James PATTERSON - The Big Bad Wolf

After the meeting, I was one of the agents invited to a smaller briefing held in the Director’s conference room. The mood continued to be somber, serious, and angry. Burns took the floor again, and he seemed more upset by the Stacy Pollack shooting than anyone else.

‘When I said that we were going to bring that Russian bastard down, I wasn’t using hyperbole for effect. I’m establishing a BAM team to go after him. He said that he would come after us, and he did. Now we’re going to come after him, with everything we have, all our resources.’

Heads around the room nodded their approval. I’d heard of the existence of BAM teams in the FBI, but hadn’t known if they were real or not. I knew what the acronym stood for – By Any Means. It was what we needed to hear right now. It was what I needed to hear.

BAM.

Everything felt like it was going much too fast, like it was spinning out of control. Maybe that was right. The case was out of our control – the Wolf was running it.

I got a phone call at home two nights later. It was a quarter past three in the morning. ‘This had better be good.’

‘It isn’t. All hell’s broken loose, Alex. It’s a war.’ The caller was Tony Woods and he sounded groggy.

I massaged my forehead as I spoke. ‘What war? Tell me what happened?’

‘We got word from Texas a few minutes ago. Lawrence Lipton is dead, murdered. They got to him in his cell.’

I was starting to wake up in a hurry.

‘How? He was in our custody, wasn’t he?’

‘Two agents were killed with Lipton. He predicted it, didn’t he?’

I nodded, then I said, ‘Yeah.’ And so had the Wolf.

‘Alex, they got to the Lipton family, too. They’re all dead. HRT is on the way to your house, also the Director’s, even Mahoney’s. Anybody who worked on the case is considered vulnerable and at risk.’

That got me up out of bed. I took my Glock out of the cabinet beside my bed.

‘I’ll be waiting for HRT,’ I told Woods, then I hurried downstairs with my gun in hand.

Was the Wolf already here? I wondered.

The war came to our house a few minutes later, and even though it was HRT, it couldn’t have been much scarier. Nana Mama was up and she greeted the heavily armed FBI agents with angry looks, but also offers of coffee. Then she and I went to wake the children, as gently as we could.

‘This isn’t right, Alex. Not in our home,’ Nana whispered as we went upstairs to get Jannie and Damon. ‘The line has to be drawn somewhere, doesn’t it? This is bad.’

‘I know it is. It’s gotten out of control, everything has. The world is that way now.’

‘So what are you going to do about it? What are you planning to do?’

‘Right now, wake the kids. Hug them, kiss them. Get them out of this house for a while.’

‘Are you listening to yourself?’ Nana asked as we arrived at the doorway to Damon’s bedroom. He was already sitting up in bed.

‘Dad?’ he said.

Suddenly I was aware of Ned Mahoney coming up behind me. ‘Alex, can I have a second?’ What was he doing here? What else had happened?

‘I’ll wake them, get them dressed,’ Nana said. ‘Talk to your friend.’

I stayed behind with Mahoney. ‘What is it, Ned? Can’t it wait for a couple of minutes? Jesus.’

‘The bastards hit Burns’s house. Everybody’s all right. We got there in time.’

I stared into Mahoney’s eyes. ‘Your family?’

‘They’re out of the house. They’re safe for now. We’ve got to find him, and burn him.’

I nodded. ‘Let me go get my kids up.’

Twenty minutes later my family was escorted outside to a waiting van. They climbed inside, like frightened refugees in a war zone. That’s what the world was becoming, wasn’t it? Every city and town was a potential battlefield. No place was safe.

Just before I climbed in the van, I spotted the photographer posted across the street from our house on Fifth Street. It looked like he was filming the evacuation of our house. How was that?

I’m not sure how I knew who he was, but somehow I knew. He’s not from any newspaper, I thought. I felt myself filling with rage and disgust. He works for Christine’s lawyers.

Chaos.

The next day, and for two days after that, I found myself in Huntsville, Texas, the site of the federal prison where Lawrence Lipton had been murdered while he was in the custody of the Federal Bureau. No one there had any explanation for how Lipton and two agents had been killed.

It had happened during the night. In his cell. Actually, the small suite where he was kept under guard. None of the video cameras had a record of visitors. None of the interviews or interrogations turned up a suspect. Lipton had most of the bones in his body broken. Zamochit . The Wolf’s trademark.

The same method had been used on an Italian Mafia figure named Augustino Palumbo this past summer. According to stories, Palumbo’s killer had been a Russian mobster, possibly the Wolf. The murder had taken place at the supermax prison in Florence, Colorado.

The following morning I arrived in Colorado. I was there to visit a killer named Kyle Craig, who had once been an FBI agent, and also a friend of mine. Kyle was responsible for dozens of murders; he was one of the worst psychopathic killers in history. I had captured him. My friend.

We met in an interview room on death row in the Isolation Unit. Kyle looked surprisingly fit. When I’d last seen him he was gaunt, very pale, with deep, dark hollows under his eyes. He appeared to have put on at least thirty pounds, all of it muscle. I wondered why – what had given Kyle hope? Whatever it was scared me a little.

‘All roads lead to Florence?’ he quipped and grinned as I entered the visiting room. ‘Some associates of yours from the Bureau were here just yesterday. Or was it the day before? You know, the last time we met, Alex, you said you didn’t care what I think. That hurt.’

I corrected him, which I knew would annoy Kyle. ‘Not exactly what I said. You accused me of being condescending, and told me that you didn’t like it. I said, “Who cares what you like anymore?” I do care about what you think. That’s why I’m here.’

Kyle laughed again, and the braying sound he made, the baring of his teeth, chilled me. ‘You always were my favorite,’ he said.

‘You were expecting me?’ I asked.

‘Hmm. Hard to say. Not really. Maybe at some time in the future.’

‘You look like you have big plans. You’re all buffed.’

‘What plans could I possibly have?’

‘The usual. Grand delusions, homicidal fantasies, rape, the slaughter of innocents.’

‘I do hate it when you play psychologist, Alex. You didn’t make it in that world for a good reason.’

I shrugged. ‘I know that, Kyle. None of my patients in Southeast had money to pay me. I needed to start a practice in Georgetown. Maybe I will someday.’

He laughed again. ‘Talk about delusions. So why are you here? No, I’ll tell you why. There’s been a terrible miscarriage of justice and I’m being released. You’re the messenger of glad tidings.’

‘The only miscarriage is that you haven’t been executed, Kyle.’

Kyle’s eyes sparkled. I was one of his favorites. ‘All right, now that you’ve charmed me, what is it that you want?’

‘You know what I want, Kyle,’ I said. ‘You know exactly why I’m here.’

He clapped his hands loudly, ‘ Zamochit! The mad Russian!’

For the next half an hour I told Kyle everything I knew about the Wolf, well nearly everything. Then I gave him the kicker. ‘He met with you on the night he came here to kill “Little Gus” Palumbo. Did you set up the kill for him? Somebody did.’