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?"
"Oh, I'm sure that's how it started," Wolfe said. "But there were too many other… coincidences along the way. I feel the presence of more than one invisible hand in everything that's happened."
"What do you mean?"
"Well," Wolfe said, obviously weighing his words carefully, "we have Arthur and the Foundation and 12 Directorate all working together to keep this secret, the Gray Cardinals in all this… but why should they have been the only group working behind the scenes?"
"You mean some other group who knew about this arranged nuclear standoff? What," Benjamin thought, laughed, "something like… the white cardinals?"
"Why not?" Wolfe replied. He saw the look of doubt on Benjamin's face. "I wouldn't be so skeptical if I were you. After all, I believe you met one of them."
" Me?" Benjamin said in shock.
"On St. Honorat," Wolfe said. "The man who gave you Guy's passports? I told you, he wasn't a friend of mine. I didn't even know you were there. And I have a strange feeling he wasn't one of theirs, either."
"But then who-"
Wolfe displayed his trademark half-charming, half-infuriating smile. " That is one of the first questions I will put to Anton. I intend to have a very long and frank discussion with my old friend. There's a good deal about all this he either guessed or already knew. I think my search is far from over, that there may be other murals out there not yet covered up."
"So you'll go looking for these… white cardinals?" Benjamin asked.
"For the truth," Wolfe said. "Whatever it is, wherever it leads."
"Why Samuel," Benjamin teased. "You sound almost idealistic."
Samuel frowned. "There's no need to be insulting."
"No, it suits you," Benjamin said. "And thank you, Samuel, for everything." They shook hands awkwardly, what with Benjamin's arm still in a sling; then he remembered something.
"I'm afraid," Benjamin said, "we were rather liberal with Anton's bank account." He started to reach into his jacket for his wallet. "But I think there's still something in the balance…"
Wolfe stopped his hand. "Anton told me to tell you to keep it, especially if you're setting up housekeeping on the Cote d'Azur. He said to consider it a reward from a grateful people."
"What people?" asked Benjamin.
"That's another of my questions for him," Wolfe said. "As for you, besides sharing a life of leisure with a beautiful woman, what else are your plans?"
"What else can I do?" Benjamin shrugged. "I'm going to write a book."
Wolfe looked skeptical. "But I already explained, with Arthur dead, Stzenariy 55 locked in some Russian vault or destroyed, and the diary god knows where…"
"Oh, not a book about our… adventure," Benjamin said. "I'm going to finish my father's book, about the Puritans."
"And I think your father would be quite proud of you," Wolfe said, and then he added mischievously, "Benjamin Franklin Wainwright. And in the meantime get married, sit in the sun, and drink good French wine. And I would strongly advise you to learn Russian. You'll need it to keep up with that extraordinary woman."
Benjamin smiled, then turned to check the line and saw it was time for him to enter security.
He turned back to ask Wolfe when he and Natalya would see him again-but Wolfe was gone, vanished into the jostling crowd. Like a ghost; or, Benjamin thought ruefully, a spook.
Benjamin turned, juggling his carry-on bag, wallet, and boarding pass with his one good arm, shuffled forward, and soon he, too, disappeared through the security portal.
A man sitting nearby lowered the newspaper he'd been reading as Benjamin entered security. He was tall, quite thin, with old-fashioned wire-rim glasses. His brown hair was trimmed very close to his skull, and he had intensely blue eyes.
He watched closely as Benjamin walked off down the hallway to the boarding gate. Then he rose and headed down the concourse, in the same direction taken by Samuel Wolfe. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.