The Ganymede Project

by Susan Glinert Stevens

  “I’m sorry,” the Clerk said. “I can’t release any of these animal bodies.”

  “Why not?” Yuri asked.

  “We got a message saying they all had to be turned over to a special OSHA task force.” He snickered. “Sounds crazy, huh? Hey—maybe OSHA is going to write a reg making rats wear helmets.” He drummed on the counter, laughing at his own punch line.

  “Has the Vet Lab ever done this before—failed to release animals to a team investigating a possible homicide?”

  “Nope. Never. But, hey—I don’t make the rules, y’know? Seriously, though, you might ask them for special permission. The guy to call is Mister Chisholm. I can give you his number, or I can call him for you.”

  “No. It’s not that important. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Say, can I get you to sign the log? I’m supposed to keep track of people who ask about these particular animals.”

  He signed it,I. Jones . “Gotta run, sorry.”

  * * *

  Yuri opened the door to Agent Stone’s office and looked in. “Got a minute?” he asked.

  “Sure, c’mon in. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, but just haven’t had the time. What’s up?” Stone swiveled around in the chair behind his desk, meeting Yuri’s eyes.

  “Well... first, I’d like to welcome you to the Bureau.” Behind a benign smile, Yuri watched Stone’s reaction.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Personnel said you just transferred here from another Federal agency.”

  “Oh, right.” He crossed a leg, folded his arms and pushed back from the desk, body language sending ‘barrier’ signals. “It’s supposed to be something of a secret. Please don’t spread it around. They wanted me to head up the investigation of this embassy death—because of all the political ramifications.”

  “Yeah. That’s the truth!” Yuri said, still smiling. “That brings me to the other reason I’m here—politics. I had a meeting with the Russians today.”

  “And? What are they up to besides making fools of themselves?”

  “It’s true. They have a crazy story. They say the U.S. Government can either hand over an out-of-control bureaucrat, or they can watch the Russian Government release everything they know about some secret conspiracy.”

  “Did they describe this conspiracy to you?” Stone asked, tapping a pencil nervously on his desk.

  Yuri waited several seconds before replying. “No. They just said it’s the damnedest thing you’ve ever heard. Weird. Maybe they’re hallucinating just like Lewis Weddell.”

  “Who’s he?”

  Yuri looked firmly at Stone. “Somebody I put in prison a while back for stealing government secrets, including some very advanced technology.”

  Stone smiled a tense smile, tipped back in his chair, and pressed a pencil to his lip, creating a dark spot. “You’re out of your league, Sverdlov.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know you’re trying to do your FBI job—and doing it very well, I might add—but what you see here is not reality.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “When George Nathan, your CIA mentor, helped you get this job, I was the one who gave him the approval. I told him to make it clear that we would test you from time to time. Did he tell you that?”

  Yuri blinked in astonishment. He held his body stiffly, trying not to register the verbal punch that caved in his stomach.

  “It’s now test time, Agent Sverdlov. When I assigned you to the Russian Embassy, I did it because they trust you. They have confidence in you. I also did it because you’re a Company man. That has priority over everything else.”

  He looked at Yuri, trying to understand what Yuri really believed.

  “It was good that you came to me with this information about the Russians. We like to keep a step ahead of them,” he said, pulling his lip back in a slow, wide smile. “You have a part in a very elaborate, diplomatic dance. The Russians step one way, we step another way, you are dancing in the middle. At the moment, that’s your job.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I will give you the choreography, Agent Sverdlov, and you will follow it. Precisely. That’s an order. You know how to follow orders, right?”

  Yuri nodded, slowly.

  Stone smiled again. “You’re a man of conscience. That’s why you’re here, at the FBI. Let me assure you that the Russians are wrong. They’ve uncovered something, but it’s not what they think. Don’t let them use you to steal vital national secrets. Don’t betray your country.”

  “You can count on me, Sir,” Yuri whispered.

  “Good. I thought you’d feel that way.” Stone’s mouth twitched with a sense of irony. “Anyway, how do the Russians expect us to find and prosecute some paranoid delusion?”

  “Yeah. How?” Yuri responded.

  * * *

  Mrs. Doonan, a septuagenarian whose eyes resembled the dog’s, shuffled out on the porch, leash in hand. “Gray’s a good ol’ dog, but he missed his master.”

  The dog spotted Deke and tongued his boots. “Woof!” he exclaimed, in a low, quiet dog voice.

  “Thanks for taking care of him, Virginia,” Deke said, opening the gate of the corporate truck. He lifted Gray into his arms. “Up ya go, boy.” He put the dog in, gave Virginia some money for her troubles and departed.

  As he drove back to the Center, Deke thought about options. The biggest immediate question was what to do about the code. It was a fantastic technology and he really wanted to explore its full potential. Having the code made you god-like. He enjoyed omniscience. He could imagine publishing the newsletter with hints of the conspiracy. The government people would scratch their heads, marveling at the perspicacity of these two weirdoes living in a trailer in Rachel, Nevada. Their readership would grow tremendously, since everyone loves a conspiracy. The government would deny everything, of course, leaving the situation ambiguous. But the government’s hands would be tied. If they were two overt, they would be exposed. The house of cards would come tumbling down.

  Deke opened the trailer door, excited about weaving the wicked web. He sat down in front of the machine, cracking his knuckles like a piano player preparing for a concert.

  Odd, he thought.Could’ve sworn I left the computer on . It was corporate policy to turn the displays off but leave the CPUs powered up. Maybe the power went off, he thought, pushing a button. The system booted up.

  There was another oddity. The Macintosh Finder always placed windows exactly where the user had left them—even when it rebooted. They were not in the usual place.Someone screwed with the system!

  He hurriedly opened the hard drive. In his In Box, there was the message titled “?.” He also found “Blue Rook” in the expected place on the Apple Control Panel menu. He verified that it still showed the LANL classified file system.

  His paranoia escalated rapidly. He decided to thoroughly search the place. He was in the process of unscrewing light fixtures and electrical outlets, looking for bugs, when Gray announced intruders.

  Deke rushed outside.

  Two men, dressed in black, approached on foot. When he spotted them, they were several hundred yards away, walking purposefully toward the trailer. Their figures shimmered in the heat, like wavy, fluid smoke trails. As they got closer, Deke could see they wore dark suits and carried briefcases. Dark brimmed hats hid their faces in mid-day shadows. They stopped near the edge of the road, on the threshold of the walkway.

  They smiled at Deke.

  “May we come in?” one of them asked.

  Deke did not respond. Gray’s barking was now loud and continuous.

  The taller man spoke in a firm voice. “You have to invite us in. That’s how it works.”

  Deke nodded slowly.

  Both men stepped through the gate. Gray stopped barking, rolled onto his back and assumed a submissive whine. The two men smiled down on the dog.

  “We came to share a secret with you,” the tall man said.

  “What kind of a secret?” Deke aske
d, uncomfortably.

  “He’s watching you!”

  Deke felt his throat clutch. The fingers on one hand trembled. He put the hand in his pocket and tried to act casual. “So they know, then?”

  “Everything! He can read your mind.”

  “Am I going to get in trouble?”

  Deke felt his heart thumping in his chest. He felt sweat breaking on his brow. He needed to urinate badly.

  The tall man slowly put down his briefcase, moved close to Deke and wrapped a comforting hand around his shoulder. He looked into Deke’s face.

  “He knows you’ve done wrong, but he forgives you.”

  “Oh...” Deke said, quivering. “I didn’t mean it. Honest! I was only trying to... I mean, I thought...”

  “Hush. He forgives you...”

  Deke sobbed on the man’s shoulder. “I only did what it said. It came attached to some e-mail. It wasn’t me that did it. The computer program did it!”

  “What e-mail?” asked the short man.

  “What computer program?” asked the tall man, looking quizzically at Deke’s face.

  Deke shoved away from the tall man’s grip, stumbling backwards onto the steps of the trailer. “Who are you guys!” he yelled.

  The short man opened his briefcase and removed a flyer. He handed it to Deke. It was labeledThe Watchtower .

  “Jeez! You guys are Jehovah’s Witnesses?”

  “We’ve come to help you,” the tall man said.

  “Gray...” Deke said, sternly. The dog’s ears perked. Gray stood up. “Kill!” The dog wagged a tail, whined and rolled onto its back.

  * * *

  Yuri loitered in a coffee shop across from the OSHA building, watching, thinking.When your partner is killed, you’re supposed to do something. When the law is broken, you’re supposed to do something. And when your handler tells you to dance, like a monkey on a string, you’re supposed to do something .So why don’t I know what to do?Why is it that nothing seems solid ?Why does my gut feel like I’m in free-fall ?

  Across the street, the door opened and Chisholm came out, dressed in seersucker. There was something bulky under his left arm, inside the suit coat.A gun?

  Yuri left money to cover the food bill and followed on foot and through the Metro. He and his quarry ended up at a fashionable deli in the Crystal City underground. It had a large glass window that looked out into the exterior passageway. The place was packed with people eating a late lunch.

  Chisholm had no idea he was being followed. He entered the deli and waved. “No table yet?” he asked.

  Stone was already in line. He returned the wave. “It’s gonna be about five minutes, Gill. I’ve asked for a corner table.”

  Stone thought he saw someone familiar in the hallway outside the deli.Sverdlov?

  The face vanished in the crowd.

  52. IN THE STYX

  21 July 1994

  Yuri put a coin into the phone and dialed. The embassy switchboard answered. He asked for Major Katrina Fontanova’s office.

  “Fontanova.”

  He spoke in Russian. “It’s me.”

  A moment of silence followed as Katrina resolved the ambiguity. Finally, she responded. “Hello.”

  “I couldn’t get any of the animal bodies. Thereis something funny going on. I can’t tell you any more until I’ve figured a few things out.”

  “Be careful,” she said.

  “Can you take me to Chandra’s lab?”

  “Be at the embassy in 45 minutes.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  They hung up.

  * * *

  Did someone break into the Center? Deke wasn’t sure, but he was very suspicious. His nearest neighbor lived half a mile away. A break-in could easily occur in broad daylight with no witnesses. There was too much at stake here. He should have left Gray at the trailer and paid Virginia to visit him. Gray was a good watchdog. It was the one job he knew how to do—sort of. So much for 20/20 hindsight.

  Deke entered a coffee shop in downtown Rachel. A jingling bell announced his arrival. “Hi, Trudy. I need coffee, a doughnut and some information.”

  “The coffee and doughnut are free, but information will cost you.”

  Deke grinned. “I always pay informants top money. I thought something in the neighborhood of a buck twenty-five might clear your mind.”

  “Plus tip,” she said with a poker face, only half joking.

  “You drive a hard bargain, but okay.”

  She produced the coffee and doughnut. “Whatcha need?”

  “I think someone broke into the trailer when I was away. I know you live along that road. See anything unusual the last couple of days?”

  “Don’t pay much attention to road traffic. Got other interests, if ya’ know what I mean.” She took a sip of his coffee, then perked up.

  “Why not ask Mister Busybody?”

  “You mean—”

  “Randall Sandall.”

  Deke rolled his eyes.

  “Sorry. That’s my advice. Buck twenty-five, please. Plus tip.”

  * * *

  Katrina waited for Yuri, watching late afternoon sun dance with airborne dust in a shaft of light.

  Sometimes you see a solid,sometimes a dark vacancy, sometimes a specular blend, but always movement.Where in this spectrum is Yuri Sverdlov?Is his trust solid, or is he an opportunist—like me ?

  She remembered how John Anderson had trusted her, before she led him, unsuspecting, to Gallagan. In spite of that betrayal, he now helped her. She remembered setting the honey trap for Yuri. If there was now a tenuous trust where none existed before, it was because each of them had nowhere else to go. Trust made them vulnerable. Trust made them strong. A paradox.

  Yuri and the janitor arrived, shadows rippling across their bodies. She followed them, listening to their footsteps echo along a corridor in a professional building near Johns Hopkins University.

  This was the beginning of swing shift for the janitorial services. Business hours were over. The building was almost empty.

  “Doc Chandra hasn’t been here for over a week,” the janitor said. “I guess this is okay, though, you bein’ FBI and all. He’s pretty particular about who he lets in.”

  “Know when he’ll be back?” Yuri asked.

  “Nope.”

  The Janitor sorted through a tangle of keys on a ring.

  “Ah, here’s the rascal,” he said, keys jingling. He unlocked the door to the lab. “Don’t know nuthin’ about any lab stuff. George is his assistant. He c’n probably tell ya’ about it. When Doc’s not here, George only comes in mornin’s. Y’know how it is. Just to feed the rats.”

  “Yeah,” Yuri said. “I know how it is.”

  “Always glad to help the FBI. Just close the door when you’re done. It’ll lock itself.” He departed amid shuffling echoes that died long after he rounded a corner, invisible.

  Yuri bit his lip, studying Katrina’s fine-boned cheeks and high brow, sketched in chiaroscuro by fading light.How can I be sure of her ? he wondered.Trust involves total communication, even the communication of secrets .

  “I’m taking a big chance with you here, Ms. Fontanova.”

  “I know,” she replied, softly.

  They went in.

  * * *

  “Watch what Barney can do. It’s amazing!Kill ,” he said.

  Deke watched Mister Randall R. Sandall, The Third, throw a sock ball in front of his dog, Barney.

  Randall R. Sandall—double-’L’, double-’L.’ Middle ‘R.’ He had named his son Randall R. Sandall, The Fourth. All male members of the Sandall dynasty were distinguished from each other by a cipher.

  The sock ball rolled on the ground and stopped. Barney sniffed it, then sat on his hind feet.

  “What a great trick!” Deke said. “It’s like the trick that my dog does. Now I have a question...”

  “Ha, ha!” Mister Sandall said. “That’s just thefirst part of the trick. It gets better.”

  “Better?�
�

  Randall R. Sandall, The Third, winked at Deke and tossed the sock ball again. This time, he yelled “BLM!” First the dog growled. Then the dog barked. Then it ripped the sock ball apart in a fierce struggle.

  “I can see where the trick would come in handy. BLM? As in Bureau of Land Management?”

  “You got it. Now what’s on your mind, son?”

  “I think someone broke into my place when I was gone. See anything suspicious along that road these last couple of days?”

  “Reminds me of the time they broke into my place,” said Mister Randall R. Sandall, the Third, sitting down. He creaked back and forth in a rocker near the front of his store. “Ten years ago. Did I ever tell you about that? The hobo?”

  “No,” Deke said, looking at his watch. “Thank God. I mean, thank God you’re still okay. You could have been killed.”

  Randall Sandall smiled and creaked some more. Deke made a mental note to award him the ‘Most Boring Person I Have Ever Met’ medallion for life-long achievement. Randall Sandall was truly gifted. He knew a billion ways to induce stupor, deep slumber or stoppage of the heart.

  “Look, I just want to know if you saw anyone or anything along the road to our trailer these last couple of days.”

  “Maybe.”

  He squinted. He twisted. He scratched his head, hoping to sprout an idea.

  “Blue truck,” he finally said. “That was it. A blue truck. Want to see another trick?”

  * * *

  Yuri and Katrina entered the darkened lab, where equipment glowed with unblinking red eyes and animals rustled, unseen.

  Yuri switched on a bank of fluorescent lights that oscillated on and off, ticking fitfully, spooking rats inside two wire cages. The lights settled into a steady, green-tinged burn, casting double shadows on workstations and video monitors atop nearby desks.