Black Wolf

25

Chisinau, Moldova

The Black Wolf had considered this job many times. He hadn’t wished for it but sensed that someday it would come. And now it had.

He didn’t like Nudstrumov at all. In the begi

He would take him leaving his office, going from the door to the car. It was easier than the house, where there would be some inconvenience getting in. The office, though, was all routine. Nudstrumov parked in the same place, left at the same time, always at ten past three. He was a most punctual man.

The Black Wolf chose his weapon—a Dragunov SVD-S with a folding butt, very common and untraceable. Technically not a sniper rifle, but he would be shooting from only across the street. The semiautomatic gun and its lead core bullets were extremely accurate.

He had already scoped the roof of the building across the street. Getting away would be as easy there as anywhere else.

It was all a matter of pla

He checked his watch. It was past one. He had less than two hours to get into position.

26

Chisinau, Moldova

Two doctors worked at the clinic on Thursdays. One was a woman. The other was a man in his sixties named Andrei Nudstrumov.

Nudstrumov had an extensive medical background that did not intersect with Dr. Ivanski’s at all. He had come to Romania from Russia five years before, applying for medical certification. His background was extensive and he was granted “all honors,” as the registering agency called it.

He was an endocrinologist. Ivanski had been a general practitioner.

Still, Nuri was sure the two men were the same. Da

MY-PID then correlated that series of purchases to a somewhat similar set by a third man—or at least a third name. This man had been making regular visits to the area over the past seven years. The match was not perfect—there were a few additional charges in the mix—but several things immediately jumped out at Nuri as he looked at the pattern: the visits were only once a year, at the same time of year, and the card was only used for those visits.

The man’s name was Rustam Gorgov. According to the records, he owned property in the area—a large farm about two kilometers outside of town.

So why did he stay at a motel?

“Maybe he’s got his mother-in-law at the farm,” said Flash. “That would do it.”

Flash and Da

“You sure these are all the same person?” Da

“Of course not,” said Nuri. “But here’s what I think. Ivanski stayed in Moldova after the camp was closed. But he didn’t practice medicine, for whatever reason. At some point either he got antsy or needed money. He adopted Nudstrumov’s identity.”

“Or he was Nudstrumov, and living in Russia,” offered Da

“Exactly. He buys the property under the Moldovan name, but for some reason decides he can’t practice as Ivanski. He already had his credentials, but maybe it’s the co

“And Rustam Gorgov?” asked Da

“Totally fictitious—the computer hasn’t found any other data on him at all. I’m sure there’s more. We just haven’t found it.”

“Where’s the co

“We don’t know yet,” said Nuri. “That’s why we keep looking. But there’s definitely enough that’s suspicious.”

“Maybe he’s just trying to keep an affair quiet,” said Flash. “Or he’s a drug dealer on the side.”

“He may grow marijuana on that farm,” said Nuri. “It’s a cash crop in Moldova. We have to check it out.”

“Man, I wish we’d do something more than check things out,” said Flash. “I’m getting—stale, I guess.”

Da

God, he thought, we’re miles and miles away from getting a real handle on this.

“The doctor may take us to some other co

“The problem is time,” answered Da

“I can follow the leads here,” answered Nuri. “You can get back to Kiev.”

“We may do that.” Da

Nuri checked the signal on the tracking device, to make sure it was working. The radio signal was being sent through a commercial GPS satellite system, and was accurate to within roughly a third of a meter. Adapted from a commercial design used to track trucks over the highway, the device worked extremely well in open areas. Inside cities it could be problematic, however, as the larger buildings and other obstacles occasionally shielded the signal.

Nuri was sure they were tantalizingly close to figuring this out. All they needed was one more strategic bit of information and they’d know where and who these guys were.

They might already have it. He had originally thought the doctor was an unlikely choice to be the leader of the assassin group, but the fact that he had at least two other aliases gave him some hope. Underlings, he reasoned, had no need for multiple names.

Nuri didn’t buy most of the speculation about the human experiments. He thought Stoner was probably involved, but wondered if the helicopter crash hadn’t somehow been arranged. That wasn’t something the Agency would be too ready to admit or even investigate—it implied that whatever intelligence they’d gathered in the Revolution operation—Da

Stoner.

Maybe Stoner had felt the Agency was closing in. Maybe he just wanted a change of venue. Or occupation.

Becoming an assassin, Nuri thought—well, there was a money-making retirement option he had never thought of.

His watch beeped. It was 3:00 P.M.

At exactly 3:05, MY-PID a