'Yes and no,' Wolfe answered cryptically. 'The most effective conspiracy,' he said, patting Benjamin's shoulder, 'is the one you don't know you're part of.'
And then he wished Benjamin good night and walked off toward the biology building, his shoes leaving a trail in the chilled grass.
Benjamin was reluctant to let him go. For one thing, after what Wolfe had told him, he didn't particularly want to be alone. He also had the thought that in the morning he might awaken to find himself arrested and hauled off to jail in handcuffs. Hardly the sort of boost he'd originally imagined his stint at the Foundation would provide his career.
Thus Benjamin reached his room dejected and nervous. He doubted he would be able to sleep. He saw Wolfe's briefcase where he'd left it, propped against the far side of the bed, with Fletcher's computer inside. Oh, good, he thought. More incriminating evidence.
He sat on the bed, staring at the Ginsburg book and thinking back to how it had all started, so quietly and apparently innocently, just two nights before.
And, despite his anxiety that at any moment he would hear Hauser pounding on his door, a police van with flashing red and blue lights waiting in the cold night air outside, he found himself nodding off to sleep.
CHAPTER 24
The first sound that woke Benjamin up wasn't someone pounding on his door, but rather what he took for a clap of thunder. And his first thought was that it had started raining again.
Still half asleep, he listened for the rain on the windows, or another peal of thunder. He heard neither.
As he slowly roused himself, he began to hear other sounds: people running in the hallway, and then voices outside, down in the quad.
He shuffled over to the window, pushed the curtain aside. He expected to stare into the dark night-there weren't many outside lights on the Foundation grounds-but instead found that he could see people in the quad, a dozen or more. They were standing in the center, on the grass and some on the pathway, and they were looking off to his left, to something beyond the dining hall.
It was then he realized that the scene was being lit by a flickering light, something that waxed and waned in intensity, a pulsating yellow glow.
And it was then there came a knock at his door.
He immediately looked to Wolfe's briefcase. He walked over and picked it up, looking around for somewhere to hide it. And then someone outside the door called his name.
'Benjamin,' the voice said. 'Benjamin, are you awake?'
It was Gudrun.
He tossed the briefcase under the bed, gave the room a quick look, then went to the door and pulled it open.
Gudrun was in jeans and a sweatshirt, slippers instead of shoes. Her hair was mussed, she wasn't wearing any makeup-and yet her face still shone with a kind of clear, confident beauty.
But she didn't look confident; she looked frightened.
'Benjamin,' she said. She pushed past him into the room. 'Close the door.'
He did so, turned around. Gudrun went to the window, looked down at the scene below.
'Did you hear it?' she asked.
'I heard something,' he said, coming to the bed. 'I thought it was thunder.'
She turned around. 'It wasn't thunder,' she said. 'It was an explosion. In Edith's lab. There's a fire down there now. The whole building is burning.' She put her hand on his shoulder. 'I thought perhaps you were in there.'
'No,' Benjamin said. His head was still blurry from sleep… and then he realized. 'But Samuel!' He hesitated for a moment. 'Sam Wolfe went to Edith's lab. To take another look at the scene.'
Gudrun didn't flinch, and Benjamin realized she wasn't surprised.
'Gudrun,' he started, 'what do you know about all this?'
'I can't-,' Gudrun began. She turned her head aside, looked out the window again, then back to him. 'You need to leave,' she said bluntly.
'What? I can't do that. What about Sam? Did anyone see him come out of there?' He went to the bed, began to put on his clothes. 'Did anyone call the fire department?'
She came over to him, took his arm.
'There's nothing you can do,' she said. 'Not now. And not here.'
He stopped with his shirt half on. 'What are you talking about?'
She touched his cheek. 'I wish-,' she said.
Benjamin shook himself free, continued to get dressed, putting on his shoes, his jacket. He moved to the doorway. 'Whatever is going on here, I need to find out whether or not Sam is alive.'
Gudrun stopped him at the door.
'No one can get near the lab now. The only thing you can do for him is get away from here. Take your things and just go. Now. The fire department will be arriving any minute. I'll go and ask the gate guard to help with the fire so you can slip out. But you'll only have a few minutes.'
She looked into his eyes, then moved into the hallway, glanced up and down its length. Then she turned back to him.
'I'll… I'll try and get in touch with you, let you know what happened.'
She leaned in, kissed him briefly on the lips, and then turned and ran off down the hallway.
Benjamin stood indecisive for a minute. Then he went to the bed, bent down, and retrieved Wolfe's briefcase. He looked about the room, thought about gathering up his few other clothes, but left them and went into the hallway.
The foyer's chandelier wasn't on-in the rush outside no one had turned on the inside lights yet-so the mural passed by as indistinct, shadowed scenery as he wound his way down the spiral staircase, though it now seemed more populated with ghosts than ever.
He reached the ground floor, still without seeing anyone. With a last glance at the darkened foyer, he stepped outside.
Though the fire was on the other side of the manse, its pulsating glow reflected against the low, gray clouds overhead. He could hear the sounds now of breaking glass and the crackle of fire; and, rising in the background, the wail of approaching sirens.
He stood for a moment. Then he glanced down at the briefcase in his hand.
He quickly went to his car, opened the trunk, and tossed Wolfe's briefcase inside. He slammed the trunk closed, went around to the front, and got in. He started the car up and pulled quickly down the gravel driveway.
Even as he approached the gate, which he saw was open to admit the fire trucks, he could see the approaching flashing red-and-white lights. He gunned his car to get out of the gate before the fire engines could block his way. Even as he turned sharply, two engines roared past him down the driveway, sirens blaring.
A few dozen yards from the gate the darkened country lane proved too hazardous for him to drive very fast. He slowed down; even then, the hedges and trees seemed to leap out of the darkness with discomforting speed.
Benjamin wasn't sure exactly where he was. When he saw a sign indicating a road to the Massachusetts Turnpike, he avoided it. He realized he would have to stop soon, at a gas station or a food mart, and buy a map of the local area. He needed to find a way, somehow keeping to back roads and minor highways, to get from where he was to where he wanted to be.
Benjamin was headed, as quickly if indirectly as possible, toward N. Orlova, of the Russian Cultural Center, in Washington, D.C.
