MAHONEY AND I WATCHED as the breach team moved quickly on the small inconsequential-looking house. The six agents were outfitted in black-on-black flight suits and body armor. The side yard was littered with two more junked vehicles, a small car and a Dodge truck, and a lot of spare parts for appliances like refrigerators and air conditioners. There was a standing urinal out back that looked as if it had come from a tavern.The house windows were dark even though it was midday. Was Audrey Meek in there? Was she alive? I hoped that she was. It was a huge break if we got her back now. Especially since everybody thought she was probably dead.But something about the raid bothered me.Not that it mattered now.There is no "knock and announce" protocol when HRT is involved. No talking, no negotiating, no political correctness.I watched two agents breach the front door. They started to go inside the suspect"s house.Suddenly, a m.u.f.fled boom. The agents at the front door went down. One of them didn"t get up. The other got up and stumbled away from the house. It was awful to witness, a complete shock."Bomb," said Mahoney in surprise and anger. "He musta b.o.o.by-trapped the door."By then, the four other agents were inside the house. They had gone in through the back and side doors. There were no more explosions, so the other doors hadn"t been b.o.o.by-trapped. Two HRT agents approached the wounded pair at the front of the house. They pulled away the agent who hadn"t moved since the blast.Mahoney and I ran as fast as we could toward the house. He kept repeating "f.u.c.k" over and over. There were no gunshots coming from inside.I was suddenly afraid Farley wasn"t even in the house. I prayed that Audrey Meek wasn"t already dead in there. Everything was feeling so wrong to me. This wasn"t how I would have done the raid. The FBI! I had always hated and distrusted these b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, and now I was one of them.Then I heard, "Secure! Secure!" And "We have a suspect! We"ve got him! It"s Farley. There"s a woman here too!"What woman? Mahoney and I barged in through the side door. I saw thick smoke everywhere. The house reeked of the explosive, but also of marijuana and greasy cooking. We made our way back to a bedroom off a small living room.A naked man and woman were spread-eagled on the bare wooden floor of the bedroom. The woman on the floor wasn"t Audrey Meek. She was heavy, at least forty or fifty pounds overweight. Rafe Farley looked to be close to three hundred pounds and had hideous clumps of red hair not only on his head but all over his body.An old poster for the movie Cool Hand Luke was taped over a king-size bed that had no sheets or covers. Nothing else caught my eye.Farley was screaming at us, his face deep crimson. "I have rights! I have G.o.dd.a.m.n legal rights! You b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are in real trouble."I had a feeling that he might be right, and that if this screaming man had kidnapped Mrs. Meek, she was already dead."You"re the one in trouble, fat boy!" an HRT agent barked in the suspect"s face. "You too, girlfriend!"Could this possibly be the couple who had taken Audrey Meek and Elizabeth Connolly?I didn"t see how.So who in h.e.l.l were they?
Chapter 39.
NED MAHONEY AND I were stuck in a close, dark pigsty of a bedroom with the suspect, Rafe Farley. The woman, who a.s.sured us she was his girlfriend, had put on a filthy bathrobe and been taken into the kitchen to be questioned.We were all angry about what had happened outside. Two agents had been wounded by a b.o.o.by trap. Rafe Farley was the closest thing we had to a break in the case, or a suspect.Things kept getting weirder. For starters, Farley spit at Mahoney and me until his mouth went dry. It was so strange and crazy that at one point, Ned and I just looked at each other and started to laugh."Think this is f.u.c.king funny?" Farley rasped from the edge of the bed, where he was lodged like a beached whale. We"d made him put on clothes, blue jeans and a work shirt, mostly because we couldn"t stand the sight of his big rolls of fat and his tattoos of naked women and a purple dragon eating a child."You"re going down on kidnap and murder charges," Mahoney snarled at him. "You injured two of my men. One might lose an eye.""You had no right comin_ in my house while I"m sleeping! I have enemies!" Farley yelled, and spit at Mahoney again. "You barge in here _cause I sell some weed? Or I screw a married broad who likes me more than she likes her old man?""Are you talking about Audrey Meek?" I asked.All of a sudden he went quiet. He stared at me, and his face and neck turned bright red. What was this? He wasn"t a good actor and he wasn"t real smart either."What the hollered you talking about? You been smoking my s.h.i.t?" Farley said finally. "Audrey Meek? That chick they kidnapped?"Mahoney leaned forward. "Audrey Meek. We know you know all about her, Farley. Where is she?"Farley"s piggy eyes seemed to be getting smaller. "How the h.e.l.l would I know where she is?"Mahoney kept at him. "You ever been in a chat room called Favorite Things Four?"Farley shook his head. "Never heard of it.""We have a record of your conversation, a.s.shole," Ned said. "You got a lot of explaining to do, Lucy."Farley looked confused. "Who the h.e.l.l is Lucy? What are you talking about, man? You mean, like, I Love Lucy?"Mahoney was good at keeping Farley off guard. I thought we were working okay together."You"ve got her in the woods somewhere in Jersey," Mahoney yelled, then stamped his foot hard."Did you hurt her? Is she all right? Where is Audrey Meek?" I picked up."Take us to her, Farley!""You"re going back to prison. This time, you don"t get out again," I shouted in his face.It was as if Farley were finally waking up. He squinted his eyes and stared hard at us. Lord, he smelled, especially now that he was scared."Wait a f.u.c.king minute. Now I get it. That Internet place? I was just showin" off.""What"s that supposed to mean?"Farley slumped down into himself as if we"d been beating him. uvorite Four is for freaks to talk. Everybody makes s.h.i.t up, man.""But you didn"t make up the stuff about Audrey Meek. You know things about her. You got it all right," I said."The b.i.t.c.h turns me on. She"s a fox. h.e.l.l, I collect catalogues from Meek, always have. All those skinny-a.s.s models look like they need a good unh, unh, uh!""You knew things about the abduction, Farley," I said."I read the newspapers, watch CNN. Who doesn"t? I told you, Audrey Meek turns me on. I wish I abducted her. You think I"d be sleeping with Cini if Audrey Meek was around here?"I jabbed an index finger at Farley. "You knew things that weren"t in the newspapers."He shook his huge head from side to side. Then he said, "Got a scanner. Listen in on police radios and such. s.h.i.t, I didn"t kidnap Audrey Meek. I wouldn"t have the b.a.l.l.s. I wouldn"t. I"m all talk, man."Mahoney cut in. "You had the b.a.l.l.s to rape Carly Hope," he said.Farley seemed to be shrinking inside himself again. "Nah, nah. It"s like I said in court. Carly was a girlfriend. I didn"t rape her none. I don"t have the b.a.l.l.s. I didn"t do nothing to Audrey Meek. I"m n.o.body. I"m nothing."Rafe Farley stared at us for a long moment. His eyes were bloodshot; everything about him was pathetic. I didn"t want to, but I was starting to believe him. I"m n.o.body. I"m nothing. That was Rafe Farley, all right.
Chapter 40.
SterlingMr. PotterThe Art DirectorSphinxMarvelThe WolfThe cover names sounded harmless, but the men behind them weren"t. During one session, Potter had nicknamed the group Monsters Inc. as a joke, and that was an accurate description. They were monsters, all of them. They were freaks; they were deviates and worse.And then there was the Wolf, who was in a whole other cla.s.s.They met on a secure Web site that was inaccessible to outsiders. All messages were encrypted and required a pair of keys: One key garbled the information; the second key was needed to recover it. More important, a hand scan was necessary to get onto the site. They were considering using a retinal scan or possibly an a.n.a.l probe.The subject under discussion was the Couple and what to do about them."What the h.e.l.l does that mean, what to do about them?" asked the Art Director, who was jokingly called Mr. Softee because he could get very emotional, the only one of them who ever did."It means just what it sounds like," answered Sterling. "There"s been a serious breach of security. Now we have to decide what to do about it. There"s been sloppiness, stupidity, and maybe worse than that. They were seen. It"s put us all in danger.""What are our options?" Art Director continued. "I"m almost afraid to ask."Sterling responded instantly. "Have you read the newspapers lately? Do you have a TV? A team of two took a woman in a mall in Atlanta, Georgia. They were spotted. A team of two abducted a woman in Pennsylvania and they were seen. Our options? Do absolutely nothing or do something extreme. An object lesson is needed for the other teams.""So what are we doing about the problem?" asked Marvel, who was usually spookily quiet but could be nasty when he was aroused."For one thing, I"ve shut down all deliveries for the moment," said Sterling."n.o.body told me about that!" Sphinx erupted. "I"m expecting a delivery. As all of you know, I paid a price for it. Why wasn"t I informed before now?"No one said anything to Sphinx for several seconds. No one liked him. Besides, each of them was a s.a.d.i.s.t. They enjoyed torturing Sphinx, or anyone else in the group who showed weakness."I expect my delivery!" Sphinx insisted. "I deserve it.You b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! f.u.c.k you all."Then he went off-line. In a huff. Typical Sphinx. Laughable, really, except none of them was laughing right now."The Sphinxter has left the building," Potter finally said.Then Wolf took over. "I think that"s enough idle chat for tonight, enough fun and games. I"m concerned about the news stories. We need to deal with the Couple in some decisive manner that satisfies me. What I propose is that we have another team pay them a visit. Is there any disagreement?"There was none, which wasn"t unusual when the Wolf had the floor. All of them were petrii of the Russian."There is some good news, though," Potter said then. "This fuss and attention...it is exciting, isn"t it? Gets the blood boiling. It"s a hoot, right?""You"re crazy, Potter. You"re mad.""Don"t you just love it?"The well-protected chat room was not protected enough.Suddenly, the Wolf said, "Don"t say another word. Not a word! I think someone else is on with us. Wait. They"re off now. Someone broke into the den and now they"re gone. Who could have gotten in here? Who let them in? Whoever it is, they"re dead."
Chapter 41.
LILI OLSEN WAS fourteen and a half years old, going on twenty-four, and she honestly believed she"d heard everything until she hacked into the Wolf"s Den.The sick b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in the well-protected-but-not-protected-enough chat room were all older men, and they were gross and despicable. They liked to talk incessantly about women"s private parts and having vile s.e.x with anyone and everything that moved _ any age, any gender, human or animal. The men were beyond disgusting; they made her want to puke. Only then it got a lot worse, and Lili wished she had never even heard of the Wolf"s Den, never hacked into the highly protected chat room. They might be murderers!And then the leader, Wolf, actually discovered Lili was on the site with them, listening to everything they"d said.So now Lili knew about the murders, and the kidnappings,everything they fantasized about and possibly did. Only she didn"t know if any of what she heard was real or not.Was it real? Or were they making it all up? Maybe they were just nasty, sicko bulls.h.i.tters. Lili almost didn"t want to know the truth, and she didn"t know what to do about the stuff she"d already overheard. She had hacked onto their site, and that was illegal. If she went to the police, she"d be turning herself in. So she couldn"t do that. Could she? Especially if the stuff on the site was just fantasies.So she sat in her room and pondered the unthinkable. Then pondered it again. She felt so bad, so sick to her stomach, so sad, but she was also afraid.They knew she"d hacked onto the Wolf"s Den. But did they also know how to find her? If she were them, she"d know how. So were they already on their way to her house?Lili knew she should go to the police. Maybe the FBI. But she couldn"t bring herself to do it. She sat frozen. It was as if she were paralyzed.When the doorbell rang she just about jumped out of her skin. "Holy s.h.i.t, holy mother! It"s them!"Lili took a deep breath, then she scurried downstairs to the front door. She looked through the peephole. She could hear her own heart thundering.Domino"s Pizza! Jesus!She"d forgotten all about it. It was pizza delivery, not killers, at the front door, and suddenly Lili was giggling to herself. She wasn"t going to die after all.She opened the front door.
Chapter 42.
THE WOLF HAD SELDOM been angrier, and someone had to pay. The Russian had a long- standing hatred for New York City and the smug and overrated metropolitan area. He found it filthy, foul beyond imagining, the people rude and uncivilized, even worse than in Moscow. But he had to be there today; it was where the Couple lived, and he had business with them. The Wolf also wanted to play some chess, one of his pa.s.sions.Long Island was the general address he had for Slava and Zoya.Huntington was the special one.He arrived in the town just past three in the afternoon. He remembered the one other time he"d been here _ two years after he had arrived in New York from Russia. Cousins of his owned a house here and had helped set him up in America. He had committed four murders out "on the Island," as the locals called it. Well, at least Huntington was close to Kennedy Airport. He"d be out of New York as soon as possible.The Couple lived in a typical suburban ranch house. The Wolf banged on the front door, and a goateed bull of a man by the name of Lukanov opened it. Lukanov was part of another team, one that worked successfully in California, Oregon, and Washington State. Lukanov had once been a major in the KGB."Where are the stupid f.u.c.ks?" the Wolf asked, once he was inside the front door.The bull Lukanov jerked a thumb toward a semidarkened hallway behind him, and Wolf trudged down it. His right knee was aching today, and he remembered a time in the eighties when members of a rival gang had broken it. In Moscow that kind of thing was considered a warning. The Wolf wasn"t much for warnings himself. He had found the three men who"d tried to cripple him and broken every bone in their bodies, one by one. In Russia this gruesome practice was called zamochit, but the Wolf and other gangsters also called it mushing.He entered a small, sloppily kept bedroom and immediately saw Slava and Zoya, his ex- wife"s cousins. The pair had grown up about thirty miles from Moscow. They had been in the army until the summer of _98, then they immigrated to America. They"d been working for him for less than eight months, so he was just getting to know them."You live in a garbage dump," he said. "I know you have plenty of money. What do you do with it?""We have family at home," said Zoya. "Your relatives are there too."The Wolf tilted his head. :whh, so touching. I had no idea you had such a big heart of gold, Zoya." He motioned for the bull to leave and said, "Shut the door. I"ll be out when I"m finished here. It might be a while."The Couple was tied up together on the floor. Both were in their underwear. Slava had on shorts patterned with little ducks. Zoya wore a black bra with a matching bikini thong.The Wolf finally smiled. "What am I going to do with you two, huh?"Slava began to laugh out loud, a nervous, high-pitched cackling. He had thought they were going to be killed, but this would just be a warning. He could see this in the Wolf"s eyes."So what happened? Tell me quickly. You knew the rules of the game," he said."Maybe it was getting too easy. We wanted a little more of a challenge. It"s our mistake, Pasha. We got sloppy.""Never lie to me," the Wolf said. "I have my sources. They are everywhere!"He sat on the arm of an easy chair that looked as if it had been in this hideous bedroom for a hundred years. Dust puffed from the old chair as it took his weight."You like him?" he asked Zoya. "My wife"s cousin?""I love him," she said, and her brown eyes went soft. "Always. Since we were thirteen years old. Forever, I loved him.""Slava, Slava," the Wolf said, and walked over to the muscular man on the floor. He bent to give Slava a hug. "You are my ex-wife"s blood relative. And you betrayed me. You sold me out to my enemies, didn"t you? Sure, you did. How much did you get? A lot, I hope."Then he twisted Slava"s head as if he were opening a big jar of pickles. Slava"s neck snapped, a sound that the Wolf had come to love over the years. His trademark in the Red Maya.Zoya"s eyes widened to about twice their normal size. But she didn"t make a sound, and because of that the Wolf understood what tough customers she and Slava really were, how dangerous they had been to the safety of the organization. "I"m impressed, Zoya," he said. "Let"s talk some."He stared into those amazing eyes of hers. "Listen, I"m going to get the two of us some real vodka, Russian vodka. Then I want to hear your war stories," he said. "I want to hear what you"ve done with your life, Zoya. You have me curious now. Most of all, I want to play chess, Zoya. n.o.body in America knows how to play chess. One game, then you go to heaven with your beloved Slava. But first vodka and chess, and, of course, I f.u.c.k you!"
Chapter 43.
ON ACCOUNT OF SECRETS that Zoya had told him under significant duress, the Wolf had to make one more stop in New York. Unfortunate. This meant that he wouldn"t be able to catch his flight home out of Kennedy and he would miss the professional hockey game that night. Regretful, but he knew this was the right thing to do. The betrayal by Slava and Zoya had jeopardized his life, and also made him look bad.At a little past eleven, he entered a club called the Pa.s.sage in the Brighton Beach section of Brooklyn. The Pa.s.sage looked like a dump from the street, but inside it was beautiful, very ornate, almost as nice as the best places in Moscow.He saw people he knew from the old days: Gosha Cher-nov, Lev Denisov, Yura Fomin and his mistress. Then he spotted his darling Yulya. His ex-wife was tall and slender, with large b.r.e.a.s.t.s he"d bought for her in Palm Beach, Florida. Yulya was still beautiful in the right light, not so much changed since Moscow, where she had been a dancer since she was teen.She was sitting at the bar with Mikhail Biryukov, the latest king of Brighton Beach. They were directly in front of a mural of St. Petersburg, which was very cinematic, thought the Wolf, a typical Hollywood visual cliche.Yulya saw him coming, and she tapped Biryukov. The local pakhan turned to look, and the Wolf closed on him fast. He slammed a black king down on the table. "Checkmate," he roared, then laughed and hugged Yulya."You"re not happy to see me?" he asked them. "I should be hurt."Biryukov grunted. "You are a mystery man. I thought you were in California.""Wrong again," said the Wolf. ;y the way, Slava and Zoya say h.e.l.lo. I just saw them out on Long Island. They couldn"t make the trip here tonight."Yulya shrugged, such a cool little b.i.t.c.h. "They mean nothing to me," she said. "Distant cousins.""Or me either, Yulya. Only the police care about them now."Suddenly, he grabbed Yulya by the hair and lifted her out of her bar seat with one arm. "You told them to f.u.c.k me over, didn"t you? You must have paid them a lot!" he screamed in her face. "It was you. And him!"With dazzling speed, the Wolf pulled an ice pick from his sleeve and stuck it into Biryukov"s left eye. The gangster was blinded, and dead in an instant."No . . . Please." Yulya struggled to get out a few words. "You can"t do this. Not even you!"Then the Wolf addressed everyone in the nightclub. "You are all witnesses, are you not? What? n.o.body helps her? You"re afraid of me? Good _ you should be. Yulya tried to get revenge on me. She was always stupid as a cow. Biryukov _ he was just a dumb, greedy b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Ambitious! The G.o.dfather of Brighton Beach! What is that? He wanted to be me!"The Wolf lifted Yulya even higher in the air. Her long legs kicked violently and one of her red mules went flying, scooting under a nearby table. n.o.body picked up the shoe. Not a person in the club moved to help her. Or to see if Mikhail Biryukov was still alive. Word had already circulated that the madman in the front of the Pa.s.sage was the Wolf."You are witnesses to what happens if anyone ever crosses me. You are witnesses! So you"ve had a warning. Same as in Russia. Same now in America."The Wolf took his left hand out of Yulya"s hair and wrapped it around her throat. He twisted hard and Yulya"s neck broke. "You are witnesses!" he screamed in Russian. "I killed my ex- wife. And this rat Biryukov. You saw me do it! So go to h.e.l.l."And then the Wolf stomped out of the nightclub. No one did a thing to stop him.And no one talked to the New York police when they came.Same as in Russia.Same now in America.
Chapter 44.
BENJAMIN COFFEY WAS being held in a dark root cellar under the barn where he"d been brought , what was it now, three, maybe four days ago? Benjamin couldn"t remember exactly, couldn"t keep track of the days.The Providence College student had nearly lost his mind until he made an amazing discovery in the solitary confinement of the cellar. He found G.o.d, or maybe G.o.d found him.The first and most startling thing Benjamin felt was G.o.d"s presence. G.o.d accepted him, and maybe it was time for him to accept G.o.d. He learned that G.o.d understood him. But why couldn"t he understand the first thing about G.o.d? It didn"t make sense to Benjamin, who"d attended Catholic schools from kindergarten up to his senior year at Providence, where he studied philosophy and also art history. Benjamin had come to another conclusion in the darkness of his "prison cell" under the barn. He"d always thought that he was basically a good person, but now he knew that he wasn"t; and it didn"t have anything to do with his s.e.xuality, as his hypocritical church would have him think. The way he figured it, a bad person was someone who habitually caused harm to others. Benjamin was guilty of that by his treatment of his parents and siblings, his cla.s.smates, his lovers, even his so-called best friends. He was mean-spirited, always acted superior, and continually inflicted unnecessary pain. He had acted like this ever since he could remember. He was cruel, a sn.o.b, a martinet, a s.a.d.i.s.t, a complete piece of s.h.i.t. He"d always justified his bad behavior, because other people had caused him so much pain.So was that why things had turned out like this? Maybe. But what was truly astonishing to Benjamin was the realization that if he ever got out of this alive, he probably wouldn"t change. In fact, he believed he would use this experience as an excuse to continue being a miserable b.a.s.t.a.r.d for the rest of his life. Cold, cold, I"m so cold, he thought. But G.o.d loves me unconditionally. That never changes either. Then Benjamin realized that he was incredibly confused, and crying, and had been for a long time, at least a day. He was shivering, babbling nonsense to himself, and he didn"t know what he really thought about anything. Not anymore, he didn"t.His mind kept shifting back and forth. He did have good friends, great friends, and he"d been an okay son; so why were all these terrible thoughts shuttling through his head? Because he was in h.e.l.l? Was that it? h.e.l.l was this foul-smelling, claustrophobic root cellar under a decaying barn somewhere in New England, probably New Hampshire or Vermont. Was that right?Maybe he was supposed to repent and couldn"t be set free until he did? Or maybe this was it _ for eternity.He remembered something from Catholic grade school in Great Barrington, Rhode Island. A parish priest had tried to explain an eternity in h.e.l.l to Benjamin"s sixth-grade cla.s.s. "Picture a river with a mountain on the other side," the priest had said. "Now imagine that every thousand years the tiniest sparrow transports what it can carry in its beak across the river from the mountain. When that tiny sparrow has transported the entire mountain to this side of the river, that, boys and girls, would just be the beginning of eternity." But Benjamin didn"t really believe the priest"s little fable, did he? Fire and brimstone forever? Somebody would find him soon. Somebody would guide him out.Unfortunately, he didn"t completely believe that either. How could anyone find him here? They wouldn"t. G.o.d, the police had lucked out finding the Washington sniper, and Malvo and Muhammad weren"t very smart. Mr. Potter was.He had to stop crying soon, because Potter was angry with him already. He"d threatened to kill him if he didn"t stop, and, oh, G.o.d, that was why he was crying so hard now. He didn"t want to die, not when he was just twenty-one and had his whole life ahead of him.An hour later? two hours? three? he heard a loud noise above him and began to cry again. Now Benjamin couldn"t stop sobbing, shaking all over. He was sniveling too. He"d sniffed and sniveled since preschool. Stop sniveling, Benjamin. Stop it! Stop it! But he couldn"t stop.Then the trapdoor opened! Someone was coming down.Stop the crying, stop the crying, stop it! Stop it this instant! Potter will kill you.Then the most unbelievable thing happened, a turn of events that Benjamin would have never expected.He heard a deep voice _ not Potter"s."Benjamin Coffey? Benjamin? This is the FBI. Mr. Coffey, are you down there? This is the FBI."He was shaking worse now, and sobbing so hard he thought he might choke behind the gag. Because of the gag, he couldn"t call out, couldn"t let the FBI somehow know that he was down here.The FBI found me! It"s a miracle. I have to signal them. But how? Don"t leave! I"m down here! I"m right here!A flashlight illuminated his face.He could see a person behind the light. A silhouette. Then the full face peered out of the shadows.Mr. Potter was frowning down at him from the trapdoor. Then he stuck out his tongue. "I told you what was going to happen. Didn"t I tell you, Benjamin? You did this to yourself. And you"re so beautiful. G.o.d, you"re perfect in every other way."His tormentor came down the stairs. He saw a battered sledgehammer in Potter"s hand. A heavy farm tool. Waves of fear washed over Benjamin. "I"m a lot stronger than I look," Potter said. "And you"ve been a very bad boy."
Chapter 45.
MR. POTTER"S REAL NAME was Homer O. Taylor, and he was an a.s.sistant professor in the English department at Dartmouth. Brilliant, to be sure, but still an a.s.sistant, a n.o.body. His office was a small but cozy one in the turret at the northwest corner of the Liberal Arts building. He called it his "garret," the place where a n.o.body would labor in lonely solitude.He had been up there most of the afternoon with the door locked, and he was fidgeting. He was also grieving for his beautiful dead boy, his latest tragic love _ his third!Part of Homer Taylor wanted to hurry back to the barn at the farm in Webster to be with Benjamin, just to watch over the body for a few more hours. His Toyota 4Runner was parked outside, and he could be there in an hour if he pushed it. Benjamin, dear boy, why couldn"t you have been good? Why did you bring out the worst in me when there was so much to love?Benjamin had been such a beauty, and the loss that Taylor felt now was horrifying. And not only the physical and emotional drain, there was the great financial loss. Five years ago, he"d inherited a little over two million dollars. It was going too fast. Much too fast. He couldn"t afford to play like this _ but how could he ever stop now?He wanted another boy already. He needed to be loved. And to love someone. Another Benjamin, only not an emotional wreck, as the poor boy had been.So he stayed in his office for the entire day to avoid an excruciating hour-long tutorial at four o"clock. He pretended to be marking term papers, in case someone knocked, but he never looked at a single page.Instead, he obsessed.He finally contacted Sterling around seven o"clock. "I want to make another purchase," he said.
Chapter 46.
I VISITED SAMPSON AND BILLIE one night and had a great time with them, talking about babies and scaring big, bad John Sampson as much as I could. I tried to talk to Jamilla at least once a day. But White Girl was starting to heat up, and I knew what that meant. I was probably about to get lost in the case.A married couple, Slava Vasilev and Zoya Petrov, had been found murdered in the house they rented on Long Island. We had learned that the husband and wife had come to the United States four years before. They were suspected of bringing Russian and other Eastern European women here for the purpose of prost.i.tution, and also to bear children who would be sold to affluent couples.Agents from our New York office were all over the murder scene on Long Island. Photographs of the two victims had been shown to the high school students who"d seen the Connolly abduction and to Audrey Meeks children. They had identified the couple as the kidnappers. I wondered why the bodies had been left there. As examples? For whom?Monnie Donnelley and I regularly met at seven before I had to attend orientation cla.s.ses for the day. We were a.n.a.lyzing the Long Island murders. Monnie pulled together everything she could find on the husband and wife, as well as other Russian criminals working in the U.S., the so-called Red Mafia. She was hot-wired into the Organized Crime Section over at the Hoover Building and also the Red Mafia squad in the Bureau"s New York office."I brought _everything_ bagels from D.C.," I said as I entered her cube at ten minutes past seven Monday. "Best in the city. According to Zagat, anyway. You don"t seem too excited.""You"re late," Monnie said, without looking up from her computer screen. She"d mastered the droll, deadpan delivery style favored by hackers."These bagels are worth it," I said. "Trust me.""I don"t trust anybody," Monnie replied.She finally glanced up at me and smiled. Nice smile, worth the wait. "You know that I"m kidding, right? It"s just a tough-girl act, Alex. Give with the bagels."I laughed. "I"m used to cop humor.""Oh, I"m honored," she muttered, deadpan again, as she looked back at the glowing computer screen. "He thinks I"m a cop, not just a desk jockey. You know, they started me in fingerprinting. The absolute bottom."I liked Monnie, but I had the sense that she needed a lot of support. I knew she"d been divorced for about two years. She"d majored in criminology at Maryland for undergrad, where she had also pursued another interesting pa.s.sion _ studio arts. Monnie still took cla.s.ses in drawing and painting, and, of course, there was the collage in her cube.She yawned. "Sorry. I watched Alias with the boys last night. That will be Grandma"s problem when she has to get them up this morning."Monnie"s home life was another thing we had in common. She was a single parent, with two young kids and a doting grandmother who lived less than a block away. The grandmother was her ex-husband"s mother, which told the story of the marriage. Jack Donnelley had played basketball at Maryland, where he and Monnie met. He was a big drinker in college, and it got worse once he graduated. Monnie said he"d never recovered from being all- everything in high school and then just another guard for the Maryland Terrapins. Monnie was five-foot even, and joked that she hadn"t played any kind of ball at Maryland. She told me her nickname in high school was Spaz."I"ve been reading all about women being traded and sold from Tokyo to Riyadh," she said. "Breaks my heart and it p.i.s.ses me off. Alex, we"re talking some of the worst slavery in history. What"s with you men?"I looked at her. "I don"t buy and sell women, Monnie. Neither do any of my friends.""Sorry. I"m carrying around a little extra baggage because of Jack the Rat and a few other husbands I know." She looked at her computer screen. "Here"s a choice quote for today.Know what the Thai premier said about the thousands of women from his country sold into prost.i.tution? _Thai girls are just so pretty._ And here"s the premier on ten-year-old girls being sold: _Come on, don"t you like young girls, too?_ I swear to G.o.d, he said that."I sat down next to Monnie and peered at her computer screen. "So now somebody"s opened a lucrative market for suburban white women. Who? And where are they working out of? Europe? Asia? The U.S.?""The murdered couple could be a break for us. Russians. What do you think?" she asked."Could be a ring operating out of New York. Brighton Beach. Or maybe they"re headquartered in Europe? The Russian mob is set up just about everywhere these days. It"s not _The Russians Are Coming_ anymore. They"re here."Monnie started to spit out information. "The Solntsevo gang is the largest crime syndicate in the world right now. Did you know that? They"re big here too. Both coasts. The Red Mafia has basically collapsed in their country. They smuggled close to a hundred billion out of Russia, and a lot of it came here. You know, we"ve got major task forces working in L.A., San Francisco, Chicago, New York, D.C., Miami. The Reds bought banks in the Caribbean and Cyprus. Believe it or not, they"ve taken over prost.i.tution, gambling, and money laundering in Israel. In Israel!"I finally got a few words in. "I spent a couple of hours last night reading the ?les from Anti- Slavery International. The Red Mafia comes up there too.""I"ll tell you one other thing." She looked at me. "That kid who was grabbed in Newport. I know it"s a different pattern, I get it, but I do believe he"s part of this. What do you think?"I nodded. So did I. And I also thought that Monnie had great street smarts for somebody who rarely left the office. So far, she was the best person I"d met at the Bureau, and here we were in her tiny cube trying to solve White Girl.
Chapter 47.
I HAD NEVER really stopped being a student since my days at Johns Hopkins, and it had served me well in the Washington PD, even given me a certain mystique. I hoped it would be the same in the Bureau, though it hadn"t been so far. I set myself up with a supply of black coffee and started in on the Russian mob research. I needed to know everything about them, and Monnie Donnelley was a willing accomplice.I made notes along the way, though I usually remember most of what is important enough and don"t need to write it down. According to the FBI ?les, the Russian mob was now more diverse and powerful in America than La Cosa Nostra. Unlike the Italian Mau, the Russians were organized into loose networks that cooperated with but weren"t dependent on one another. At least not so far. A major benefit was that the loose style of organization avoided RICO prosecutions by the government. No conspiracies could be proved. There were two distinctly different types of Russian mobsters. The "knuckle draggers" were into extortion, prost.i.tution, and racketeering, and their particular crime group was called the Solntsevo. The second type of Russian mobster operated at a more sophisticated level, often securities fraud and money laundering. These were the neocapitalist criminals, called the Izmailovo.For the moment, I decided to concentrate on the first group, the lowlifes, especially the brigades involved with prost.i.tution. According to the Bureau"s OC Section report, the prost.i.tute business operated "a lot like major league baseball." A group of prost.i.tutes could actually be "traded" from an owner in one city to one in another. As a footnote, a survey conducted among seventh- grade girls in Russia listed prost.i.tution among the top-five career choices of the girls when they grew up. Several historical anecdotes had been inserted in the ?le to represent the Russian criminal mentality: smart and ruthless. According to one story, Ivan the Terrible had commissioned St. Basil"s Cathedral to rival, even surpa.s.s, the great churches of Europe. He was pleased with the result and invited the architect to the Kremlin. When the artist arrived, his blueprints were burned and his eyes poked out, thus ensuring that he could never create a finer cathedral for anyone else. There were several more contemporary examples in the report, but that was how the Red Mafia worked. It was what we were up against if the Russians were behind White Girl.
Chapter 48.
SOMETHING INCREDIBLE WAS about to happen.It was a gorgeous afternoon in eastern Pennsylvania. The Art Director found himself lost in the dazzling blue of the sky, and the relations of the white clouds sliding across his windshield were mesmerizing. Am I doing the right thing now? he had asked himself several times during the ride. He thought that he was."You have to admit that it"s beautiful," he said to the bound pa.s.senger in his Mercedes G- Cla.s.s SUV."It is," said Audrey Meek. She was thinking that she"d believed she would never see the outdoors again, never smell fresh gra.s.s and flowers. So where was this madman taking her with her hands tied? They were driving away from his cabin. Going where? What did it mean?She was terrified but trying not to show it. Small talk, she told herself. Keep him talking."You like this G-Cla.s.s?" she asked, and immediately knew it was an insane question, just insane.His tight smile, but especially his eyes, told her that he thought so too. And yet he answered politely. "I do, actually. At first I thought it was the final proof that rich people are incredibly stupid. I mean, it"s kind of like putting a Mercedes logo on a wheelbarrow and then paying triple for it. But I do like the oddness of the vehicle, the rigid lines of the design, the gizmos like lockable differentials. Of course, I"ll have to get rid of this one now, won"t I?"Oh, G.o.d, she was afraid to ask why, but maybe she knew already. She"d seen the car he drove. Maybe someone else had too. But she had also seen his face, so he wasn"t really making sense. Or was he?Suddenly Audrey found that she couldn"t talk at all. No words would come out of her mouth, which was very dry. This self-professed nice guy, who said he wanted to be her friend but who had raped her half a dozen times, was going to kill her very soon. And then what? Bury her out here in the beautiful woods? Dump her body in a gorgeous lake with a heavy weight attached to it?Tears formed in Audrey"s eyes, and her brain buzzed as if there were a short in the circuits. She didn"t want to die. Not now, not like this. She loved her children, her husband, Georges, and even her company. It had taken her so long, so much sacrifice and hard work, to get her life right. And nowthis had to happen, this fluke, this incredibly bad luck.The Art Director turned sharply onto a narrow dirt road, then sped down it much too fast. Where was he going? Why so fast? What was at the end of the road?But apparently they weren"t going all the way to the end.He was braking. "My G.o.d, no!" Audrey screamed. "No! Please! Don"t!" He stopped the car but let the engine run. "Please," she pleaded. "Oh, please . . . don"t do this.Please, please, please. You don"t have to kill me."The Art Director merely smiled. "Give us a hug, Audrey. Then get out of the car before I change my mind. You"re free. I"m not going to hurt you. You see, I love you too much."
Chapter 49.
THERE WAS A BREAK in White Girl. One of the women had been foundalive.I was rushed to Bucks County, Pennsylvania, in one of the two Bell helicopters kept at Quantico for emergencies. A few senior agents had told me that they"d never been up in one of the helicopters. It didn"t sit too well with them. Now here I was becoming a regular during my orientation period. There were benefits to being on the director"s fast track.The sleek black Bell set down in a small field in Norristown, Pennsylvania. During the flight I found myself thinking of a recent orientation cla.s.s. We"d burned fingernail clippings so that everybody would know what a DOA smelled like. I already knew, and I didn"t relish experiencing it again. I didn"t think there would be any DOA"s on this trip to Pennsylvania. Unfortunately, that turned out to be wrong.Agents from the field office in Philadelphia were there to meet the helicopter and accompany me to where Audrey Meek had been brought for questioning. So far there"d been no announcement to the press, though her husband had been notified and was on his way to Norristown."I"m not exactly sure where we are right now," I said as we rode to a local state troopers barracks. "How far is this from where Mrs. Meek was abducted?""We"re five miles," said one of the agents from Philly. "It would take about ten minutes by car.""Was she held captive near this area?" I asked. "Do we know yet? What exactly do we know?""She told the state police that the abductor brought her here early this morning. She"s not sure of the directions but thinks they rode for well over an hour. Her wrist.w.a.tch had been taken away from her."I nodded. "Was she blindfolded during the ride? I a.s.sume that she was.""No. That"s odd, isn"t it? She saw her captor several times. Also his vehicle. He didn"t seem to care one way or the other."That was a genuine surprise to me. It didn"t track, and I said so."Stump the stars," said the agent. "Isn"t that what this case is about so far?"The state trooper barracks occupied a redbrick building tucked back from the highway. There wasn"t any activity outside, and I took that as a good sign. At least I had beaten the press there. No one had leaked the story so far.I hurried inside the barracks to meet Audrey Meek. I was eager to find out how she had survived against all odds, the first woman who had.
Chapter 50.
MY VERY FIRST IMPRESSION was that Audrey Meek didn"t look at all like herself, not as she did in any of her publicity. Not now, anyway, not after her terrible ordeal. Mrs. Meek was thinner, especially in the face. Her eyes were dark blue, but the sockets appeared hollowed out. She had some color on both cheeks."I"m FBI agent Alex Cross. It"s good to see you safe," I said in a quiet voice. I didn"t want to interview her right now, but it had to be done.Audrey Meek nodded and her eyes met mine. I had the sense that she knew how lucky she was."You have some color in your cheeks. Did you get that today?" I asked her. "While you were in the woods?""I don"t know for sure, but I don"t think so. He took me outside for walks every day he held me captive. Considering the circ.u.mstances, he was often considerate. He made my meals, good ones, for the most part. He told me he"d been a chef at one time in Richmond. We had long talks almost every day, really long talks. It was so strange, everything about it. There was one day in the middle when he wasn"t at the house at all. I was petrii he"d left me there to die. But I didn"t really believe he would."I didn"t interrupt her. I wanted to let Audrey Meek tell her story without any pressure or steering from me. It was astonishing to me that she had been released. It didn"t happen very often in cases like this one."Georges? My children?" she asked. "Have they arrived yet? Will you let me see them if they"re here?""They"re on their way," I said. "We"ll bring them in as soon as they arrive. I"d like to ask a few questions while everything is still fresh in your mind. I"m sorry about this. There may be other missing people, Mrs. Meek. We think that there are.""Oh, G.o.d," she whispered. "Let me try to help, then. If I can, I will. Ask your questions."She was a brave woman and she told me about the kidnapping, including a description of the man and woman who had grabbed her. It ?t the late Slava Vasilev and Zoya Petrov. Then Audrey Meek took me through the ritual of the days that she was held captive by the man who called himself the Art Director."He said he liked to wait on me, that he enjoyed it immensely. It was as if he was used to being subservient. But I sensed he also wanted to be my friend. It was so terribly weird. He"d seen me on TV and read articles about Meek, my company. He said he admired my sense of style and the way I didn"t seem to have too many airs about myself. He made me have s.e.x with him."Audrey Meek was holding herself together so well. Her strength amazed me, and I wondered if that was what her captor had admired."Can I get you water? Anything?" I asked.She shook her head. "I saw his face," she said. "I even tried to draw it for the police. I think it"s a good likeness. It"s him."This was getting stranger by the moment. Why would the Art Director let her see him, then release her? I"d never known anything like it, not in any other kidnapping case.Audrey Meek sighed and nervously clasped and unclasped her hands as she continued."He admitted that he was obsessive-compulsive. About cleanliness, art, style, about loving another human being. He confessed several times that he adored me. He was often derogatory about himself. Did I tell you about the house?" she asked. "I"m not sure what I said here _ or to the officers who found me.""You didn"t talk about the house yet," I said."It was covered with some material, like a heavy-duty cellophane. It reminded me of event art. Like Christo. There were dozens of paintings inside. Very good ones. You ought to be able to find a house covered in cellophane.""We"ll find it," I agreed. "We"re looking now."The door to the room where we were talking was cracked open. A trooper in a brimmed hat peeked in, then he opened the door wide and Audrey Meeks husband, Georges, and her two children burst inside. It was such an unbelievably rare moment in abduction cases, especially one in which someone has been missing for more than a week. The Meek children looked afraid at first. Their father gently urged them forward, and joy took over. Their faces were wreathed in smiles and tears, and there was a group hug that seemed to last forever."Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!" the girl shrieked, and clung to her mother as if she"d never let go of her again.My eyes filled, and then I went to the worktable. Audrey Meek had made two drawings. I looked at the face of the man who had held her captive. He looked very ordinary, like anybody you"d meet on the street.The Art Director.Why did you let her go? I wondered.
Chapter 51.
WE GOT ANOTHER possible break around midnight. The police had information about a house covered with a plastic material in Ottsville, Pennsylvania. Ottsville was about thirty miles away, and we drove there in several cars in the middle of the night. It was tough duty at the end of a long day, but n.o.body was complaining too much.When we arrived, the scene reminded me of my past life inD.C. _ officers used to wait for me there too. Three sedans and a couple of black vans were parked along the heavily wooded country road around a bend from a dirt lane that led to the house. Ned Mahoney, who had just arrived from Washington, and I met up with the local sheriff, Eddie Lyle."Lights are all out in the house," Mahoney observed as we approached what was actually a renovated log cabin. The only access to the secluded property was the dirt road. His HRT teams were waiting on his command to go."It"s past one," I said. "He might be waiting on us, though. I think there"s something desperate about this guy.""Why"s that?" Mahoney wanted to know. "I need to hear.""He let her go. She saw his face, and the house, the car too. He must have known we"d find him here.""My people know what they"re doing," the sheriff interrupted, sounding offended that he was being ignored. I didn"t much care what he thought _ I had seen a local, inexperienced rookie cop blown away in Virginia one time. "I know what I"m doing too," the sheriff added.I stopped talking to Mahoney and stared at Lyle. "Hold it right here. We don"t know what"s waiting for us inside the house, but we do know this , he knew we"d find this place and come for him. Now, you tell your men to stand down. FBI HRT goes in first! You"re backup for us. Do you have a problem with that?"The sheriff"s face reddened and he thrust out his chin. "I sure as h.e.l.l do, but it doesn"t mean f.u.c.k-all, does it?""No, it doesn"t matter at all. So tell your men to stand down. You stand down too. I don"t care how good you think you are." I started walking forward again with Mahoney, who was grinning and not trying to hide it. "You"re a hot ticket, man," he said. A couple of his snipers were watching the cabin from less than fifty yards away. I could see that it had a gabled roof with a dormer on the loft level. Everything was dark inside."This is HRT One. Anything going on in there, Kilvert?" Mahoney said into his mike to one of the snipers."Not that I can see, sir. What"s the take on the UNSUB?"Mahoney looked at me.My eyes moved slowly across the cabin and the front and side yards. Everything looked neat, well maintained, and seemed to be in good repair. Power lines led to the roof."He wanted us to come here, Ned. That can"t be good.""b.o.o.by trap?" he asked. "That"s how we plan to proceed."I nodded. "That"s how I would go. If we"re wrong it"ll give the locals some yuks.""f.u.c.k the local yokels," said Mahoney."I agree with that. Now that I"m not a local anymore.""Hotel and Charlie teams, this is HRT One," Mahoney said into his mike. "This is Control. On the ready. Five, four, three, two, one, go!"Two HRT teams of seven rose up from "phase line yellow," which is the final position for cover and concealment. They pa.s.sed "phase line green" on the way to the house. After that there was no turning back.HRT"s motto for this kind of action was "speed, surprise, and violence of action." They were very good at it, better than anything the Washington PD had to offer. Within a matter of seconds, the Hotel and Charlie teams were inside the cottage where Audrey Meek had been kept captive for over a week. Then Mahoney and I burst through the back door and into the kitchen. I saw stove, refrigerator, cabinets, table.No Art Director.No resistance of any kind.Not yet.Mahoney and I moved ahead cautiously. The living room area had a wood-burning stove, a striped contemporary-style couch in beige and brown, several club chairs. A big chest covered by a dark green afghan. Everything was tasteful andorganized.No Art Director.Canvases were everywhere. Most had been finished. Whoever had done the paintings was talented."Secure!" I heard. Then a shout _ "In here!"Mahoney and I raced down a long hallway. Two of his men were already inside what looked to be the master bedroom. There were more painted canvases, lots of them, fifty or more.A nude body lay sprawled across the wooden floor. The look on the face was grotesque, tortured. The dead man"s hands were tightly wrapped around his own throat, as if he were strangling himself.It was the man Audrey Meek had drawn for us. He was dead, and his death had been horrible. Most likely poison of some kind.Papers lay scattered on the bed. Alongside them, a fountain pen.I bent and began to read one of several notes:To whomever _As you know by now, I am the one who held Audrey Meek captive. All I can say is that it is something I had to do. I believe I had no choice; no free will in the matter. I loved her since the first time I saw her at one of my exhibitions in Philadelphia. We talked that night, but of course she didn"t remember me. No one ever does. (Until now anyway.) What is the rationale behind an obsession? I have no idea, not a clue, even though I obsessed on Audrey for over seven years of my life. I had all the money I would ever need, and yet it meant nothing to me. Not until I got the opportunity to take what I really wanted, what I needed. How could I resist _ no matter the price? A quarter million dollars seemed like nothing to be with Audrey, even for these few days. Then a strange thing. Maybe a miracle. Once we spent time together, I found that I loved Audrey too much to keep her like this. I never harmed her. Not in my own mind anyway. If I hurt you, Audrey, I"m sorry. I loved you very much, this much.One sentence kept repeating inside my head after I finished reading: Not until I got the opportunity to take what I really wanted, what I needed. How had that happened? Who was out there fulfilling the fantasies of these madmen?Who was behind this? It sure wasn"t the Art Director.
Part Three
WOLF TRACKS
Chapter 52.
I DIDN"T GET BACK to Washington until almost ten the following night, and I knew I was in trouble with Jannie, probably with everybody in the house except Little Alex and the cat. I"d promised we would go to the pool at the Y, and now it was too late to go anywhere except to sleep.Nana was sitting over a cup of tea in the kitchen when I came in. She didn"t even look up. I bypa.s.sed a lecture and headed upstairs in the hopes that Jannie might still be awake.She was. My best little girl was sitting on her bed surrounded by several magazines, including American Girl. Her old favorite bear, Theo, was propped in her lap. Jannie had gone to sleep with Theo since she was less than a year old and her mother was still alive.In one corner of the room Rosie the cat was curled up on a pile of Jannie"s laundry. One of Nana"s jobs for her and Damon was that they start doing their own laundry.I had a thought about Maria then. My wife was kind and courageous, a special woman who"d been shot in a mysterious drive-by incident in Southeast that I"d never been able to solve. I had never closed the ?le. Maybe something would turn up. It"s been known to happen. I still missed her almost every day. Sometimes I even said a little prayer. I hope you forgive me, Maria. I"m doing the best I can. It just doesn"t seem good enough sometimes; good enough to me, anyway. We love you dearly.Jannie must have sensed I was there, watching her, talking to her mother. "I thought it was you," she said."Why is that?" I asked.She shrugged. "I just did. My sixth sense is working pretty good lately.""Were you waiting up for me?" I asked as I slipped into her room. It had been our one guest bedroom, but last year we had converted it to Jannie"s. I had built the shelving for the clay menagerie from her "Sojourner Truth period": a stegosaurus, a whale, a black squirrel, a panhandler, a witch tied to a stake, as well as her favorite books."I wasn"t waiting up, no. I didn"t expect you home at all."I sat down on the edge of the bed. Framed over it was a copy of a Magritte painting of a pipe with the caption: this is not a pipe. "You"re going to torture me some, huh?" I said."Of course. Goes without saying. I looked forward to some pool time all day.""Sure enough." I put my hand on top of hers. "I"m sorry. I"m really sorry, Jannie.""I know. You don"t have to say that, actually. You don"t have to be sorry. Really you don"t. I understand what you do is important. I get it. Even Damon does."I squeezed my girl"s hands in mine. She was so much like Maria. "Thank you, sweetie. I needed that tonight.""I know," she whispered. "I could tell."
Chapter 53.
THE WOLF WAS in Washington, D.C., on a business trip that night. He had a late dinner at the Ruth"s Chris Steak House on Connecticut Avenue near Dupont Circle.Joining him was Franco Grimaldi, a stocky thirty-eight-year-old Italian capo from New York. They talked about a promising scheme to build Tahoe into a gambling mecca that would rival Vegas and Atlantic City; they also talked about pro hockey, the latest Vin Diesel movie, and a plan the Wolf had to make a billion dollars on a single job. Then the Wolf said he had to leave. He had another meeting in Washington. Business rather than pleasure."You seeing the president?" Grimaldi asked.The Russian laughed. "No. He can"t get anything done. He"s all stronzate. Why should I see him? He should see me about Bin Laden and the terrorists. I get things done.""Tell me something," Grimaldi asked before the Wolf left. "The story about Palumbo out in the max-security prison in Colorado. You did that?"The Wolf shook his head. : complete fairy tale. I am a businessman, not a lowlife, not some butcher. Don"t believe everything you hear about me."The Mau head watched the unpredictable Russian leave the steak house, and he was almost certain the man had killed Palumbo, and also that the president ought to contact the Wolf about Al Qaeda.Around midnight, the Wolf got out of a black Dodge Viper in Potomac Park. He could see the outline of an SUV across Ohio Drive. The roof light blinked on and a single pa.s.senger got out. Come to me, pigeon, he whispered.The man who approached him in Potomac Park was FBI and worked in the Hoover Building. His carriage was stiff and herky-jerky, like that of so many government functionaries. There was no confident G-man swagger. The Wolf had been warned that he couldn"t buy a useful agent and that he couldn"t trust the information if he did. But he hadn"t believed that. Money always bought things, and it always bought people _ especially if they had been pa.s.sed over for promotions and raises; this was as true in America as it had been in Russia. If anything, it was more true here, where cynicism and bitterness were becoming the national pastimes."So is anybody talking about me up on the th floor of the Hoover?" he asked."I don"t want to meet like this. Next time, you run an ad in the Washington Times."The Wolf smiled, but then he jabbed a finger into the federal agent"s jaw. "I asked you a question. Is anybody talking about me?"The agent shook his head. "Not yet, but they will. They"ve connected the murdered couple on Long Island to Atlanta and to the King of Prussia Mall."The Wolf nodded. "Of course they have. I understand that these people of yours aren"t stupid. They"re just very limited.""Don"t underestimate them," the agent warned. "The Bureau is changing. They"re going to come after you with everything they have.""It won"t be enough," said the Wolf. "And besides, maybe I"ll come after them _ with everything I have. I"ll huff, and I"ll puff, and I"ll blow their house down."
Chapter 54.
THE NEXT NIGHT I got home before six o"clock. I had a sit-down dinner with Nana and the kids, who were surprised but clearly thrilled that I was home so early.The telephone rang toward the end of the meal. I didn"t want to answer it. Maybe somebody else had been grabbed, but I didn"t want to deal with it. Not tonight."I"ll get it," said Damon. "It"s probably for me. Some girlfriend." He s.n.a.t.c.hed the ringing telephone off the kitchen wall, flipped it from one hand to the other."You wish it was a girl," taunted Jannie from the table. Dinnertime. It"s probably somebody selling MCI or a bank loan. They always call at dinner."Then Damon was pointing at me, and he wasn"t smiling. He didn"t look so good either, as if he"d suddenly gotten a little sick to his stomach. ," he said in a low voice. "It"s for you."I got up from the table and took the phone from him."You okay?" I asked."It"s Ms. Johnson," Damon whispered.My throat felt constricted as I took the receiver. Now I was the one who felt a little sick, but also confused. "h.e.l.lo? This is Alex," I said."It"s Christine, Alex. I"m in Washington. For a few days. I"d like to see Little Alex while I"m here," she said, sounding as if it were a prepared speech.I felt my face flush. Why are you calling here? Why now? I wanted to say but didn"t. =o you want to come over tonight? It"s a little late, but we could keep him up."She hesitated. "Actually, I was thinking about tomorrow. Maybe around eight-thirty, quarter to nine in the morning? Would that be all right?"I said, "That would be fine, Christine. I"ll be here.""Oh," she said, then fumbled for words a little. "You don"t have to stay home for me. I heard you were working for the FBI." My stomach clenched. Christine Johnson and I had split up over a year ago, mainly because of the nature of the murder cases I worked. She had actually been abducted because of my work. We finally found her in a shack in a remote area of Jamaica. Alex was born there. I hadn"t known Christine was pregnant at the time. We were never the same after that. I felt it was my fault. Then she"d moved to Seattle. It had been Christine"s idea that Alex stay with me. She"d been seeing a psychiatrist and said she wasn"t emotionally ?t to be a mother. Now she was in D.C. ?or a few days.""What brings you back to Washington?" I finally asked."I wanted to see our son," she said, her voice going very soft. "And some friends of mine." I remembered how much I had loved her, and probably still did on some level, but I was resigned to the fact that we wouldn"t be together. Christine couldn"t stand my life as a cop, and I couldn"t seem to give it up."All right, well, I"ll be over at around eight-thirty tomorrow," she said."I"ll be here," I said.
Chapter 55.
EIGHT-THIRTY ON THE b.u.t.tON.A shiny silver Taurus, a rental car from Hertz, pulled up in front of our house on Fifth Street.Christine Johnson got out, and though she looked a little severe with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, I had to admit that she was a beautiful woman. Tall and slender, with distinct, sculpted features that I couldn"t make myself forget. Seeing her again made my heart catch in spite of what had happened between us.I was edgy, but also tired. Why was that? I wondered how much energy I"d lost in the past year and a half. A doctor friend from Johns Hopkins has a half-serious theory that our life lines are written on the palms of our hands. He swears he can chart stress, illnesses, general health. I visited him a few weeks ago, and Bernie Stringer said I was in excellent physical shape, but that my life lines had taken a beating in the last year. That was partly because of Christine, our relationship, and the breakup.I was standing behind the protective screen of the front door, with Alex in my arms. I stepped outside as Christine approached the house. She was wearing heels and a dark blue suit."Say hi," I said to Alex, and waved one of his arms at his mother.It was so strange, so completely unnerving to see Christine like this again. We had such a complicated history. Much of it was good, but what was bad was very bad. Her husband had been killed in her house during a case I was working on. I had nearly been responsible for her death. Now we were living thousands of miles apart. Why was she in D.C. again? To see Little Alex, of course. But what else had brought her?"h.e.l.lo, Alex," she said, and smiled, and for a dizzying instant it was as if nothing had changed between us. I remembered the first time I had seen her, when she was still the princ.i.p.al at the Sojourner Truth School. She"d taken my breath away. Unfortunately, I guess, she still did.Christine knelt at the foot of the stairs and spread her arms. "Hi, you handsome guy," she said to Little Alex.I set him down and let him decide what to do next. He looked up at me and laughed. Then he chose Christine"s beckoning smile, chose her warmth and charm _ and went right into her arms."h.e.l.lo, baby," she whispered. "I missed you so much. You"ve grown so big."Christine hadn"t brought a gift, no bribes, and I liked that. It was just her, no tricks or gimmicks, but that was enough.In seconds, Alex was laughing and talking up a storm. They looked good together, mother and son."I"ll be inside," I said, after I watched them for a moment. "Come in when you want. There"s fresh coffee. Nana"s. Breakfast if you haven"t eaten."Christine looked up at me and she smiled again. She looked so happy holding the Boy, our small son. "We"re fine for the moment," she said. "Thank you. I"ll come in for coffee. Of course I will." Of course. Christine had always been so sure about everything, and she hadn"t lost any of her confidence.I stepped back inside and nearly b.u.mped into Nana, who was watching from just beyond the screen door."Oh, Alex," she whispered, and she didn"t have to say any more than that. I felt as if a knife had been plunged in my heart. It was the first twist, and just the first of many. I shut the front door and left them to have their private time.Christine brought the baby inside after a while, and we all sat in the kitchen and drank coffee and she watched Alex with his bottle of apple juice. She talked about her life out in Seattle; mostly about work at a school out there, nothing too personal or revealing. I knew she had to be nervous and stressed, but I never saw it.Then Christine showed the kind of warmth that could melt a heart. She was looking at Little Alex. "What a sweetheart he is," she said. "What a sweet, darling little boy. Oh, Alex, my little Alex, how I missed you. You have no idea."
Chapter 56.
CHRISTINE JOHNSON IN D.C. AGAIN.Why had she come back now? What did she want with us?The questions throbbed in my head, and also deep inside my heart. They made me afraid, even before I had a clear idea what to fear. Of course, I had a suspicion _ Christine had changed her mind about Little Alex. That was it, had to be. Why else would she be here? She certainly hadn"t come back to see me. Or had