The Big Bad Wolf Read online

  “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 women’s rights, 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. 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 71

  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 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 back and forth. Shit. What an ass I was sometimes. I was blaming Jamilla for what had happened with Christine, wasn’t I? How dumb was that?

  Chapter 72

  “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 and 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 lawyer’s 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 a year. 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 73

  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. 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 a silence on 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 74

  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 Web site where anything could be bought, if you had enough money.

  A
n agent at SIOC had downloaded the strange conversation with Mr. Potter . . .

  Boyfriend: Exactly how much is enough money to buy “anything”?

  Mr. Potter: More than you have, my friend. Anyway, there’s an eye scan to keep out riffraff like yourself.

  The Package: We’re honored that you’re slumming with us tonight.

  Mr. 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 under a microscope right now. Twenty-four agents in 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 with 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 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 only, 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 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 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 special agent in charge. I wasn’t really sure where I fit in, but they all knew I’d been sent by Washington, and by Ron Burns himself.

  “The good Dr. 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 Special Agent in Charge Powiesnik.

  Katz turned on the headlights, and we pulled up to a corner. Then we waited for Taylor to pass. His Toyota 4Runner 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 book. 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 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 onto 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. 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 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 in 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.

  Chapter 75

  “OVER THERE, heading toward the barn,” I said, and pointed. “That’s Taylor. What’s he doing?”

  “Powiesnik is on the other side of the house. He probably can’t see that Taylor is outside,” said Agent Katz.

  “Let’s see what he’s up to.”

  Katz hesitated. “You’re not going to get me shot, are you?”

  “No,” I said, a little too quickly. This was getting complicated all of a sudden. I wanted to follow Taylor, but I felt I had to watch out for Katz too.

  “Let’s go,” Katz finally said, reaching a decision. “Taylor is out of the house. He’s headed southwest,” she alerted Powiesnik. “We’re following.”

  The two of us hurried forward for a hundred yards or so. We had some ground to make up, and we wanted to keep Taylor in sight. There was a half-moon overhead and that helped, but it was also possible that Taylor might see us coming. We could lose him easily now, especially if he was suspicious.

  He didn’t seem to be aware of anything going on around him—at least not so far. Which got me thinking that he was used to sneaking around out here late at night. Not worrying about being seen by anyone. This was his private reserve, wasn’t it? I watched him go inside the barn.

  “We should call in again,” Katz said.

  I didn’t disagree completely, but I was nervous about the other agents coming up fast and making noise. How many of them had experience in the field?

  “You better call in,” I finally agreed.

  It took the other agents a couple of minutes to get to the edge of the woods, where we were crouched behind tall brush. Light from inside the barn shone through cracks and holes in the weatherboarding. We couldn’t see or hear much from where we were hiding.

  Then music blasted from somewhere in the barn. I recognized a choral arrangement by Queen. A lyric about riding a bicycle. Totally whacked at this time of night, playing in the middle of nowhere.

  “There’s no evidence of violence in his past,” Powiesnik said as he crouched beside me.

  “Or kidnapping, either,” I said. “But he might have somebody in that barn. Maybe the kid from Holy Cross. Taylor knew about the Wolf’s Den, even the eye scan. I doubt he’s an innocent bystander.”

  “We’re moving on Taylor,” the senior agent ordered. “He may be armed,” he told the agents. “Proceed as if he is.”

  He assigned Nielsen and Bugliarello to surveil the far side of the barn in case Taylor tried to get out some other way. Powiesnik, Katz, and I were going in the door that Taylor had entered.

  “You okay with this?” I asked Powiesnik. “Going in after him now?”

  “It’s already been decided,” he said in a tight voice.

  So we moved forward, toward the barn door. Queen continued to play loudly inside. “I want to ride my bi
cycle! Bicycle! Bicycle!” This was a strange feeling, all of it. The Bureau had excellent resources for getting information, and their personnel were certainly book smart and well trained, but in the past I’d always known and trusted those I went into a dangerous crime scene with.

  The wooden barn door hadn’t been latched or locked by Taylor. We could see that as we crouched in tall brush a few yards away.

  Suddenly the music stopped.

  Then I heard loud voices inside. More than one. But I couldn’t make out what was being said or who was doing the talking.

  “We should take him down. Now,” I whispered to Powiesnik. “We’re already committed. We have to go.”

  “Don’t tell me—”

  “I’m telling you,” I said.

  I wanted to take over from Powiesnik. He was hesitating much too long. Once we had moved so close to the barn, we shouldn’t have stopped.

  “I’ll go first. Come in behind me,” I finally said.

  Powiesnik didn’t overrule me, didn’t argue. Katz didn’t say a word.

  I ran very quickly toward the barn, my gun out of my holster. I was there in seconds. The door made a heavy creaking sound when I pulled it open. Bright light escaped outside, splintering into my eyes for a second. “FBI!” I yelled at the top of my voice. FBI! Jesus!

  Taylor looked at me and his eyes filled with surprise, fear. I had a clear shot at him. He’d had no idea he was being followed. He’d been operating in his own private safety zone, hadn’t he? I could see that now.

  I could also make out someone else in the shadows of the barn. He was tied with leather bindings to a wooden post attached to a beam in the hayloft. He had no clothes on. Nothing. His chest and genitals were bloodied. But Francis Deegan was alive!

  “You’re under arrest . . . Mr. Potter.”

  Chapter 76

  THE FIRST INTERVIEW with Potter took place in his small library in the farmhouse. It was cozy and tastefully furnished, and gave no hint of the horrible acts going on elsewhere on the property. Potter sat on a dark wooden bench with his wrists handcuffed in front of him. His dark eyes boiled over in anger directed at me.