Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 4, April 1980

“According to your 201 file, you’re an orphan. Your foster parents supposedly lost your adoption papers. This effectively concealed the truth. While still a child, you were smuggled into America to be groomed for sleeper duty in Army intelligence. Your ‘foster parents’ are probably agents as well who furthered your training for espionage activities. We’ll contact the FBI concerning them and we’ll have everyone that supplied you with any type of references throughly investigated as well.”

Cross’ features darkened. “This is all crap, Lansing. I was the one that favored SMITTEN in the first place...”

“Of course you did,” Lansing agreed. “If you could have succeeded in setting up such a defense system in USAEUR, sabotaging it would be child’s play. If the U.S. forces in Germany were associated with a nuclear disaster in Europe it would certainly hurt our military involvement here and might even result in a total withdrawal of USAEUR troops. The advantages to the Iron Curtain countries would be obvious.

“Lieutenant Benton, however, began to suspect you were an enemy agent. He probably didn’t accept the official version concerning Lundy’s death. Considering his own political views, it must have been difficult for Benton to face the more shadowy aspects of international relations. But he had the courage to look for the truth. Unfortunately, you also suspected him. Maybe you discovered what sort of books he’d gotten from the post library. At any rate, you arranged another ‘accident’ for your CO.

“You couldn’t have known about SMITTEN until you came to Europe, so you must have had an Iron Curtain operative, probably disguised as a German National, somewhere in the country. They supplied you with information, your lethal ‘cigarette lighter’ and plastic explosives. Perhaps you decided to sabotage the car to throw suspicion on Sergeant Smith in case the bomb was discovered. However, Smith is a demolitions expert and he wouldn’t have made the mistake with the timers as you did. Also, Smith had no reason to kill Lundy. Smothers could probably blow up a car, but he probably doesn’t know what C-Four is, let alone how to use it. But an espionage agent, trained since childhood, would.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something, Major?” Cross said, a slight tremble working its way into his voice, “Benton’s last words were ‘Sm—’. My name doesn’t begin with ‘S m’, Smith and Smothers’ do. The SMITTEN project was scrapped by Washington over a month ago. So why would Benton try to say anything about it if he thought I’d sabotaged his car?”

“Benton wasn’t trying to say SMITTEN or Smith or Smothers’,” Lansing replied. “He was trying to say the name of an organization, SMERSH, a special section of the KGB that deals in espionage, sabotage and assassinations,” Lansing shook his head. “I’ve got you cold, Cross and you know it.”

“All right,” the Captain said, his voice a harsh whisper. “So you’ve got me. But when its all over, my side will be the winner.”

“That remains to be seen,” Lansing said dryly. “Well, Sergeant. Would you like to help me escort Captain Cross to his new lodgings?”

“Yes, sir,” Smith nodded woodenly. “But I do have one question. You said the report from the states claimed an autopsy revealed traces of phenobarbital or valium in Specialist Lundy’s body. I thought he was emblamed before they shipped him out of USAEUR. I’m surprised there was anything left to find.”

“Actually, Sergeant, I wasn’t being entirely truthful,” Lansing admitted with a thin smile. “It is true that the CID at Fort Jackson contacted my office today concerning what happened to Lundy’s corpse. However, his family never ordered an autopsy. In fact, they had the body cremated the day it arrived.”

The Sweetest Revenge by Diane Chapman

His life was not worth living, so there was only one thing to do. End it!

* * *

THREE FIFTEEN A.M.

Dense fog covered the deserted bridge. Dr. Eldon McKinney eased the sleek Mercedes sedan to a stop against the low wall that separated the pavement from the walkway. He vaulted the wall, took off his Pierre Cardin jacket, folded it and put it on the ground.

The wallet from his back pocket. He thumbed through it. Eleven dollars. Sixty thousand in savings lost on worthless stock in the past two months. The big house mortgaged to pay off the bookie.

He flipped through the credit cards and smiled briefly at his distinguished bearded portrait on the bank card. All completely overcharged. He had been thorough. With her taste for luxurious living, how shocked Carol would be to find herself bankrupt.

He put the wallet down exactly in the center of the jacket.

The gold watch from his wrist. He looked at the engraving on its back: To Eldon, love always, Carol.