Benjamin and Natalya sat staring at the computer screen. Upon it was displayed the same list of files that he and Wolfe had read that night so long ago-and only forty-eight hours earlier.
"The only thing I see here I understand," Natalya said, pointing to the list of file names, "is Stzenariy 55. I spent several frustrating hours yesterday searching for some mention of such a name in our archives."
"Did you find anything?" Benjamin asked eagerly.
"Well." She looked down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. He could tell she was hesitating about being completely honest with him. But then he realized he hadn't told her the whole truth about what had happened since he'd arrived at the Foundation.
"Look," he said, "I understand. You don't know anything about me. I'm simply someone who called this morning asking about Dr. Fletcher. And I think you'd agree, I don't know anything about you, either."
"You know I am a Russian cultural attache," she said. She looked at him with those bright blue-green eyes, but there was caution rather than hostility in them now. "And that is more than I really know about you, Mr. Wainwright."
"Benjamin," he said. "Benjamin Franklin Wainwright." He smiled. "Now you know the most embarrassing thing there is to know about me." She laughed, and he hurried on. "I have a degree in Colonial American history from Georgetown University, and, until last Friday, I was doomed to spend my life in the basement of the Library of Congress, cross-checking two-hundred-year-old birth and death certificates."
"Well," she said. "So you are indeed an academician, and not some sort of adventurer?"
"Ms. Orlova-," he began.
"Natalya," she corrected.
This made Benjamin feel her hostility toward him was finally fading.
"Until last Friday," he said, trying to respond to the honesty he felt in her eyes, "when I arrived at the American Heritage Foundation, the biggest adventure in my life was when I spent a week in Paris, as a student, and stayed in a fifteen-franc-a-night hotel."
She laughed again. The effect was immediate. He decided to tell her what had happened to Jeremy Fletcher.
"I have to tell you first," he began. "Dr. Fletcher is… when I got to the Foundation, last Friday… he'd had a heart attack the day before. He was dead."
"Dead?" She looked closely at him. "He was a friend of yours."
"Yes. But there's more," he said. And then it all came out in a torrent, as though he'd been waiting for someone to simply let go with-someone he could trust.
He went on to tell her about Samuel Wolfe, about their discovery of Fletcher's computer program. He told her of their interview with Edith Gadenhower, and their visit to the Morris Estate. When he came to the part about Edith's death, the look on her face changed from serious to alarmed.
He told her about what he'd discovered in the mural at the Foundation, about the fire and Wolfe's disappearance, about his discussion that day with Anton Sikorsky. Finally, he finished by telling her about his visit to the Library of Congress and what he'd discovered there.
Benjamin stopped, afraid that, in his need to finally share all that had happened with someone, he had overwhelmed Natalya. But instead, she seemed to accept it all, to immediately grasp the most significant points. And it was then she began asking questions.
"Then this Anton Sikorsky," Natalya said, "seems to understand this TEACUP program?"
"Yes," Benjamin said. "He said it was very similar to work he did years ago, in the Soviet Union. For the Ministry of Defense. He's the one that recognized this Script 55."
She looked again at the computer screen, then seemed to make up her mind about something. She turned back to Benjamin.
"I must apologize, Benjamin," she said. "I was very… cold with you earlier."
"I understand," Benjamin said. "As I said, you don't know me, and-"
"It was more than that," she interrupted him. "I told you that I researched our archives for information about all this. I didn't find anything, nothing relevant, that is. Until I checked our own restricted archives."
"Restricted?" asked Benjamin.
"We may be years past perestroika, Mr. Wainwright, but there are still many, many secrets too sensitive to reveal. Those secrets are kept in various archives, with names like the Institute of Historical-Archival Studies, and the Russian Center for the Preservation and Study of Documents Relating to Modern History." Benjamin winced. Natalya nodded and said, "It is every bit as difficult to access as it is to say. Anyway, only those with special clearance are allowed to view documents in these archives. But I have another source. My father."
Benjamin wasn't sure how much to tell her about Myorkin's letter. It was the one bit of information he'd held back, not certain how she would react to the implication her father might be involved in all this.
"He was in the… security service?" he asked, deciding to find out more about her father first.
She smiled. "No, not him." She shook her head. "My father was in the Red Army, one of the first officers of the Strategic Rocket Forces. His first posting was to a nuclear missile base in Siberia during the Cold War."
Benjamin nodded. "And you're about to tell me he knows something about all this."
"Yes, exactly," she said. "He told me he did not know this name, this Script 55 and ' borba s tenyu. ' But even when he told me, I did not believe him. And then today, someone called me from Russia. And asked me to do something quite exceptional."
"What was that?"
"To visit. That may not sound so strange, but coming from my cousin Olga, believe me, it is very strange, indeed. When I tried to call my father to ask what this is all about, he did not answer. And I have not been able to reach him all day." She shook her head. "So you see, I was upset about this. It worries me. It worries me even more because he seems to be worried about me. "
"I have to tell you, Ms… Natalya. I told you Jeremy had written to a Russian journalist seeking information about this Script 55? What I didn't tell you was this journalist, a Fyodor Myorkin, wrote back. And in his letter he mentioned your father's name." Benjamin placed his hand over Natalya's. "Perhaps… well, knowing that, perhaps you don't want to be further involved with this. Perhaps you're taking a considerable risk even discussing this."
Natalya's eyes were steady, unafraid.
"From what you've told me about this Foundation," she replied, "so are you."
They looked at each other. Benjamin found himself wanting to tell Natalya everything-about Wolfe's suspicions regarding Fletcher's death, about Gudrun's veiled warnings, about every indication he had that, by getting more deeply involved, Natalya was putting herself at even graver risk than she realized. But he hardly knew where to start, and for a moment neither of them said anything.
The spell was broken when they heard someone approaching down the hall outside her office. A security guard poked his head into her doorway.
"Is everything all right, Natalya Nikolayevna?" he asked. He eyed Benjamin suspiciously.
"Yes, Sander," she said. "Everything is fine."
Benjamin noticed she had quickly clicked the button to remove the window of file names from the screen.
"The performance is over," the guard said. "They've started proposing toasts."
"Thank you, Alexander, I will be down in a moment."
The guard gave Benjamin another questioning look, and then left.
Natalya sighed. "I had better put in an appearance. This toasting can go on for hours, but I think I can slip away soon."
She turned and looked at Benjamin.
"I would like to meet this Anton Sikorsky," she said. "Tonight."