James PATTERSON - The Big Bad Wolf

I stepped into a large reception area with half an acre of red-wine-colored carpeting, beige walls, dark brown leather sofas, and matching chairs everywhere. There were framed, signed photos of Roger Staubach, Nolan Ryan and Tom Landry on the walls.

I was told to wait in reception by a very proper-looking young woman in a dark blue pants suit. She sat self-importantly behind a sleek walnut desk under recessed lighting. She looked all of twenty-two or twenty-three years old, fresh from charm school. She acted and spoke as properly as she looked.

‘I’ll wait, but let Mr Lipton know it’s the FBI. It’s important that I see him,’ I told her.

The receptionist smiled sweetly, as if she’d heard all this before, then she went back to answering the phone calls coming in on her headset. I sat down and waited patiently; I waited for fifteen minutes. Then I got back up again. I strolled over to the reception desk.

‘You told Mr Lipton that I’m here?’ I asked politely. ‘That I’m with the FBI?’

‘I did, sir,’ she spoke in a syrupy voice that was starting to rub me the wrong way.

‘I need to see him right now,’ I told the girl and waited until she made another call to Lipton’s assistant.

They talked briefly, then she looked back at me. ‘Do you have identification, sir?’ she asked. She was frowning now.

‘I do. They’re called creds.’

‘May I see it, please? Your creds.’ I showed off my new FBI badge and she looked it over like a fast-food counterperson inspecting a fifty-dollar bill.

‘Could you please wait over at the seating area?’ she asked again, only now she seemed a little nervous, and I wondered what Lawrence Lipton’s assistant had told her, what her marching orders were.

‘You don’t seem to understand, or I’m not making myself clear,’ I finally said. ‘I’m not here to fool around with you, and I’m not here to wait.’

The receptionist nodded. ‘Mr Lipton is in a meeting. That’s all I know, sir.’

I nodded back. ‘Tell his assistant to pull him out of his meeting right now. Have her tell Mr Lipton that I’m not here to arrest him yet.’

I wandered back to the seating area, but I didn’t bother to sit. I stood there and looked out on magnificent, Technicolor green lawns that stretched to the concrete edge of the LBJ Freeway. I was burning inside.

I’d just acted like a D.C. street cop back there. I wondered if Burns would have approved, but it didn’t matter. He’d given me some rope, but I also had made a decision that I wasn’t going to change because I was an FBI agent now. I was in Dallas to bring down a kidnapper and killer; I was here to find out if Mrs Elizabeth Connelly and others were alive and maybe being held somewhere as slaves. I was back on The Job. I heard a door open behind me and I turned. A heavy-set man with graying hair was standing there and he looked angry.

‘I’m Lawrence Lipton,’ he said. ‘What the hell is this about?’

‘W hat the hell is this about? ’ Lipton repeated from the doorway in a loud-mouth, big-shot way. He was speaking to me as if I was a door-to-door brush salesman calling on his company. ‘I think you were told that I’m in an important meeting. What does the FBI want with me? And why can’t it wait? Why don’t you have the courtesy to make an appointment?’

There was something about his attitude that didn’t completely track for me. He was trying to be a tough guy, but I didn’t think he was. He was just used to beating up on other businessmen. He wore a rumpled blue dress shirt and rep’s tie, pinstriped trousers, tasseled loafers, and was at least fifty pounds overweight. What connection could this man have with the Wolf?

I looked at him and said, ‘It’s about kidnapping, it’s about murder. Do you want to talk about this out here in reception? Sterling .’

Lawrence Lipton paled, and lost most of his bravado. ‘Come inside,’ he said and took a step back.

I followed him into an area of cubicles separated by low partitions. Clerical personnel, lots of them. So far this was going just about as I’d expected. But now it would get more interesting. Lipton might be ‘softer’ than I had expected, but he had powerful connections in Dallas. This office building was in one of the upscale residential/commercial parts of the city.

‘I’m Mr Potter,’ I said as we walked down a corridor with fabric-covered walls. ‘At least I played Mr Potter the last time we talked in the Wolf’s Den.’

Lipton didn’t turn, didn’t respond in any way. We entered a wood-paneled office and he shut the door. The large room had half a dozen windows and a panoramic view. A hat rack near the door held a collection of autographed Dallas Cowboy and Texas Ranger caps.

‘I still don’t know what this is about, but I’ll give you exactly five minutes to explain yourself,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t think you know who you’re talking to.’

‘Actually, I do. You’re Henry Lipton’s oldest son. You’re married with three children, and a nice house in Highland Park. You’re also involved with a kidnapping and murder scheme that we’ve been tracking closely for several weeks. You’re Sterling , and I want you to understand something– all your connections, all your father’s connections in Dallas, will not help you now. On the other hand, I would like to protect your family as much as possible. That’s up to you. I’m not bluffing. I don’t ever bluff. This is a federal crime, not a local one.’

‘I’m going to call my lawyer,’ Lawrence Lipton said and went for the phone.

‘You have that right. But I wouldn’t if I were you. It won’t do any good.’

My tone of voice, something, stopped Lipton from making the call. His flabby hand moved away from the phone on his desk. ‘Why?’ he asked.

I said, ‘I don’t care about you. You’re involved in murder. But I’ve seen your kids, your wife. We’ve been watching you at the house in Highland Park. We’ve already spoken to your neighbors and friends. When you’re arrested, your family will be in danger. We can protect them from the Wolf.’

Suddenly Lipton’s face and neck reddened and he erupted with, ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Are you crazy? I’m a respected businessman. I never kidnapped or harmed another human being in my life. This is crazy.’

‘You gave the orders. The money came to you. Mr Potter sent you a hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. Or rather, the FBI did.’

‘I’m calling my lawyer,’ Lipton screamed. ‘This is ridiculous and insulting. I don’t have to take this from anybody.’

I shrugged. ‘Then you’re going down in the worst possible way. These offices will be searched immediately. And then your home in Highland Park. Your parents’ home in Kessler Park will be searched. Your father’s office will be searched. Your wife’s offices at the Museum of Art will be searched.’

He picked up his phone. I could see that his hand was shaking, though. Then he whispered, ‘Go fuck yourself.’

I pulled out a two-way and spoke into it. ‘Hit the offices and the houses,’ I said. I turned back to Lipton. ‘You’re under arrest. You can call your lawyer now. Tell him you’ve been taken to the FBI offices.’

Minutes later, a dozen agents stormed into the office with its gorgeous city views and stylish and expensive furnishings.

We arrested Sterling .

Pasha Sorokin was close, and he was watching everyone and everything with great interest. Maybe it was time to show the FBI how these things were done in Moscow, to show them that this wasn’t a child’s game to be played with rules made up by the police.