Blood Play. Don Pendleton

the tank armor,” Price interjected.

      “That was the biggie all right,” Tokaido said, “but there were a couple others, and he’s got a booth at that expo in Albuquerque and is supposed to be showing off a new batch of gizmos.”

      “Provided he shows up,” Kurtzman said. “What’s he been working on?”

      Tokaido scrolled down his screen. “I don’t have a lot of details, but among other things he’s taken the armor thing a little further and adapted it for battle gear.”

      “Some new generation flak jacket?” Kurtzman asked.

      “That’d be my guess,” Tokaido said. “If it takes after the tank armor, we’re talking something lighter but stronger with some kind of embedded solar capacity.”

      “Sounds like something out of one of those superhero movies,” Price commented.

      “Sure does,” Tokaido said. “Anyway, along with that he’s built a prototype high-speed armored helicopter and is doing some kind of work with redox batteries.”

      “Redox?”

      Tokaido nodded. “I think it’s another uranium application. Something about a backup power source.”

      Kurtzman mulled over the information as he took another sip of his coffee. “Cowboy’s right. That flak jacket sounds like something we could make use of. Maybe the chopper and battery, too.”

      “Hold the fort, gang,” Carmen Delahunt suddenly called out.

      “You got something?” Kurtzman said.

      Delahunt ran a hand through her red hair as she glanced up from her computer screen.

      “I’ve been running Orson’s name through the search engines and came across his blog,” she told the others. “Check out his last entry. Monitor three.”

      Delahunt moved her cursor and moments later her computer-screen image was duplicated on one of the large flat-screen monitors mounted to the east wall. Kurtzman and the others turned their attention to the display and Price wandered toward the wall for a closer look.

      Orson’s blog page featured his photograph along with a series of entries logged over the past week. Delahunt had highlighted one entered a few hours earlier.

      I’ve been betrayed! the post read. I just came back from running errands and my workshop’s been cleaned out. Everything! My life’s work! Gone! It could only be one person. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and a chance at a new life, and this is how he repays me? By playing me for a fool? A word to the wise out there: never trust a drug addict, no matter how clean they claim to be.

      “Whoa,” Tokaido muttered once he’d read the dispatch.

      “This would certainly explain why he didn’t show up at the airport,” Huntington Wethers said.

      “Maybe,” Kurtzman replied, his brow furrowed. “Maybe not.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “I don’t know,” Kurtzman said. “Something about it doesn’t smell right.”

      “I skimmed a few of the earlier blogs,” Delahunt said. “If it’s the ranting that throws you, he’s gone off a few other times about other things.”

      Kurtzman shook his head. “No, I don’t think it’s that. It all just seems a little too pat. And I’m not just talking about why the guy felt he had to go blabbing to the world about this. Me? Something like that happens, I’d skip the ‘press conference’ and just take care of business.”

      “I’m thinking the same thing,” Price said. She turned to Delahunt and Tokaido. “Is there anything in either the blogs or background check that could give us an idea who this drug addict might be?”