by Alton Reich
Jordan and the rest of the team stayed in the conference room for a few minutes after Martin left to go observe the autopsy of the latest victim. Special Agent Jameson produced an address for Joe Richards, on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn and took a few minutes to make sure Jordan knew how to get there. Then Jameson escorted them back to the elevator.
"Good luck," he said shaking Jordan's hand, "let me know if you need anything."
"Thanks," Jordan replied, "you can be sure you'll be the first to know if we come up with anything."
The remaining members of ZULU took the elevator down and Jordan stopped them all in the lobby. "You be careful down there," he said to Leo, Zenya, Jim and Vanessa. "What ever we're dealing with, it's dangerous."
"We know, Chief," Jim said, "Unlike subway workers, we're prepared," he said patting the side of his coat.
"Just come back in one piece," Jordan urged.
They walked to the back of the building where they signed out a couple of extra cars from the motor pool. Fortunately there were some luxuries availible to them in NY that they hadn't had in Montana.
They split up, and headed in their seperate directions.
***
The man walked down Avenue J and couldn't have been more unremarkable. He was an old man in a neighborhood full of old men. The newest apartment building on the block had been built in 1950, and some of the residents in it and neighboring building had moved in when they were completed.
He stopped at the newstand under the railroad tracks and bought a copy of the New York Post. It wasn't as prestigious as the Times, but he wasn't as interested in hard news as he had once been. He handed his money to the cashier, and picked up the copy from the top of the pile. He glanced at the headline, something about the President again and turned the paper over. The back cover noted that the Yankees had won again. He opened to the sports section to see how the Mets had done, 1969 had made him a fan.
He scanned through the paper from the back to the front as he made his way back toward his apartment. A small story on page 9 caught his attention. It didn't even have a bye line. Probably written by and intern, he thought. A subway worker had been mauled by an animal. The head of the MTA was urging that the trains and platforms were still safe. The man nodded his agreement, at least for now.
***
It took Jordan almost two hours to go the 30 miles to Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn. It seemed that he was stuck in traffic the entire way. He turned off of Flatbush Avenue at Avenue K and turned on to East 24th Street. Joe Richards' house was narrow, two story, and brick, like the other houses along the block. From the architecture, Jordan guessed it was built during the post World War 2 building boom in the late 40's.
He rang the door bell and it was answered by Joe Richards.
***
Jordan emerged about half an hour later with little more information than he had entered with. Jameson was right that Richards had told his story to the Police. Jordan asked some of the same questions, hoping to jog some new memory loose, but the answers were the same. He walked down the brick steps dreading the return trip to Manhattan.
He walked toward his car and saw movement next to him. An elderly man stepped out from behind some bushes and fell into step with him.
"I need to talk to you," the man said.
"So talk," Jordan said.
The man looked around furtively, "Not here. Is your car close by?"
"Just up ahead," Jordan replied, "What's this about?"
"I'll tell you once we're in the car."
Jordan unlocked the car while the old man stepped around to the passenger side. Jordan looked him over, sizing up the danger he represented. Jordan got in and waited for the old man to be seated next to him.
"We'll?" Jordan asked once the man was settled.
"Aren't you going to drive around at least?"
Jordan started the car and pulled out from the curb. The old man said nothing for a few minutes, then he asked, "Who do you work for?"
"The FBI, I'm Agent Jordan Stern, and you are?" Jordan extended his hand as best he could.
The man shook it briefly, "Benjamin Goldman. I'm surprised they didn't send someone from DOD."
"Why is that?"
"Did you ever hear about Project Grey Wolf, Agent Stern?"
"No. Should I have?"
"I don't suppose you would have. You've heard of Brookhaven National Laboratory, no?"
"Yes," Jordan replied, "It's on Long Island."
"I used to work there, during the war. It was a project where we asked what we could do without considering if we should do it. There was concern among biologists, probably genticists is a better term, although in those days genetics was a new thing. Anyway, we were concerned Hitler was trying to improve on the human species. All his talk about a 'master race' seemed to indicate that he was."
"There's some indication among historical records that he was," Jordan replied.
"Yes, but not the way we thought he was. We though that he had the ability to tinker with DNA and make improvements. It worried us, because we knew we weren't that advanced. The DOD, in those days it was called the War Department, assembled a group of us and asked us what we could do to counter the German threat. We couldn't bring ourselves to experiment on human subjects the way we'd heard those Nazi bastards had," Goldman said emphaticly.
"So what did you do?"
"Well, we had to do something. The government wanted something that was powerful, deadly, and could be controlled," Goldman sniffled, and tears began to well up in his eyes, "We turned to man's best friend."
"Dogs?" Jordan asked.
"I'm so ashamed, even after all these years. We took a group of German Shepards, and began to experiment. Simple things at first, increases in size and strength. We had even achieved moderate increses in intelligence before the war ended."
"Then what happened?"
"I really don't know," Goldman said, pausing to blow his nose, "The project was ended and the facility closed. We were all sent off in different directions. Many of us left Government service and went to Universities. I taught at Brooklyn Polytechnic for almost 40 years."
"Thank you Dr. Goldman. You've been very helpful," Jordan said turning the nformation over in his head. "Where can I drop you off?"
"Over here is fine."
Jordan looked and saw that he'd been driving in circles. He pulled over and handed Goldman his card.
NRPG:
Sorry for the long silence, but you guys seem to take anything we start and run with it. Thanks for your condolences, I really appreciated it.
The info in this post might be relavant, it depends on what we do with it. It's a potential source of the thing in the subway, but I'm sure there are others.