret buried here for nearly half a century, a secret people on two continents had been willing to kill to keep hidden.
Or maybe that X was empty. Maybe, in the nearly forty years since Leverotov had left the "relics" for Nikolai, someone else had found Leverotov's treasure. Perhaps they'd removed it, thrown it away, hidden it somewhere else. Or perhaps Leverotov had never put anything there in the first place. Perhaps they'd misinterpreted Leverotov's symbols, completely misunderstood the message he'd left for Nikolai.
Benjamin shook off such thoughts, concentrated on climbing down the ladder. Finally, he heard the toe of his boot tap against something metal. He climbed down a few more rungs, peered at the wall.
There was a small metal plate set into the wall, rusted around the edges. It was loose. Benjamin pried at the edges with his fingertips. It came free-and then slipped from his hand and went clattering down into the darkness of the well, until he heard it clang against the bottom.
He held his breath, expecting shouts, alarms, something. But there was only the sound of the wind whistling over the top of the well.
He extracted a small flashlight from his parka pocket, shined its light into the alcove the plate had been covering.
The light reflected off something inside the alcove. About an arm's length away, there was a bright yellow plastic bundle.
Reaching through the rungs of the ladder, he groped toward the bundle. It was almost beyond his reach. Finally, his fingertips touched the plastic. He clawed at it until it moved a few inches toward him. He withdrew his hand, blew on his fingers to warm them. Then he reached in again, stretching his arm to its limit.
He had hold of the bundle.
He dragged it out of the alcove. There was something inside the bundle, something not heavy, but of a rectangular shape with sharp corners. He threw back one flap of the plastic, could see the cover of a flat metal box. On the cover, stenciled in black, was a name.
LEVEROTOV.
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.
6:19.
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.
CHAPTER 49
"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.
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.
CHAPTER 50
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 pill
s, 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."
"I thought you were dead, " Benjamin said with some pique. "Why couldn't you let me know you weren't?"
Wolfe leaned back in his chair. "I know you're not military, Benjamin, but let me explain it this way. The best way for a fighter pilot to shoot down his adversary is from behind, on his tail. And the best way to get on his enemy's tail is while that enemy is chasing somebody else's tail, focusing his attention forward."
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