The Big Bad Wolf ак-9

by James Patterson

  I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t that I was mad at her, but – well, maybe I was angry. I’d had little Alex for so long, and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing him now. My stomach was dropping like an elevator in free fall. The experience was like seeing your child run into the street, about to have a serious accident, and not being able to stop it from happening, not being able to do a thing. I sat there very quietly, and I held in a primal scream that would have shattered all the glass in the office.

  Then the meeting began. The informal get-together. With no bad people in the room.

  ‘Dr Cross, thank you for taking the time to come here,’ Gilda Haranzo said and threw a cordial smile my way.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I come?’ I asked.

  She nodded and smiled again. ‘We all want this problem to be settled amicably. You’ve been an excellent caregiver and no one disputes that.’

  ‘I’m his father, Ms Haranzo,’ I corrected.

  ‘Of course. But Christine is able to take care of the boy now, and she is the mother. She’s also a primary school principal in Seattle.’

  I could feel my face and neck flushing. ‘She left Alex with me.’

  Christine spoke up. ‘That isn’t fair, Alex. I told you that you could take him for now. Our arrangement was always meant to be temporary.’

  Ms Haranzo asked, ‘Dr Cross, isn’t it true that your eighty-two-year-old grandmother takes care of the child most of the time?’

  ‘We all do,’ I said. ‘And besides, Nana wasn’t too old when Christine left to go to Seattle. She’s extremely capable and I don’t think you’d ever want Nana on the witness stand.’

  The lawyer continued. ‘Your work takes you away from home frequently, doesn’t it?’

  I nodded. ‘Occasionally, it does. But Alex is always well cared for. He’s a happy, healthy, bright child, smiles all the time. And he’s loved. He’s the center of our household.’

  Ms Haranzo waited for me to finish, then she started in again. Suddenly, I felt as if I were on trial here. ‘Your work, Dr Cross. It’s dangerous. Your family has been put in grave danger before. Also, you’ve had intimate relationships with women since Ms Johnson left. Isn’t that so?’

  I sighed. Then I slowly rose from the leather chair. ‘I’m sorry, but this meeting is over. Excuse me. I have to get out of here.’ But at the door, I turned back to Christine. ‘This is wrong.’

  Chapter Seventy-One

  I had to get out of there and put my mind somewhere else for a while. I returned to the Hoover Building and no one seemed to have missed me. I couldn’t help thinking that some of these agents squirreled away in the home office had no idea how crimes were solved in the real world. They almost seemed to believe that you fed data into computers and eventually it spit out a killer. It happens on the street! Get out of this windowless ‘crisis’ room with all the bad air. Work the sidewalks! I wanted to shout.

  But I didn’t say a word. I sat at a computer and read the latest on the Russian mob. I didn’t see any promising connections. Plus, I couldn’t really concentrate after my meeting at Christine’s lawyers’. Eventually, I packed up my things and left the Hoover Building.

  Nobody seemed to notice me leave. And then I wondered – is that such a bad thing?

  When I got home, Nana was waiting at the front door. I was just walking up the steps when she opened the door and came outside. ‘You watch little Alex, Damon. We’ll be back in a while,’ she called through the screen.

  Nana limped down the front stairs and I followed her. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘We’re going for a drive,’ she said. ‘You and I have some things to talk about.’

  Oh shit.

  I got back in the old Porsche and started it up. Nana flopped down in the passenger seat.

  ‘Drive,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Miss Daisy.’

  ‘Don’t give me any of your lip either, or your sorry attempts at wit.’

  ‘Yes ma’am.’

  ‘That’s a good example of your lip.’

  ‘I know it is, ma’am.’

  I decided to head out west toward the Shenandoah Mountains, a pretty ride and one of Nana’s favorites. For the first part of the drive, we were both fairly quiet, unusual for the two of us.

  ‘What happened at the lawyers’?’ Nana finally asked as I turned on to Route 66.

  I gave her the long version, probably because I needed to vent. She listened very quietly, then she did something unusual for her. Nana actually cursed. ‘The hell with Christine Johnson. She’s wrong about this!’

  ‘I can’t completely blame Christine,’ I said. As much as I didn’t want to, I could see her side of things.

  ‘Well, I do. She left that sweet little baby and went to Seattle. She didn’t have to go that far away. Her decision. Now she has to live with it.’

  I glanced over at Nana. Her face was screwed tight. ‘I don’t know if that would be considered an enlightened point of view these days.’

  Nana waved away what I’d said. ‘I don’t think these days are all that enlightened. You know I believe in womens’ right, mothers’ rights, all of that, but I also believe you have to be held responsible for your actions. Christine walked away from that little boy for all this time. She walked away from her responsibility.’

  ‘You through?’ I asked.

  Nana had her arms folded tightly across her chest. ‘I am. And it felt good, real good. You ought to try it sometime. Vent, Alex. Lose control. Let it out.’

  I finally had to laugh. ‘I had the radio blasting all the way home from work, and I was yelling half the time. I’m more upset than you are, Nana.’

  For once – and I don’t ever remember this happening before – she actually let me have the last word.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  Jamilla called that night around eleven o’clock – eight o’clock her time. I hadn’t spoken to her for a few days, and to be truthful, now wasn’t the best time. Christine’s visit to D.C. and then the meeting with her lawyer had me tense and messed-up. Shook. I tried not to show it, but that was wrong too.

  ‘You never write, you never call,’ Jamilla said and laughed in her usual loose and engaging way. ‘Don’t tell me you’re already wrapped up in a case for the Bureau? You are, aren’t you?’

  ‘A big, nasty one, yeah. I’m sort of in and out of it,’ I told Jam, then quickly explained what was happening, and what wasn’t, at the Hoover Building, including my mixed emotions about being with the Bureau – all the stuff in my life that didn’t really matter right now.

  ‘You’re the new guy on the block,’ she said. ‘Give it some time.’

  ‘I’m trying to be patient. It’s just that I’m not used to this wasted motion, the wasted resources.’

  I heard her laugh. ‘That, and you’re used to being the center of attention, don’t you think? You’ve been a star, Alex.’

  I smiled. ‘You’re right, you’re right. That’s part of it.’

  ‘You saw the Bureau from the other side of the fence. You knew what you were getting yourself into. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘I guess I should have, sure. But I listened to a lot of promises that were made when I signed up.’

  Jamilla sighed. ‘I know, I’m not being very sympathetic, empathetic, whatever. One of my faults.’

  ‘No, it’s me.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she laughed again. ‘It is. I never heard you so down and out. Let’s see what we can do to bring you up.’

  We talked about the case she was working on, then Jamilla asked about each of the kids. She was interested as always. But I was in a sour mood, and I couldn’t shake it. I wondered if she could tell, and then I got my answer.

  ‘Well,’ Jam said, ‘I just wanted to see how you were. Call if you have any news. I’m always here for you. I miss you, Alex.’

  ‘I miss you too,’ I said.

  Then Jamilla broke the connection with a soft, ‘Bye.’

  I sat there shaking my head b
ack and forth. Shit. What an ass I am sometimes. I was blaming Jamilla for what had happened with Christine, wasn’t I? How dumb was that?

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  ‘Hi there. I missed you,’ I said and smiled. ‘And I’m sorry.’

  Five minutes after Jamilla hung up, I called her back to try and make amends.

  ‘You should be sorry, you poop. Glad to see your famous antennae are still working all right,’ she said.

  ‘Not so hard to figure out. The crucial evidence was right before my eyes. That was the shortest phone talk we’ve ever had. Probably the most uncomfortable and frustrating too. I had one of my famous feelings about it.’

  ‘So what’s the matter, boy scout? Is it the job or is it something else? Is it me, Alex? You can tell me if it is. I have to warn you, though, I carry a gun.’

  I laughed at her joke. Then I took a breath, before I let it out slowly. ‘Christine Johnson is back in town. It gets worse from there. She came for little Alex. She wants to take him away, to get custody, probably take him to Seattle.’

  I heard a sharp intake of breath, then. ‘Oh, Alex, that’s terrible. Terrible. Did you talk to her about it?’

  ‘I sure did. I was at her lawyers’ this afternoon. Christine finds it hard to be tough, her lawyer doesn’t.’

  ‘Alex, has Christine seen the two of you together? How you are with him? You’re like that old movie, Kramer vs. Kramer. Dustin Hoffman and that cute little boy?’

  ‘No, she hasn’t really watched us together, but I’ve seen her with Alex. He turned on the charm. Welcomed her back without any recriminations. Little traitor.’

  Jamilla was angry now. ‘Little Alex would. Always the perfect gentleman. Like his father.’

  ‘That, plus – she is his mother. The two of them have a history, Jam. It’s complicated.’

  ‘No it isn’t. Not for me, not for anybody with a brain. She left him, Alex. Separated herself by three thousand miles. Stayed away for over two years. What’s to say she won’t do it again? So what are you going to do now?’

  That was the big question, wasn’t it?

  ‘What do you think? What would you do?’

  Jam sniffed out a laugh. ‘Oh, you know me – I’d fight her like hell.’

  I finally smiled. ‘That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to fight Christine like hell.’

  Chapter Seventy-Four

  The phone calls weren’t over for the night. As soon as I got off with Jamilla, and we’re talking sixty seconds here, the infernal contraption started to ring again. I wondered if it was Christine. I really didn’t want to talk about Alex right now. What would she want to say to me – and what could I say to her?

  The phone wouldn’t stop ringing, though. I looked at my watch. Saw it was past midnight. Now what? I hesitated before I finally snatched it up.

  ‘Alex Cross,’ I said.

  ‘Alex. This is Ron Burns. Sorry to call you so late. I’m just flying into D.C. from New York. Another conference on counterterrorism, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean right now. Nobody seems to know exactly how to fight the bastards, but everybody has a theory.’

  ‘Play by their rules. Of course, that would inconvenience a few people,’ I said. ‘And it’s sure not politically or socially correct.’

  Burns laughed. ‘You go to the heart of the matter,’ he said. ‘And you aren’t timid about your ideas.’

  I said, ‘Speaking of which… ’

  ‘I know you’re a little pissed,’ he said. ‘I don’t blame you after what’s been happening. The Bureau runaround, everything you were warned about. You have to understand something, Alex. I’m trying to turn around a very slow-moving ocean liner. In the Potomac. Trust me for a little longer. By the way, why are you still in D.C.? Not up in New Hampshire?’

  I blinked, didn’t understand. ‘What’s in New Hampshire? Oh shit, don’t tell me.’

  ‘We have a suspect. Nobody told you, did they? Your idea about tracking the mentions of the Wolf’s Den on the Internet worked. We got somebody!’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing now, at midnight. ‘Nobody told me. I’ve been home since I left work.’

  There was silence at his end. ‘I’m going to make a couple of calls. Get on a plane in the morning. They’ll be expecting you in New Hampshire. Believe me, they will be expecting you. And Alex, trust me a little longer.’

  ‘Yeah, I will.’ A little longer.

  Chapter Seventy-Five

  It seemed both unlikely and peculiar, but a respected assistant professor of English at Dartmouth was the subject of the FBI surveillance in New Hampshire. He had recently gone into a chat room called Taboo and bragged about an exclusive website where anything could be bought if you had enough money.

  An agent at SIOC had monitored the strange conversation with Mr Potter…

  BOYFRIEND: EXACTLY HOW MUCH IS ENOUGH MONEY TO BUY ‘ANYTHING’?

  POTTER: MORE THAN YOU HAVE, MY FRIEND. ANYWAY, THERE’S AN EYESCAN TO KEEP OUT RIFFRAFF LIKE YOURSELF.

  THE PACKAGE: WE’RE HONORED THAT YOU’RE SLUMMING WITH US TONIGHT.

  POTTER: THE WOLF’S DEN IS ONLY OPEN ABOUT TWO HOURS A WEEK. NONE OF YOU ARE INVITED, OF COURSE.

  It turned out that Mr Potter was the moniker used by Dr Homer Taylor. Guilty or not, Dr Taylor was in a world of trouble right now. Twenty-four agents, four two-person teams working eight-hour shifts, were watching every step he took in Hanover. During the work week, he lived in a small Victorian house near the college and walked back and forth to classes. He was a thin, balding, proper-looking man who wore English-made suits with bright-colored bow ties and purposefully uncoordinated suspenders. He always looked very pleased to be himself. We’d learned from college authorities that he was teaching Restoration and Elizabethan drama as well as a Shakespeare seminar that semester.

  His classes were extremely popular and so was he. Dr Taylor had the reputation of being available to his students, even ones who weren’t actually taking his courses. He was also known for his quick wit and nasty sense of humor. He often played to standing room, which he called ‘full houses’, and frequently acted out scenes, both the male and female parts.

  It was assumed that he was gay, but no one was aware of any serious relationships the professor had. He owned a farm about fifty miles away in Webster, New Hampshire, where he spent most weekends. Occasionally, Taylor went to Boston or New York, and he’d spent several summers in Europe. There had never been an incident with a student, though some of the males called him ‘Puck’, a few openly to his face.

  The surveillance on Taylor was difficult, given the college-town atmosphere. So far, it was believed that our agents hadn’t been spotted. But we couldn’t be certain of that. Taylor hadn’t been seen doing much beyond teaching his classes, and returning home.

  The second day that I was in Hanover, I was in a surveillance car, a dark blue Crown Vic, along with an agent named Peggy Katz. Agent Katz had been raised in Lexington, Massachusetts. She was a very serious person whose main hobby seemed to be an avid interest in professional basketball. She could talk about the NBA or WNBA for hours, which she did during our surveillance time together.

  The other agents on with us that night were Roger Nielsen, Charles Powiesnik and Michelle Bugliarello. Powiesnik was the senior agent in charge. I wasn’t really sure where I fit in, but they all knew I’d been sent in by Washington, and by Ron Burns himself.

  ‘The good Doctor Taylor is going out. Could be interesting,’ Katz and I heard over our two-way late that night. We couldn’t actually see his house from where we were parked.

  ‘He’s coming your way. You pick him up first,’ said agent-in-charge, Powiesnik.

  Katz turned on the headlights, and we pulled up to a street corner. Then we waited for Taylor to pass. His Toyota 4-Runner appeared a moment later.

  ‘He’s going out toward I-89,’ she reported in. ‘Proceeding at about forty-five, keeping within the speed limit, which makes him suspicious in my b
ook. Maybe headed to his farm in Webster. Kind of late for picking tomatoes, though.’

  ‘We’ll have Nielsen precede him on I-89. You stay behind. Michelle and I will be right with you,’ said Powiesnik.

  That sounded familiar to me, and apparently to Agent Katz since she muttered ‘right’ as soon as she signed off.

  Once he exited off 89, Taylor made turns on a couple of narrow side roads. He was doing close to sixty.

  ‘Seems to be in a little more of a hurry now,’ Peggy said.

  Then Taylor’s Toyota veered off on to a drive that appeared to be dirt. We had to stay back or be spotted. Fog lay low over the farmlands, and we proceeded slowly until we could safely park on the side of the road. The other FBI cars hadn’t arrived yet, at least we didn’t see any of them. We got out of our sedan and headed back into the woods.

  Then we could see Taylor’s Toyota parked in front of a shadowy farmhouse. A light eventually blinked on inside the house, then another light. Agent Katz was quiet and I wondered if she’d been involved in anything quite as heavy as this before. I didn’t think that she had.

  ‘We can see Taylor’s Toyota at the house,’ she reported in to Powiesnik.

  Then she turned to me. ‘So now what?’ she asked in a whisper.

  ‘It’s not up to us,’ I said.

  ‘If it was?’

  ‘I’d move in closer on foot. I want to see if that missing kid from Holy Cross is there. We don’t know how much danger he’s in.’

  Powiesnik contacted us again. ‘We’re going to take a look. You and Agent Cross stay where you are. Watch our backs.’

  Agent Katz turned to me and sniffed out a laugh. ‘Powiesnik means – watch our dust, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Or, eat our dust,’ I said.

  ‘Or suck hind tit,’ grumped Katz. Maybe she hadn’t seen any action before, but she apparently wanted some now. And I had a feeling Agent Katz might get her wish.