The Judas Project. Don Pendleton

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      No one else had any flashes of inspiration, so they spent some time going over what they had, pushing theories back and forth.

      “Did Akira’s suggestion about the three dead men being into computing go any further?” Bolan asked.

      “Yes. He did find out they were all familiar with the latest technology. Systems. Security advances. They took every IT course they could log onto. These guys were heavily into it. You have an idea?”

      “Pretty loose at the moment,” Bolan stated. “We have three dead men. It’s becoming more than likely they were foreign agents sent to the U.S. to assimilate into society and stay low. Each has a tattoo that appears to contain some number-letter sequence, meaning unknown at the moment. Our guys were all into finance-based employment and also heavily into computer knowledge, which in today’s climate isn’t suspect in itself, but could be.”

      “Don’t forget Judas,” Tokaido prompted.

      “My next piece of the puzzle. Judas walked with all the other disciples. Passed himself off as one of them, while all the time he was working against them. Just what a sleeper does. Then Judas broke his trust and betrayed those who saw him as a good guy.”

      “Okay,” Price said. “The Judas analogy works fine. But where is the betrayal here? Were our sleepers here to betray someone? Set him up as an assassination target?”

      “Think about that.”

      “Why so many men?” Price asked. “An assassination wouldn’t need that many, would it?”

      “Good point,” Bolan said. “And a hit against a current figure doesn’t gel with a sleeper put in place for a long period. People and situations change over the years. Your assassin is more likely to be inserted in the short term.”

      “So no individual hit?”

      Bolan shook his head. “Not someone. I’m thinking something. This looks like a complicated operation. A killing is a relatively simple matter. A target. A weapon. An operator. I believe these guys were going after something bigger, and not a bomb or a bioweapon.”

      “Striker, even my head is starting to spin,” Brognola said. “Is there a payoff here?”

      “Speculation at the moment. Theorizing. But I’m looking at the special interest in computers and the financial backgrounds all these guys had. And then Black Judas. I remember one of Katz’s favorite words when he was building scenarios—extrapolation, making an educated guess at a possible conclusion once facts were brought together. In this case I’m linking Black Judas to Black Monday. I think we all remember that day in ’87 when the stock market went haywire.”

      “Okay,” Brognola said, pushing to his feet. He took a moment to consider what he was about to authorize. “I believe we have enough to initiate an initial probe.”

      “More than enough,” Kurtzman said.

      “Okay, people. I need to bring the Man up to speed. He’s going to grumble about the possible effects on U.S.-Russian relations. I’ll have to put the emphasis on possible illegal Russian presence within our borders. I guess that should convince him we have enough to look into this. Press the Go button, Barb. We need to be on the starting blocks. You ready to move out, Striker?”

      Bolan picked up his copy of the file. “Give me an hour to run through this again and I’ll suit up.”

      “Any thoughts where you might be heading?” Price inquired.

      “Spokane first, then Grand Rapids. See if I can pick anything up from the crime scenes. Liaise with the local P.D.”

      “I’ll set up flights,” Price said, “and arrange for rentals at each airport.”

      “If you get to talk to the cops, check out whether they got hold of the victims’ computers,” Kurtzman said. “If they have them, I could do with downloading whatever’s stored. Might add to our information.”

      “You’ll be going in under Justice Department cover,” Brognola added. “I’ll call ahead and tell them we would appreciate their help. Aaron, what do you need?”

      “Internet link is all. I can go in and pull out what I need from that.”

      “If they know we’re downloading data, the cops might start asking questions,” Bolan said. “Cooperation is one thing. Downloading from a victim’s computer might hit their suspicion button.”

      “Tell them all you need is ten minutes to have a look at their e-mails,” Kurtzman said. “My program can worm inside and download without even showing on screen once you get me Internet access. Nothing will be deleted and they won’t know.” He grinned broadly. “Sneaky, am I not?”

      “You have no competition,” Bolan said. “Okay, Hal, set it up.”

      CHAPTER FOUR

      Natasha Tchenko had flown from Moscow to Heathrow Airport, in the UK, where she had been met by a cousin she hadn’t seen for many years. She spent almost a week in London, and carried out the first part of her plan by tracking down one of the men she had been looking for. She had gotten his name from the hired thug who had attacked her in the basement garage under her apartment. Before she had rendered him unconscious she had extracted the name of the man who had given him instructions on how to find her. She kept that part to herself, planning to deal with Ilya Malenkov her own way. All she had told people was that she needed a long vacation to get over the sudden deaths of her family. Her main goal remained her secret. If she had even hinted at what she hoped to achieve, she would not have been able to proceed.

      It was in London that the first moves in the tracking of her family’s killers started. Using the information she had gained, she located Malenkov.

      ILYA MALENKOV had paused at the entrance to the house, his feelings of uncertainty rising again. He half turned to look back over his shoulder, expecting to see someone watching. Apart from a couple of pedestrians at the far end, the street was deserted. The only movements close by were leaves from the trees blowing along the sidewalk. Even though he felt a little foolish, Malenkov took his time checking out the area until he was satisfied his feelings had proved false. Only then did he push open the door and step inside. Closing the door behind him he felt the silence of the house wrap itself around him. It still amazed him that despite being in one of the busiest cities in the world, here inside this house it was so quiet, removed from the frantic pace of London.

      Malenkov shrugged out of his topcoat and hung it on one of the hooks in the narrow hallway. He felt the chill in the house and realized he had forgotten again to put on the heating before he went out. He moved along the hall to the door that led into the kitchen. As he pushed it open, his world went dark and silent around him as something slammed across the back of his skull….

      HIS FIRST IMPRESSION WAS of bitter cold. Not just the chill he had felt earlier, but a persuasive cold that pervaded his whole body. The air he breathed in held a dampness that went with the smell of mildew. Malenkov tried to move, then realized he was unable. His wrists and ankles were bound and when he forced open his eyes he saw he was tied to the arms and legs of a wooden chair.

      He realized he was completely naked, as well, his body pale and so chilled he was shivering. Now he could feel a sickly ache across the СКАЧАТЬ