Benjamin woke to Natalya's face above him. She was holding a cup of coffee in one hand. The scene reminded him of Wolfe getting him up early, shoving coffee in his face. He preferred this version.
"Good morning," Natalya said. "Did you sleep well?"
Benjamin looked down. Apparently during the night she'd pulled a blanket over him, placed a pillow under his head.
He sat up, accepted the coffee.
"Yes, for the first time in several days," he said. He took a drink of the coffee-it was quite strong, and he winced.
"Too strong?" she asked. "I am afraid I like it very strong. American coffee, well, to me it usually tastes like weak tea."
"No," Benjamin said, taking another sip. "It's good." He looked around for a clock. "What time is it?"
"About seven thirty," she said. "I woke up at six, but you were sleeping so soundly, I decided to let you rest."
"Oh," Benjamin said. He smiled at her. "I'm afraid I dropped off while you were speaking. Sorry to be so rude. These last few days at the Foundation… well, there wasn't much time for rest."
"So I understood."
She went to the kitchen, returned with a plate with some croissants and a bagel, a dab of cream cheese, another of red jam. "I was not sure what you would eat for breakfast, so I went to the Starbucks across the street." She set the plate on the coffee table. "But perhaps you would like to wash and change first."
Benjamin was already munching one of the croissants. He looked up at her.
"Change into what, exactly?" he said, his mouth still half full. "This," he plucked the tuxedo shirt, "is all I've got right now."
"Ah," Natalya said, sitting down next to him. "Of course."
"But first," and he stood up, "I think I should try Anton's again."
"Yes, please, go ahead."
While Benjamin went into the kitchen to use the telephone, Natalya sat for a moment, staring out the window. It was a bright, cloudless day, a relief after the gray clouds and rain of yesterday.
She was sipping her coffee and still looking out the window when Benjamin returned.
"Still no answer," he said. "And I didn't want to leave this number on the message."
He came and stood next to her.
"I'm really not sure what to do now. Dr. Fletcher's computer is at Anton's, though I have the CD. We could drive by his house again, but if he isn't answering his phone…"
"Does he have the password for the computer?" Natalya asked.
Benjamin thought back. "No," he said. "I started it for him. I never told him the password."
"Well, that is reassuring," Natalya said.
"You mean, you think Anton is…"
"A betrayer?" finished Natalya.
"I know it doesn't look good, what with the police and Hauser there. But they might have simply followed me." Benjamin shook his head. "I can't quite believe Anton is on their side."
"Their side?" asked Natalya, raising an eyebrow.
"Sorry," Benjamin said. "I guess that sounds a little paranoid."
"I am a professional paranoid, Mr. Wainwright," she said, standing. "Anyway, why don't you wash up. I need to let them know at the center I will be in late today. If at all."
"I hadn't even thought of that," Benjamin said. He looked at her, an expression of concern on his face. "I'm sorry to have gotten you involved in all this, Natalya." He paused. "I believe I know how Sam Wolfe felt when he last spoke to me."
"Your Dr. Fletcher involved me," she said. She stood up. "And anyway, chto bylo to bulyom poroslo. As you would say, it is no good to cry over milk already spoiled."
"Spilt," Benjamin corrected.
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind, I understand," Benjamin said. He looked at her appreciatively. "I think Dr. Fletcher knew exactly what he was doing when he wrote to you. Even if we don't yet know why. " Then he set his coffee down and went off to the bathroom.
Natalya waited a moment, then went into the kitchen to the telephone. She dialed the number of the Cultural Center. When someone there answered, she asked for Yuri. "All right," she said, "I'll try him at home. Oh, and would you tell them I won't be in for a while today. Perhaps late this afternoon? Spasiba, " and she hung up.
She went to the window, stood staring out again, deep in thought.
She was still there when Benjamin came out of the bathroom. He was drying his hair with a towel. He still had on the tuxedo shirt, cummerbund and pants, and black socks. "Are my shoes around here somewhere?" he asked.
"Yes, there," Natalya said, pointing under the couch. "I took them off last night."
Benjamin sat down and began putting on his shoes. "I've decided the best thing for me to do is go to Anton's, see if he's home. And if he isn't… well, I'll cross that bridge then."
"To where?" Natalya asked.
"I don't know," Benjamin said. "But I don't think you should be involved in this any further. Perhaps I should just go to the authorities with what I already know."
"Which really isn't that much," said Natalya. "Without Anton's explanation for Dr. Fletcher's program, all you really know is that there was some sort of secret group among the American Puritans nearly three hundred years ago, and some odd occurrences at this American Heritage Foundation this weekend. Secretive groups in the history of any country are hardly, well, secrets, are they. And these odd occurrences… I am certain such people will be able to explain them to any authorities you contact. Believe me, I have experience with these kinds of people. More than you realize. To deal with them, you must have kozyr, an ace up your sleeve."
"Well, yes-," he began.
"And in the meantime, you have stolen property belonging to this Foundation, and no witnesses to back up your version of the story."
Benjamin sighed. "Please," he said, "if this is a pep talk…"
"Pep talk?" asked Natalya.
"Uh, never mind," he said. He stood up. "All that may be true, but as I said, I don't know where else to go from here." He began putting on the tuxedo jacket.
She rose and came over to him.
"Mr. Wainwright," she said, looking into his eyes. "Benjamin." She smiled. "I think I do. But you will have to trust me. Do you think you can do that?"
Benjamin looked at her. He'd felt he could trust her from the first moment he'd seen her, but he wasn't sure he could trust that feeling. After all, weren't femme fatales always beautiful women you wanted to trust? That's why they were femme fatales.
He started to say something, thought better of it, shrugged.
"All right," he said. "Apparently we're in this together. So, what do we do next, Ms. Orlova?"