James Patterson - London Bridges

"You have four days to deliver the money and the prisoners. That's plenty of time, no? More than fair? You'll be told how and where. You have four days from… right… now.

"And, yes, I'm perfectly serious. I also realize that I'm asking for a great deal of money and that it will be deemed 'impossible' to raise. I expect to hear as much. But don't bother with the excuses or the whining."

There was a short pause.

"That's the fucking point of the call, Mr. Burns. Deliver the money. Deliver the prisoners. Don't mess up again. Oh, and I suppose there is one other thing. I don't forgive and forget. You are going to die before this is over, Director Burns. So keep looking over your shoulder. One of these days, I'll be there. And boom! But for right now, four days!"

Then the Wolf hung up.

Ron Burns stared straight ahead and spoke through clenched teeth, "You've got that right, boom! One of these days, I'll be there for you."

Then Burns's eyes slowly went around the room, and stopped at me. "We're on the clock, Alex."

Burns continued: "I'd like Dr. Cross to give us his impressions of the Russian maniac. He knows all about him. For those of you who don't know Alex Cross, he came to us from the Washington PD. Their loss, believe me. He's the man who put Kyle Craig away."

"And who let Geoffrey Shafer escape once or twice," I spoke up from my seat. "My impressions so far? Well, I won't belabor the obvious too much. There's his need for complete control and power. I can tell you this: he wants to do things on a large scale, work a big stage. He's a creative, obsessive planner. He's an 'executive type,' meaning that he organizes, delegates well, doesn't have problems making difficult decisions.

"But most of all, he's vicious. He likes to hurt people. He likes to watch people get hurt. He's giving us plenty of time to think about what could happen. That's partly because he knows we won't, can't, pay him easily. But also because he's preying on our minds. He knows how hard it will be to catch him. Bin Laden is still free, isn't he?

"I'll tell you what doesn't track for me-the assassination attempt on the director. I don't see how it fits his pattern. Not this early in the game, anyway. And I especially don't like it that he missed, that he failed."

The words came out wrong and I looked at Burns, but he waved me off. "Do you think he missed? Or was Tom Weir the real target?" he asked.

"My guess… Weir was the target. I don't think the Wolf made a mistake. Not one this big. I do think he lied about what happened."

"Any idea why? Anybody?" Burns glanced around the room.

No one spoke up, so I continued. "If Thomas Weir was the target, it's the best clue we have. Why would he be a significant threat to the Wolf? What could he have known? I wouldn't be surprised if Weir and the Wolf knew each other from somewhere, even if Weir wasn't aware of it. Weir is important. But where would Thomas Weir have come across the Russian? That's a question we need to ask."

"And then answer in a hurry," said Burns. "Let's get on it. Everybody-and I mean everybody-in the Bureau!"

The man who had made the most recent phone calls for the Wolf had his instructions and he knew enough to follow them precisely. He was to be seen in Washington. That was his piece.

The Wolf was to be seen, which would definitely cause a stir. Wouldn't it?

The phone calls he'd made to FBI headquarters and elsewhere would soon be traced to the Four Seasons Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue. It was part of the current plan, and the plan had been nearly flawless thus far.

So he calmly walked down to the hotel lobby and made certain he was noticed at the concierge desk and also by the couple of doormen out front. It helped that he was tall, blond, bearded, and wore a long cashmere coat. All according to the plan he'd been given.

Then he took a leisurely stroll along M Street, checking out restaurant menus in the windows and the latest fashions of Georgetown.

He found it somewhat comical that he could actually see police cruisers and the FBI as they sped toward the Four Seasons from several directions.

Finally the man stepped into a white Chevy van that was waiting for him at the corner of M and Thomas Jefferson.

The van sped away in the direction of the airport. In addition to the driver, there was a second man. He sat in back beside the one who'd made the phone calls from the Four Seasons.

"It went well?" the driver asked once they were a few miles from M Street and the commotion going on there.

The bearded man shrugged. "Of course it did. They have an accurate description. Something to go on, a little hope, whatever they want to call it. It went perfectly. I did what was asked of me."

"Excellent," said the second man. He then pulled out a Beretta and shot the blond man in the right temple. He was brain-dead before he even heard the explosion.

Now the police and FBI had a physical description of the Wolf-but no one alive matched it.

There was more intrigue, or at least confusion, that afternoon. According to our telecommunications people, the Wolf had called us from the Four Seasons Hotel in D.C., and he had been spotted there. The description we had of him was already being sent around the world. It was possible that he'd slipped up, but I didn't know if I could believe it. He'd always called on cell phones before, but this time he used a hotel phone. Why?

I got a surprise when I arrived home a little before 9:30 that night. Dr. Kayla Coles was in the living room with Nana. The two of them were huddled together on the sofa, conspiring about God only knew what. I was a little concerned that Nana's doctor was there so late in the evening.

"Everything okay?" I asked. "What's going on?"

"Kayla was in the neighborhood. She just stopped by," Nana answered. "Isn't that right, Dr. Coles? No problems that I know of. Except you missed supper."

"Well, actually," Kayla spoke up, "Nana was feeling a little faint again. So I stopped by as a precaution."

"Now, Kayla, don't exaggerate, please. Let's not get carried away," Nana scolded in her usual way. "I'm just fine. Fainting's just a part of my life now."

Kayla nodded and smiled pleasantly. Then she sighed out loud and leaned back on the couch. "I'm sorry. You tell it, Nana."

"I felt a little faint a few days last week. As you know, Alex. No big thing. If we still had Alex Junior around to take care of, then maybe I would be more concerned."

"Well, I'm concerned," I said.

Kayla smiled and shook her head. "Right. Like Nana said, I was in the neighborhood and I just stopped by, Alex. Strictly social. I did take her blood pressure. Everything seems to be in working order. I would like her to go for a few blood tests."

"Fine, I'll go for tests," said Nana. "Let's talk about the weather now."

I shook my head. At both of them. " You still working too hard?" I asked Kayla.

"Look who's talking," she said, then smiled brightly. Kayla had tremendous spirit and could always light up a room. "Unfortunately, there's too much work to do around here. Don't get me started about the number of people in the capital of this wealthy nation of ours who can't begin to afford to see a good doctor, or wait for hours and hours at St. Anthony's and several other hospitals I could name around this town."

I had always liked Kayla, and maybe, to be honest, I was even a little intimidated by her. Why is that? I wondered as we talked. I noticed that she'd lost some weight, what with all her running around and do-gooding in the neighborhood and elsewhere. The truth was, she looked better than ever. I almost felt embarrassed to have noticed.

"What are you standing there gawking at?" Nana asked. "Sit down and join us."