The Judas Project. Don Pendleton

information he had been gathering.

      They were all there: Carmen Delahunt, a red-haired, ex-FBI agent; Huntington Wethers, a tall, pipe-smoking academic, a thoughtful black man who was a former professor of cybernetics; and Akira Tokaido, a sharp, young computer hacker who listened to hot music piped through the earbuds of his MP3 player.

      Kurtzman’s cyberteam, some of the best IT specialists in the world, were the SOG’s eyes and ears. They manned the databanks and, aided by Kurtzman’s programs, had the ability to get into the databases of existing agencies, extracting what they needed to push forward their backup capabilities for Stony Man’s combat teams. Kurtzman’s cybergenius was the driving force that enabled the team to create its unique qualities and advance them day by day. He was versed in computer science to a degree that reached near perfection. If he couldn’t solve a problem with existing programs, he would write a new one to address the problem and get around it. He pushed himself and his team to the limits, constantly aware that when the SOG teams needed help, they needed it ASAP, not in a few days. His unshakable loyalty was legend, and his ability to come up with the goods on time was not open to debate.

      “As we have no ongoing missions at the moment, and the teams are on R and R, I need you to look at something I’m going to transfer to each of you. Analyze the data, make up your own minds. I want to see if you get the same feeling I do. No bullshit. Honest opinions. I got the nod on this from a guy I know. He picked this up on one of his database searches and felt it worth further checking. I’ve done some, but I want to hear your views.”

      Kurtzman worked his keyboard and transferred the file to each workstation. As their monitors flashed into life, the members of the team swung their chairs around and got to work. Kurtzman wheeled himself across the room to his infamous coffeepot and helped himself to a fresh brew, then returned to his own workstation and began to widen his search parameters.

      When mission controller Barbara Price walked into the Computer Room several hours later, she was surprised to see the team so focused on their tasks, as the threat board was just about clear.

      “What’s up, Aaron?”

      Kurtzman eased his chair around. “Team collaboration,” he said. “I need confirmation on something that could be important.”

      “As in Stony Man important?”

      Carmen Delahunt looked around. “The way this is panning out, it could be.”

      “Hal know about this?”

      “Uh-uh,” Kurtzman said. “No point calling him until we’re sure.”

      “Well, you’ve got me interested. Am I allowed to join the inner circle yet?”

      Kurtzman’s bearded face broke into a wide smile. “If the team’s ready to give its verdict, you might as well come on board. Extra input on this is going to be welcome.”

      “Carmen,” Wethers said, “tell her what we have.”

      Delahunt held up the printout she was holding. “Okay, basics first. We have three dead people. All male. All in their thirties. One in Grand Rapids. The other two came from Spokane. They all died within a couple of days of each other. Coroners’ verdicts all stated the same cause of death. They were all murdered. Given a lethal injection of a poison that was difficult to pin down until requests for very thorough toxicology reports were requested. The tox reports identified the poison as an extremely potent strain that hasn’t been seen for some years.”

      “It’s been used before?” Price asked.

      Delahunt nodded. “It was a favored means of execution from the days of the KGB. Back in the day no one could get much information about it, but some years ago a sample was obtained and it was checked out thoroughly. So much so that we now have a complete breakdown of the substance and it can be recognized. The last known instance of it being used was three years ago in Brussels when a former KGB agent was found dead in his apartment. It was suspected he was killed because he was in the process of negotiating a book deal where he was about to expose the old KGB and name names.”

      “So three men are dead and you’re saying some cold-war KGB poison was used?” Price held up her hands. “Am I missing something here?”

      “Yes,” Wethers said. “Look at my notes.” He handed Price a clipboard. On a sheet of paper he had written each man’s particulars.

      Price read the details. “Three ordinary American citizens killed by lethal injection? Why would anyone…wait a second. Why is the name Leon Grishnov written in brackets after Harry Jenks’s?”

      “Nothing gets by Barbara Price,” Kurtzman said. “Go ahead, Hunt, you found it.”

      “There was a recurring shred of evidence that came up on all three autopsy reports. Each dead man had characteristicly Slavic facial bone structure. Not second generation that might suggest the men had been born here from Russian parentage. So we dug a little deeper, went into ex-Soviet medical databases. Military as well as civilian. The next problem arose when I realized they were not as extensive as I expected. I kept coming up empty until I ran across some dental records and we got a match.”

      “One lucky strike,” Tokaido said. “The X-rays taken by one of our coroners matched the Russian ones.”

      “Harry Jenks is Leon Grishnov. Once we had that,” Wethers said, “I concentrated on the guy and hit lucky again. He was in the military, trained as an infiltration specialist and designated as Spetznaz. The last entry in his record has him reassigned to special duty. After that there are no more records of him. It was as if he vanished from the face of the earth.”

      “We’re widening our searches,” Kurtzman said. “Might be we’ll pick something up on the other two vics. Akira spotted something and is looking into it.”

      Tokaido tapped his keyboard and brought up an enlarged image. “I got this from the autopsy photographic records. From both cities where the deaths occurred. Had to do some cleaning up and sharpening.”

      “Is that a tattoo?” Price asked.

      “Yeah. Each guy had one on the left shoulder. It’s no larger than a quarter but very detailed. I had to focus in real close to make any sense out of it. Even when it was made clear, none of us could understand what it meant. So I sent them to one of our Russian contacts. I figured if the guys were Russian the tattoos might also have some Russian symbols.”

      “That’s smart thinking.”

      “Has the contact come up with anything yet?” Price asked.

      Kurtzman shook his head. “Lena did report it looked vaguely familiar but she needs a little more time.” He turned his full attention on Price. “What do you think?”

      “I worry when I hear KGB and Spetznaz. And especially what you found out about a Russian taking on the identity of a U.S. citizen.”

      “Okay, we know the old KGB was disbanded and the FSB took its place,” Wethers said. “We also know that there are still ex-KGB around, some of them hard-liners in place in Lubyanka and who still have some influence. Right now we don’t have a line on what we might have stumbled on. My vote is we keep digging.”

      “Could these men have been sleepers?” Price asked. “Put in place as part of some operation that might have been forgotten about?”

      “That’s a possibility,” Kurtzman said. “Don’t dismiss the thought about a forgotten operation. Though, we know some sleepers have stayed in place for a lot of years before they got the signal to go ahead with their planned mission.”

      “So why have they been killed? If the mission has been wiped, why terminate the operatives? That part doesn’t make sense to me,” Price stated.

      “I have to admit I can’t figure that one myself,” Kurtzman admitted. “Unless someone has decided to clean house and remove all traces of a redundant operation.”

      Price ran her gaze over Wethers’s notes again, then reached a decision.