London Bridges Part 5

Chapter 100.

You've heard the saying get a room? Well, I already had one at the Fairmont Olympic on University across from Ranier Square, and I couldn't wait to get there. Neither of us could. Jamilla whistled under her breath as we walked into the impressive lobby. She stared up at the engraved ceiling, which must have been forty feet high. There was an actual hush inside the large, overdecorated room at a little past ten when we arrived."Italian Renaissance decor, big ol' antique chandeliers, five stars, five diamonds. I'm wonderfully impressed," Jam said, grinning. As always, her enthusiasm was exhilarating."Every once in a while you just have to build in a treat, you know.""This is definitely a treat, Alex," Jamilla said, and gave me a quick kiss in the lobby. "I'm really happy you're here. And that I'm here, too. I like us a lot."It kept getting better from there. Our room was on the tenth floor and it was everything it needed to be-bright, airy, plush, with a king-size bed. We even had a view of Elliott Bay with Bainbridge Island in the distance, and a ferry just leaving the waterfront in the foreground. The sights and scenes couldn't have been any better if I'd planned them out in elaborate detail, which maybe, just maybe, I had.About that king-size bed at the Fairmont Olympic. It was covered with a gold-and-green-striped comforter-a duvet?-I'm always slightly confused about what distinguishes the two. We didn't bother to remove the comforter/duvet. We just fell onto it, laughing and talking, happy to be there together, realizing how much we'd missed each other."Let me make you a little more comfortable, Alex," Jam whispered as she pulled my shirt out of my pants. "How's that? Better?""And I'll do the same for you. Only fair," I said to her. "t.i.t for tat.""Well, yes, I do like that tat of yours."I began to unb.u.t.ton Jamilla's blouse and she continued unb.u.t.toning my shirt. Neither of us was in a hurry. We knew better than to rush any of this. The whole idea was to make it last, to pay attention to each detail, each b.u.t.ton, the feel of the fabric, the tiny b.u.mps of antic.i.p.ation on Jamilla's skin, and on mine, the difficulty catching our breath, the tingle in our bodies, the electricity, sparks, whatever goodness came our way that night."You've been practicing," she whispered, and she was already a little short of breath. I liked that.I laughed. "Uh-uh. Actually, I've been practicing the art of antic.i.p.ation.""Like this next b.u.t.ton?" she asked."Beautiful, isn't it?""And the one after that?""I don't know how much more of this I can take, Jamilla. I'm not kidding.""We'll have to see. We'll just have to see. I'm not kidding, either."When Jamilla's blouse and my shirt were undone, we slowly pulled them off. Meanwhile, we kept kissing, tickling, scratching, nuzzling, ever so slowly. She was wearing perfume and I recognized it as Caleche Eau Delicate. She knew I liked the scent. Jamilla loved a light scratch all over her body so that's what I did next. First the shoulders and back, then her arms, her beautiful face, the long legs, her feet, then back up her legs again."You're getting warm . . . warmer," she sighed, and laughed very deep in her throat.Then we slid back off the bed and stood together, swaying and touching. Finally I took off her bra and held her b.r.e.a.s.t.s in my hands. "Like I said, I don't know how much more of this I can take."I didn't, either. I was hard, so hard that it hurt. I slid down and knelt on the Oriental rug. I kissed Jamilla down there. She was strong and confident, and maybe that's why I liked kneeling before her like this. In awe? Out of respect? Something like that.Finally I pushed myself up again. "Okay?" I whispered."Okay. Whatever you say. I'm your slave. Your master? A little of each?"I went inside Jamilla while we were still standing, dancing in place, but then we tilted down and dropped onto the bed. I was lost in the moment, lost in Jamilla Hughes, and that was exactly where I needed to be. She was making these tiny sighs and gasps that I loved."I missed being with you," I whispered. "I missed your smile, the sound of your voice, everything.""Ditto," she said, and laughed. "But especially that tat of yours."Moments later, five, maybe ten minutes, the phone on the nightstand began to ring.For once, I did the right thing-I knocked the d.a.m.n thing onto the floor, then covered it with a pillow. If it was the Wolf, he could call back in the morning.

Chapter 101.

The next morning I headed back to the Idaho Rockies. Jamilla and I shared a cab out to the airport, then took separate planes going in different directions. "Big mistake. Dumb move," she told me before we parted. "You should just fly to San Francisco with me. You need some extended R and R." I already knew that.But it wasn't going to be. Corky Hanc.o.c.k was the biggest lead we had, and the surveillance on him had been tightening. There was nowhere Hanc.o.c.k could go in the state of Idaho and not be watched, or at least listened to. There was surveillance on his house, the surrounding acreage, even the stand-alone barn. We had four mobile teams on him, with four more in the wings if needed. Since I'd left, aerial surveillance had been added to the mix.In Idaho, I attended a meeting of more than two dozen agents a.s.signed to the detail. The meeting was held in a small movie house in Sun Valley. The movie 21 Grams with Sean Penn and Naomi Watts was playing there in the evenings, but not during the day.Senior Agent William Koch stood in front of us. Tall and gangly, impressive in his way, he wore a chambray shirt, jeans, scuffed black cowboy boots. He played the local guy to a T, but he was n.o.body's fool and he wanted us to know it. The same was true for his CIA counterpart, Bridget Rooney, a confident, dark-haired woman who was smarter than a whip."I'll make this pretty simple for everybody. Either Hanc.o.c.k knows we're here or he's just unbelievably careful by nature," said Koch. "He hasn't talked to anybody since we got here. He's been online-eBay for fishing rods, a couple of p.o.r.n sites, a fantasy baseball league. He has a girlfriend named Coral Lee, who lives nearby in Ketchum. Asian American girl. Coral is definitely a good looker. Corky isn't. We figured he probably spends lots of money on her, and it turns out, he does. Slightly less than two hundred thousand so far this year. Trips, jewelry, one of those cute little Lexus convertibles the gals like."Koch paused and looked around the room. "That's about it. Except we know that Hanc.o.c.k is connected to the Wolf and that he's been paid a lot of money for his services. So at twelve hundred hours, we're going in to take a look for ourselves inside the house. So tired," Agent Koch said in a singsong. "Tired of waiting."There were smiles around the room, even from those who didn't get the reference to the Kinks song. Somebody patted me on the shoulder, as though I had something to do with the decision that must have come down from Washington."Not me." I turned and shrugged at the agent congratulating me. "I'm just a soldier here."The team going inside Hanc.o.c.k's place was mostly FBI, but there was a handful of CIA agents, too, led by Rooney. The CIA was in Idaho as a courtesy, partly because of the new working relationship that existed between the two agencies, but mostly because Hanc.o.c.k was directly involved in the murder of Thomas Weir, one of theirs. But I doubted they wanted to take Hanc.o.c.k down any more than I did. I wanted the Wolf, and somehow, somewhere, I was going to get him. At least, that was what I needed to think.

Chapter 102.

Koch and Rooney were in charge, and they finally gave us the go. At the appointed hour, we swarmed all over the Hanc.o.c.k house. FBI-emblazoned shirts and windbreakers were everywhere. Probably scared off a few deer and jackrabbits, even though not a single shot was fired.Hanc.o.c.k was in bed with his girlfriend. He was sixty-four years old; Coral was supposed to be twenty-six. l.u.s.trous black hair, good figure, lots and lots of rings and things, slept in the nude, on her back. Hanc.o.c.k at least had the decency to wear a Utah Jazz sweatshirt and sleep in a fetal position.He began to shout at us, which was actually kind of ironic and funny. "What the h.e.l.l is this s.h.i.t? Get out of my d.a.m.n house!"But he forgot to look surprised, or he just wasn't a good actor. Either way, I got the feeling that he knew we were coming. How? Because he'd spotted us over the past few days? Or had Hanc.o.c.k been warned by someone in one of the cooperating agencies? Did the Wolf know we were onto Hanc.o.c.k?During the first couple of hours of interviews, we tried Dr. O'Connell's truth serum on Hanc.o.c.k. It didn't work as well on him as it had with Joe Cahill. He got happy and high, but he just sat back and went with it. Didn't tell us much, wouldn't even confirm things that Cahill had already confessed.Meanwhile, a search of the house, barn, and sixty acres of grounds was going on. Hanc.o.c.k owned an Aston Martin convertible-and the Wolf loved fast cars-but nothing else even vaguely suspicious turned up. Not for three whole days, during which nearly a hundred agents combed every square inch of the ranch. During that time, half a dozen computer experts-including loaners from Intel and IBM-tried to break into Hanc.o.c.k's two computers. They finally concluded that he'd had experts put up extra security to protect whatever was inside.There was nothing to do but wait around some more. I read every magazine and newspaper in Hanc.o.c.k's house, including several back issues of the Idaho Mountain Express. I went for long walks and tried to figure out a direction for my life that made some sense to me. I didn't do real well, but the fresh mountain air was a nice treat for my lungs.When a computer breakthrough finally came, there wasn't much to go on. No direct link to the Wolf or to anyone else who seemed suspicious to us, at least not at first.The next day, though, a hacker from our offices in Austin, Texas, found a file inside an encrypted file. It contained regular communication with a bank in Zurich. Actually, with a couple of banks in Switzerland.And suddenly we didn't just suspect, we knew that Hanc.o.c.k had a lot of money. Over six million. At least that much. Which was the best news we'd had in a long while.So off to Zurich we went, at least for a day or two. I didn't expect to find the Wolf there. But you never know. And I'd never been to Switzerland. Jannie begged me to bring back chocolate, a suitcase full of the stuff, and I promised I would. A whole suitcase full of Swiss chocolate, sweetheart. Least I can do for missing most of your ninth year.

Chapter 103.

If I were the Wolf, this would be a good place to live. Zurich is a beautiful, amazingly clean city on the lake-the Zurichsee-with lovely fragrant shade trees and wide, winding sidewalks along the water, and fresh mountain air meant to be breathed in deeply. When I arrived, a storm was imminent and the air smelled like bra.s.s. The exterior of a majority of the buildings were in light shades, sand and white, and several were adorned with Swiss flags twisting in the bl.u.s.tery wind off the lake.As I drove into the city I noticed trolley tracks everywhere with heavy-looking wires hanging overhead. The power of the old. Also several life-size fibergla.s.s cows painted with Alpine scenes, which reminded me of Little Alex's favorite toy, Moo. What was I going to do about Alex? What could I do?The Zurich Bank was a sixties-looking building, gla.s.s-and-steel front, situated very close to the lake. Sandy Greenberg met me outside. She was wearing a gray suit, had a black handbag slung over her shoulder, and looked as though maybe she worked inside the bank instead of for Interpol."You ever been to Zurich, Alex?" Sandy asked as she gave me a hug and kiss on both cheeks."Never. Had one of their multipurpose knives once when I was ten or eleven.""Alex, we have to eat a meal here. Promise me. Let's go inside now. They're waiting for us, and they don't like to wait in Zurich. Especially the bankers."The inside of the Zurich Bank was expensive-looking, highly polished, wood paneling everywhere, as spotless as a hospital operating room. The teller area was natural stone, with more wood paneling. The tellers were efficient and professional-looking, and they whispered to one another. The bank's branding was understated, but there was a great deal of modern art on the wall. I thought that I understood: the art was the bank's branding."Zurich has always been a haven for avant-garde intellectuals, cultured types," Sandy said, and didn't whisper. "The Dada movement was born here. Wagner, Strauss, Jung all lived here.""James Joyce wrote Ulysses in Zurich," I said, and winked at her.Sandy laughed. "I forgot, you're a closet intellectual."We were escorted to the bank president's office, which had a serious look. Neat as a pin, too. Only one transaction on the desk blotter, everything else filed away.Sandy handed Mr. Delmar Pomeroy an envelope. "A signed warrant," she said. "The account number is 616479Q.""Everything has been promptly arranged," Herr Pomeroy said to us. That was all. Then his warrant officer took us to look at the transactions in and out of account number 616479Q. So much for the secrecy and security of Swiss banks. Everything has been promptly arranged.

Chapter 104.

This was feeling more like an efficient, orderly police investigation now. Even though I knew it really wasn't. Sandy, two of her agents from Interpol, and I got to look through all of Corky Hanc.o.c.k's transactions in a small, windowless room somewhere deep in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the Zurich Bank. The former CIA agent's account had grown from two hundred thousand U.S. dollars to slightly over six million. Youza.The latest, and largest, deposits totaled three and a half million and had come in four installments this year.The source of the payment was an account in the name of Y. Jikhomirov. It took us a couple of hours to track down all of the records. There were more than a hundred pages going all the way back to '91. The year the Wolf had been brought out of Russia. Coincidence? I didn't believe in them. Not anymore.We carefully examined withdrawals from the Jikhomirov account. They included payments to a company that leased private jets; regular air travel with British Airways and Air France; hotels: Claridge's, the Bel-Air in L.A., the Sherry-Netherland in New York, the Four Seasons in Chicago and Maui. There were wire transfers to America, South Africa, Australia, Paris, Tel Aviv. The trail of a Wolf?And an entry that particularly caught my interest-the purchase of four expensive sports cars in France, all from a dealership in Nice, Riviera Motors. A Lotus, a special-edition Jaguar, and two Aston Martins."The Wolf is supposed to be a sports car enthusiast," I said to Sandy. "Maybe the cars mean something. Maybe we're closer than we suspect. What do you think?"She nodded agreement. "Yes, I think we should visit Riviera Motors in Nice. Nice is nice. But first, Alex, lunch in Zurich. I made you a promise.""No, I think you made me promise. After my bad Swiss Army knife joke."I was hungry anyway, so it seemed a good idea. Sandy chose the Veltliner Keller, one of her favorites-a restaurant she thought I would appreciate.As we entered, she explained that Veltliner Keller had been a restaurant since 1551, a long time for any business to survive. So we forgot about police work for an hour and a half. We dined on barley soup, zuppe engadinese; a ca.s.serole, veltliner topf; and very good wine. Everything was just so: crisp white linens and napkins, roses in sterling vases, crystal salt and pepper shakers."This is one of your better ideas," I told Sandy near the end of the meal. "A nice break in the action.""It's called lunch, Alex. You have to try it more. You should come to Europe with your friend, Jamilla. You're working too hard.""It shows, I guess.""No, actually you look as good as ever. You're holding up better than Denzel-in his latest movies, anyway. Somehow you persevere. I don't know how, but you do. But I can tell that you're twisted up inside. Eat, relax, then we'll go to Nice and check out some sports cars. It will be like a holiday. Maybe we'll even catch a killer. Finish your wine, Alex.""Right," I said, "and then I have to buy some chocolate for Jannie. A suitcase full. I made another promise.""Didn't you promise to catch the Wolf?" Sandy asked."Yeah, that too."

Chapter 105.

Next stop, a luxury-car dealership in Nice. I felt as if I were in an Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k movie.The owner of Riviera Motors, the "concessionnaire exclusif Jaguar, Aston Martin, Lotus," appeared to like drama, too, at least in a design sense. To that effect, a long row of gleaming black cars was displayed in the showroom. The cars were clearly visible from the street through monumental bay windows. The shiny black machines cut a startling contrast to a spotless white floor."What do you think?" Sandy asked as we climbed out of our rented Peugeot, which we had parked across the street from the dealership."I think I need a new car," I said to her. "And I know the Wolf likes fancy sports cars."We went inside and stopped at the reception desk in front. Behind it was an elegant reception person, well tanned with a bleached and ironed ponytail. She was checking Sandy and me out: Both over six feet; ebony and ivory. Who are these people?"We're here to see Monsieur Garnier," Sandy said to the woman in French."You have an appointment with Monsieur, madame?""We do indeed. Interpol and the FBI, respectively-and respectfully, I might add. Monsieur Garnier is expecting us, I believe. We're here on important business."While we waited, I continued to take in the place. The expensive cars were precisely parked in a herringbone pattern, interspersed with voluminous potted plants. In an adjacent service atelier, mechanics in matching Jaguar-green jumpsuits worked with pristine tools.The manager of the car dealership appeared after a couple of minutes' wait. He was dressed in a fashionable gray suit, but not too flashy, just clearly expensive and right."You've come about a couple of Aston Martins, a Jaguar, a Lotus?" he asked."Something like that, monsieur," Sandy told him. "Let's go up to your office. We wouldn't want to hurt business by talking down here in the showroom."The manager smiled. "Oh, believe me, madame, our business is bulletproof.""We'll see about that," I told him in French. "Or maybe a better way of putting it: let's try and keep it that way. This is a murder investigation."

Chapter 106.

The manager suddenly became extremely polite and cooperative. The four luxury cars in question had been purchased by an M. Aglionby, who apparently had a home nearby on the beautiful peninsula, Cap-Ferrat, just east of Nice. Monsieur Garnier told us it was "off the Ba.s.se Corniche, the main coastal road to Monaco. You can't miss it. And you won't miss the Aglionby estate.""To Catch a Thief," Sandy said as we sped along toward Cap-Ferrat about two hours later. We had lost a little time calling in backup."Actually, the most memorable shots in the Hitchc.o.c.k movie were filmed up there," Sandy went on. She pointed toward a parallel road winding along the cliffs; it was at least a hundred yards higher than the one we were driving on. In other words, very high up, and dangerous-looking."Also, we're here to catch a ma.s.s murderer without any conscience," I said, "not a witty and charming cat burglar like Cary Grant was in the flick.""This is true, too. Keep me focused, Alex. I could easily get distracted here," Sandy said. But I knew she was focused-always. That's why we got along so well.The Aglionby estate was located on the west side of Cap-Ferrat, in Villefranche-sur-Mer. There were glimpses of villas and gardens hidden behind high stucco and rock walls as we rode along D125, also known as boulevard Circulaire. Half a dozen cars and vans followed us, also catching the sights, no doubt: a shiny blue Rolls-Royce convertible easing out of one of the estates, with a blonde in sungla.s.ses and a kerchief behind the wheel; dark-gla.s.sed tourists catching rays on the terrace of the Grand Hotel du Cap-Ferrat; a bathing pool dug into solid rock at Piscine de Sun beach."You think this is a fool's errand, Alex?" Sandy asked."It's what we do. Hit and miss, hunt and peck. I feel good about this one. It has to be something. Monsieur Aglionby has to be connected somehow."I was hopeful. We had found an awful lot of money in the account of Corky Hanc.o.c.k, and most of it had come in recently. But how much did he really know about the Wolf? How much did anyone know?Then we saw the estate we were looking for-and Sandy drove past. " Got you, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she said. "Aglionby? The Wolf? Why not?""Whoever lives back there is certainly loaded. Jesus, how much is enough?""When you have a billion dollars or so, this is rather modest, Alex. It's not a question of a house-it's houses. The Riviera, London, Paris, Aspen.""If you say so. I've never had a billion myself. Or a villa on the Riviera."The place in question was a sun-drenched, Mediterranean-style mansion, creamy yellow with white detailing; it had gleaming bal.u.s.trades and porticos, shutters that the staff apparently closed to the midday sun. Or maybe the people inside just didn't want to be seen? Four stories, thirty-plus rooms-as cozy as Versailles.But for now all we were interested in was a peek. As we had planned earlier, we reconnoitered at a small hotel just up the coast. The decision was made by local police officials to use the estate bordering the Aglionby place on the south side. It was vacant now, except for a large staff. We would dress and pose as gardeners and household help, starting tomorrow morning.Sandy and I listened to the plan as it was laid out, step by step. We looked at each other, shook our heads. Not this time.I spoke. "We're going in tonight," I announced. "With or without your help."

Chapter 107.

The decision to go right away was backed enthusiastically by Interpol, and even by the French in Paris, who were in close contact with Washington and wanted the murderous Wolf as badly as the rest of the world did, maybe more. For a change, everything happened very quickly that afternoon and through the early evening. I was going to be part of the a.s.sault, and so was Sandy.The attack was planned as if the Wolf was definitely inside the villa. Seven two-person teams of snipers were deployed on all sides of the estate, which were designated as white (north), red (east), black (south), and green (west). Every door and window was covered, and each of the snipers had a specific number of targets. They were closest to the estate. Our eyes and ears.So far, they weren't seeing any sign that we'd been spotted.While the snipers moved into position, the rest of us-Interpol, the FBI, the French army and police-strapped on war gear: black Nomex flight suits, body armor, handguns, MP-5 submachine guns. Three helicopters were waiting less than a mile away and would be used during the a.s.sault. We were ready for the green light, but some of the more jaded among us expected a last-minute delay for politics, cold feet at the command level, something unforeseen to get in the way.I lay flat on the ground on my stomach beside Sandy Greenberg. We were less than a hundred yards from the main house. Starting to feel the jitters. At least, I was. The Wolf could be inside this house; maybe he was Aglionby.Some lights were on inside, but we seldom saw anyone at the windows past midnight. Security was modest on the grounds, just a couple of guards."Awfully quiet," said Sandy. "I don't know if I like this, Alex. Security's light.""It's almost two in the morning.""You surprised that we're going in?" Sandy asked.I smiled. " Are we going in? No, I'm not surprised. Remember, the French want the Wolf. Maybe even more than we do."Then the signal came to go! Sandy and I were part of the second a.s.sault team, and we ran toward the house about forty-five seconds after the first wave. We entered through the back- black. The kitchen, to be exact.Somebody had switched on the overheads. A guard lay on the floor, his hands cuffed behind his head. Highly polished marble was everywhere, four stoves at the center of the room. I noticed a large gla.s.s bowl on a table. I took a peek at what looked like dark noses inside.Figs, I finally realized, smiling to myself.Then Sandy and I were running down a long hallway. No gunshots had been fired inside the house yet. Lots of other noise, though.We came to the formal living room of diplomatic proportions: chandeliers dangled over our head, polished-marble floor, half a dozen dark and solemn paintings by French and Dutch masters.No Wolf so far. No sign of him."This for entertaining, or signing treaties?" Sandy asked me. "Alex, why aren't they fighting back? What's going on? Is he here?"We climbed a winding staircase and saw French soldiers leading men and women out of the bedrooms. Most were in their underwear; a few were naked. n.o.body looked very s.e.xy, but they certainly looked surprised.I didn't see anybody who might be the Wolf, but how could I tell for certain what the Wolf looked like? How could anybody?The interrogations began immediately right there in the hallways. Where is the Wolf? . . . Who is Aglionby? . . .The entire house was searched a second time, then a third.Marcel Aglionby wasn't at the house, we were told by several of the guests. He was on business in New York. One of his daughters was present; this was her party, her guests, her friends-though some of them looked to be twice her age. Her father was a respected banker, she swore to us. No way was he a criminal, no way was he the Wolf.So is he the Wolf's banker? And where does that lead us?I hated to think it, but I couldn't help myself: The Wolf wins again.

Chapter 108.

We searched the place one more time and, over the threats of the daughter, started to take it apart, piece by piece.I had to say the house was amazing, filled with antiques and artwork. Sandy thought that Aglionby might be trying to emulate the nearby La Fiorentina, which has been called the most beautiful house in the world. The banker certainly had expensive taste, and could afford to indulge them. Hand-painted Louis XVI pieces were everywhere, as were Louis XV chandeliers; antique Turkish carpets; Chinese screens and panels; tapestries; paintings, cla.s.sical and modern, on nearly every wall. Works by Fragonard, Goya, Pieter Brueghel. All of it financed by the Wolf? Why not? He has over two billion to throw around.We a.s.sembled the "suspects" in the billiards room, which had three billiards tables and nearly as many plush sofas as the living room. The same tailored formality. Did anyone here know anything about the Wolf? It didn't look that way to me. More likely, some of them might know Paris and Nicky Hilton."Does anyone want to speak for the group?" the French police commander addressed them.No one volunteered; no one answered any questions. Either they didn't know or they had been told not to say."All right, then, let's separate them. We'll begin the interviews now. Someone will talk," the commander warned.Since I hadn't been asked to partic.i.p.ate in the interrogations, I wandered out onto the grounds and walked down toward the water. Had we been given another false lead to follow? The Wolf's game-playing, his strategies and counterstrategies, had been relentless from the beginning. Why should it stop now?There was a large-actually, very long-wooden boathouse at the water's edge. It stood maybe a hundred yards from the main house. But what was this? Somebody had transformed the old boathouse into a garage to house a collection of more than thirty very expensive sports cars and luxury sedans. Maybe this was finally something. Evidence that the Wolf might have used this estate. Or was it another ruse, a tease?I was standing between the boathouse and the water when all h.e.l.l broke loose.

Chapter 109.

All he had was his piece of the puzzle, his part in this terrible mission. But it was more than enough. Bari Naffis knew that there had been an incursion at the estate in Villefranche-sur-Mer and that within the hour people would die because of it, including friends of his and one girl he'd slept with, a fashion model from Hamburg. Eye candy to be sure, but very precious stuff.The French army and police had already taken over the mansion. And now it was Bari's turn to go to work, to do his job. He didn't know why this had to happen, only that it did.As he turned onto the D125, it seemed to him that he was already too late. But he had his orders. Someone had obviously foreseen that this would happen.The Wolf had known it was coming, hadn't he? He had eyes in the back of his head. Eyes everywhere! What a scary b.a.s.t.a.r.d that one was.That was all that Bari Naffis knew-and all he cared about right now. He had been well paid in advance, even if this made little sense to him and was highly distasteful. Why kill and maim so many?Half an hour before, he'd received a radio signal from the main house; the noise had awakened him from a sound sleep in his hotel room.He jumped from bed, dressed, then hurried to a prearranged position on an estate to the north. He tried not to think about his friends and a lover inside the house. Maybe she would survive somehow.No matter. He wasn't going to cross the Wolf over some girl. Bari ran through the woods and thick brush cover. He was carrying a Man Portable Air Defense System, about as ungainly a weapon as there was. The missile launcher was five feet in length, a little over thirty-five pounds. Still, it was extremely well balanced and equipped with a rifle-style pistol grip and forestock. It fired an FIM-92A Stinger missile, and there were two other operators in the woods besides himself. Each of them had his little bit of work to do, his piece of the whole.Three professional killers on the move at that very moment, maybe feeling the same misgivings he had.A trap had been set for the police.A terrible death trap for everybody in that house. Police killed as well. What a mess.When he was in his final position, only about fifteen hundred feet from the main house, Bari hoisted the ungainly tube up onto his shoulder. He set his right hand on the pistol grip and sighted the weapon with his left. He held the launcher like a conventional rifle, though it was far from conventional.He easily found his target in the viewfinder. He could hardly miss. .h.i.tting a house. Then he waited for a final command in his earphones.G.o.d, he didn't like this! He pictured the astonishingly pretty girl from Hamburg. Jeri was her name. So sweet, and what a perfect body. He waited, half hoping the signal wouldn't come. For Jeri's sake, for the sake of everyone inside.But there it was! Electronic. Impersonal as a stranger's funeral. A whistling sound between his ears.Two short, one long.He took a deep breath, slowly exhaled. Then, reluctantly, he squeezed the trigger.Bari felt a slight recoil, less than a rifle's, actually.The launch engine inside the weapon ignited. The first-stage engine propelled the missile only about twenty to thirty feet, at which point it was safe for the secondary propulsion system to engage.His eyes followed a vapor trail of solid rocket-fuel exhaust. The Stinger was on its way to the target. He heard a low roar as the missile accelerated to 1,500 miles per hour.Be safe, Jeri.The Stinger struck the estate broadside-a near perfect hit.He was already reloading for the next shot.

Chapter 110.

There were loud whooshing noises, and then fiery, h.e.l.lish explosions everywhere I looked. Chaos reigned everywhere. And death as well.French police and army personnel were frantically running for cover. A rocket or missile had struck the northern roofs of the villa, tossing slate, wood, and bricks from a chimney high into the air. Then a second missile struck. A third was only seconds behind.I had started racing back toward the main house when I got another surprise out of nowhere.A side door of the boathouse flew open and a dark blue Mercedes sedan roared up a gravel path toward the main road. I ran to a police sedan parked on the gra.s.s, started it up, and gave chase.There wasn't time to tell anybody what I was doing. Not even Sandy. I wondered how a police car was going to keep up with a souped-up Mercedes. Probably not too well. No, probably not at all.I stayed with the powerful CL55 out of Cap-Ferrat, all the way to the Ba.s.se Corniche. I nearly killed myself, and maybe a few others, on the twisty road, but I didn't lose whoever was speeding in front of me.Who the h.e.l.l was in the car? Why was somebody running? Could it be the Wolf?Traffic toward Monaco was moving, but it was heavy. The lights from a tow truck up ahead indicated that some poor driver had jackknifed on this winding road. That was my one long-shot hope. The traffic was slowing down the Benz. But suddenly the Mercedes swung around and headed west.The sports sedan was moving very fast past an endless array of billboards and restaurant signs. And so was I.I rounded a curve, and the whole of the bay of Villefranche-sur-Mer appeared in all its inimitable beauty and splendor, the moon large and full in the sky. The city rose above the bay, which was filled with sailboats and yachts, like a rich kid's bathtub. The Mercedes spun down a slick, sloping hill, sometimes at a speed of a hundred miles per hour. I thought I remembered from somewhere that the car had close to five hundred horsepower. It sure seemed like it.Then we were entering the old port of Nice, and I began to close the gap behind the sedan. The narrow streets were surprisingly crowded, especially around the bars and nightclubs, which seemed everywhere now, thank G.o.d.The Mercedes barely avoided a drunken group coming out of the Etoile Filante nightclub.And then, horn blaring, I roared through the same crowd, the pedestrians cursing and shaking fists at me.The Mercedes made a sharp right-onto the N7, the Moyenne Corniche, a higher road.I followed as best I could, knowing that I would probably lose him now. Lose who, though? Who was in the blue Mercedes?The way up was incredibly steep and winding. We were headed back toward Monaco, but the traffic was light this way, and the Mercedes was effortlessly picking up speed. The driver had known to go backward in order to go forward-much faster-at a speed the police sedan couldn't possibly match.After about two kilometers I was pretty sure I would lose him. We were back in Villefranche, but the highest part of town. The view down onto Cap-Ferrat and Beaulieu was breathtaking, and I couldn't avoid looking; even at this speed it filled my eyes like a painting.I couldn't let him get away, and I pushed the police car up close to a hundred again. How long could I possibly keep up?There was a tunnel, dimness, then almost total darkness-and at the end of the tunnel the astonishing sight of a medieval village perched high on a hillside.EZEread a sign, and I wished I could go easy.Just past the village, the road became even more dangerous. It was as if the Moyenne Corniche were taped onto the side of the cliffs. Down below, the color of the sea seemed to be changing from azure to opal to silver-gray.I could smell oranges and lemons in the air. My senses were sharp. Fear can do that.I was losing the Mercedes, though, so I made the only move I could. Instead of slowing around the next curve, I accelerated.

Chapter 111.

I began to gain on the Mercedes and I kept my foot pressed to the floor. Are you suicidal? I wondered about myself.Suddenly the Mercedes skidded all the way across the opposite lane. It struck the side of the mountain, a glancing blow, but very damaging to the car at that speed. Then it swerved back and forth on the road, across both lanes. It caromed off the rocks again. The blue sedan suddenly took off into the sky.It was airborne, falling toward the sea.I braked to the side of the road and jumped from my car. I saw the Mercedes. .h.i.t the side of the cliff twice, then roll onto the lower highway far below. I couldn't get down there from where I was. Couldn't climb down, anyway.I didn't see any movement from the wreck. Whoever was inside the Mercedes had to be dead. But who is it?I got back in the police car I had commandeered at the estate. It took me close to ten minutes to make my way to the lower highway and the scene of the wreck. French police and an ambulance had already arrived and so had many early-morning onlookers.As I climbed from my car, I could see that the body hadn't been removed from the wreckage. Medical workers were leaning inside the car and seemed to be working frantically. They were talking to whoever had been driving. Who was it?One of them shouted, "He's still alive. One male! He's alive in here!"I started to run toward the wreckage to get a look at the driver. Who? Could he talk to me? I glanced back up at the Moyenne and wondered how the driver could have survived the long fall and crash. The Wolf was supposed to be a tough guy. This tough?I flashed my creds, and the police surrounding the wreck let me move on.Then I could see. I knew who it was trapped in the wreck. I couldn't believe it, though. I just couldn't believe what I was seeing with my own eyes.My heart was thumping loudly, racing out of control. So was my mind, what was left of it. I came up to the smoldering, overturned car. I knelt on the rocky ground and leaned forward."It's Alex," I said.The car's driver looked at me and tried to focus. His body was trapped inside the crumpled Mercedes. He'd been crushed by metal everywhere below the shoulders. Just awful to see.But Martin Lodge was alive, and he was hanging on. He seemed to want to say something, and I moved closer. "It's Alex," I said again. I turned my head so that my ear was near his mouth.I needed to know the ident.i.ty of the Wolf. I had so many questions.Martin whispered, "It's all for nothing. Your manhunt is useless. I'm not the Wolf. I never even saw him."Then he died on me, and everyone else who was waiting for an answer.

Chapter 112.

The Lodge family had been taken into protective custody back in England. We all felt that if the Wolf suspected that the wife or any of the children had been told anything incriminating, they would be targets. Maybe he'd kill them just to be safe, or because he felt like killing somebody that day.The next morning I flew to London and met with the police at Scotland Yard, specifically Lodge's superior, a man named John Mortenson. First, he reported that none of the survivors at Cap-Ferrat seemed to know anything about the Wolf, or even who Martin Lodge had been."There is a new development, a little wrinkle," he told me then.I leaned back in a leather lounger with a view of Buckingham Palace. "At this point, I'm not surprised about anything, John. Tell me what's going on. This is about the Lodge family?"He nodded, sighed, and then began. "It starts with Klara Lodge. Klara Cernohosska, actually. Let me begin with her. It turns out Martin was on the team that brought a defector named Edward Morozov out of Russia back in 'ninety-three. Martin worked with the American CIA, with Cahill and Hanc.o.c.k, and also Thomas Weir. Only there was no Edward Morozov. He was an unidentified KGB defector whose name we don't know. We think that it was the Wolf.""You started by saying something about Martin's wife, Klara. What about her?""For one thing, she's not Czech. She came out of Russia with the man called Morozov. She was an a.s.sistant to a KGB chief, and also our main source of information in Moscow. She and Lodge apparently got cozy during the transfer, and then she was relocated to England. He had her ident.i.ty changed, got rid of the records. Then he married her. How about that?""And she knows who the Wolf is, what he looks like? Is that it?""We don't know what Klara knows. She won't talk to us. She might talk to you, though."I sat back, shook my head. "Why me? I met her only once."Mortenson shrugged, then he gave a half smile. "She says her husband trusted you. You believe that? What the h.e.l.l is that supposed to mean? Why would she trust you, if you met her only once?"Unfortunately, I had no idea.

Chapter 113.

What remained of the Lodge family was being kept under wraps in a small town called Shepton Mallet, which was about 120 miles west of London. Rolling valleys, lots of green countryside, perfect for hiding them, at least temporarily.The Lodges were staying in a converted farmhouse on a "no through" road outside of town. The land was fairly flat there, and anything approaching could be seen for miles. Besides, this was an armed compound, heavily armed.I arrived at about six that evening. The inside of the farmhouse was pleasant, with lots of antique furniture, but I had dinner with the family in a cramped bunker that was located belowground.Klara didn't cook the meal as she had in London, and I wondered if she approved of the fare. I doubted it. The food was dreadful, worse than airplane fare. "No michana vejce on the menu," I finally tried as a joke for her."You remember our breakfast in Battersea, even the correct p.r.o.nunciation. That's good, Alex," Klara said. "You're very observant. Martin said you were a good agent."When the meal was over, the children-Hana, Daniela, Jozef-were sent to their room to do homework. Klara sat with me and smoked a cigarette. She took long puffs and inhaled deeply."Homework?" I asked. "Here? Tonight?""It's good to have discipline, habits to fall back on. I think it is. So you were with Martin? When he died?" she asked. "What did he say to you? Please tell me."I considered my response. What did Klara want to hear? And what should I tell her?"He said that he wasn't the Wolf. Is that true, Klara?""Anything else? What else did he tell you?"I thought about telling Klara he'd talked about her and the children, but I didn't. I didn't want to lie to her. Probably I couldn't. "No, Klara. That's all it was. There wasn't much time. Only a few seconds. He didn't suffer too long. He didn't seem to be in pain. I think he was in shock."She nodded. "Martin thought I could trust you. He said it was your flaw, actually. He would never say anything sentimental, not even with his dying breath."I stared into Klara's deep brown eyes, which seemed surprisingly alert."How do you feel about that?" I asked.She laughed. "It's why I loved him."She had things to tell me that night in the English countryside. A negotiation was begun between the two of us. Or rather, I got to listen to her demands."I want safe pa.s.sage out of England for myself and the children. New ident.i.ties, and we get to keep some savings to live on. I'll tell you where we want to live, but not right now. That will come a little later.""Prague?" I asked. It was a small joke."No, definitely not Prague, Alex. And not Russia, either. Or anywhere in America, for that matter. I'll tell you where, when the time comes. But first, let's decide on what I have to give you to guarantee our safe pa.s.sage out of England.""Oh, that's easy. You have to give us a lot," I said. "You have to give up the Wolf. But can you do that, Klara? What do you know? Who is he? Where is he? What did Martin tell you?"Finally she smiled. "Oh, he told me everything. Martin adored me."

Chapter 114.

The Wolf flew his own plane into Teterboro Airport in the northern corner of New Jersey. A black Range Rover was waiting there for him, and he took it into New York City, a city he'd always despised. The traffic was bad, as usual, and it took him as long to get from Teterboro to Manhattan as it had to fly to the metropolitan area from New Hampshire.The doctor's office was situated in a brownstone on Sixty-third Street just off Fifth. The Wolf parked the Range Rover and hurried inside.It was a little past nine in the morning. He didn't bother to check if he was being watched. He didn't think so, but if he was, there was nothing he could do about it now. Besides, he felt he had this morning sufficiently covered. As usual, there was a plan for every eventuality.The nurse on duty for the plastic surgery was also there to act as a receptionist. She and the hotshot surgeon would be the only ones present for the procedures. He had insisted on a staff of two and that the office be closed to other patients for the day."There are a few legal forms for you to look over and sign," the nurse told him with a tight smile. She might not have known who he was, but she suspected there had to be a very good reason for this much secrecy, not to mention that she was being paid handsomely to work this shift."No, I will sign nothing, thank you," he said, then pushed past her and went looking for Dr. Levine. He found her in a small operating theater that was already brightly lit, and very cold."Reminds me of Siberia. A gulag I spent time in one winter," he said.The doctor turned, and she was mildly attractive, slender, well preserved, probably in her early forties. He could f.u.c.k her, in a pinch, but he wasn't in the mood right then. Maybe later."Dr. Levine," he said, and shook hands with the surgeon. "I'm ready, and I don't want to be here more than a few hours. So let's begin. Now.""That's not possible," Dr. Levine started to object.The Wolf raised his hand to silence her, and it almost seemed as if he might actually strike the doctor. She flinched."I won't be needing general anesthesia. As I said, I'm ready. So are you.""Sir, you have no idea what you're saying. None, I a.s.sure you. The procedures we have scheduled include a face, neck, and brow lift. Liposuction. Jaw and cheek implants. And a nose job. The pain will be unbearable. Trust me on that.""No, it will be bearable. I've known much worse pain," said the Wolf. "I will allow you only to monitor my vital statistics. There will be no more stupid discussion about anesthesia. Now, get me ready for the procedures. Or else.""Or else what?" Dr. Levine bristled. The small woman rocked back on her heels."Just or else," answered the Wolf. "That covers a great deal of territory, don't you think? It covers pain beyond what you believe I cannot endure. Can you, Dr. Levine? Can your two children, Martin and Amy, endure such pain? Or your husband, Jerrold? Let's begin. I have a schedule to keep."Always a schedule.And a plan.

Chapter 115.

He never once screamed, never made a sound during any of the grueling procedures, and neither the surgeon nor the nurse could comprehend what they were witnessing. The patient seemed to have no feeling at all. As males often do, he bled a great deal during the operations, and there was already a lot of deep purple bruising on his face. The pain he endured during the hour-and-a-half rhinoplasty, or nose job, was the worst by far, especially when large chunks of bone and cartilage were removed without even a topical anesthetic.At the conclusion of the rhinoplasty, the final procedure, he was told by Dr. Levine not to stand, but he did anyway.His neck felt tight and tender, and there was Betadine all over his scalp and throat. "Not bad," he rasped. "I've experienced much worse.""Do not blow your nose. For at least a week," the doctor insisted, seemingly trying to maintain her dignity and a tenuous sense of control.The Wolf reached into his trousers and produced a handkerchief, but then put it back. "Just kidding," he said, then frowned. "Do you have any sense of humor, Doctor?""You can't drive, either," said the doctor. "That I will not allow. For the sake of others.""No, of course not. I wouldn't think of it, putting others in jeopardy. I'll just leave my vehicle here on the street to be carjacked. Let me get your money. It's become boring to be here with you."It was then, as he walked to fetch his briefcase, that the Russian staggered slightly-and also got the first look at himself in a mirror, his incredibly bruised and swollen face, at least what showed around the bandages."You do nice work," he said, and laughed.He opened the briefcase and pulled out a Beretta with silencer. He shot the astonished nurse in the face, twice, then turned to Dr. Levine, who had hurt him so much."Any other things I should or shouldn't do?" he asked. "Any last bits of advice you wish to impart?""My children. Please don't kill me," the doctor begged. "You know I have children.""They'll be better off without you. I think so, b.i.t.c.h. I bet they would agree."He shot her through the heart. A mercy killing, he thought to himself, especially after the way she'd tortured him. Plus, he just didn't like her, the humorless b.i.t.c.h.Finally, the Wolf left the office and walked to his Range Rover. He was thinking that no one knew what he looked like now. Not a single person anywhere.And that got him laughing, almost uncontrollably. This was his piece of the puzzle.

Chapter 116.

"There he is-has to be.""He's laughing! What's so funny? Look at him. Can you believe it?""He looks like he was scalped, then had his skin flayed," Ned Mahoney said when the heavily bandaged man in a gray overcoat emerged from the brownstone. "He looks like a G.o.dd.a.m.n ghoul.""Don't underestimate him," I reminded Ned. "And don't forget, he is a ghoul."We were watching the Wolf-at least, the man we believed to be the Wolf-as he left a plastic surgeon's office on the East Side of Manhattan. We had just gotten there, less than sixty seconds before. Almost missed him again."Don't worry, I'm not underestimating him, Alex. That's why we have half a dozen teams getting ready to pounce on him. If we'd gotten here sooner, we could have grabbed him inside the doctor's office."I nodded. "At least we're here. It was a complicated negotiation in England. Klara Lodge and her children are somewhere in northern Africa now. She did her part.""So the Wolf has had a tracking device under his shoulder blade since he came out of Russia? That's the story?""We're here, aren't we? According to Klara, Martin Lodge knew where he was all along. That kept Lodge alive.""We're ready to go, then? We take him?""We're ready. I'm ready." Jesus, was I ready. I wanted to take this b.a.s.t.a.r.d down so badly. I couldn't wait to see the look on his face.Mahoney spoke into the mike attached to his headset. "Close on him now. And remember, he's extremely dangerous."You got that right, Neddo.

Chapter 117.

The black Range Rover was stopped at a light on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Fifty-ninth Street. Dark sedans pulled up on both sides. A third car blocked off the intersection. Agents jumped out of the cars. We had him!Gunfire suddenly erupted from a white Hummer in front of the Range Rover. The doors of the Hummer flew open. Three men with automatic weapons came out firing."Where the h.e.l.l did they come from?" Mahoney yelled into his mike. "Everybody down!"We were already out of our car and running toward the gunfight. Ned fired and took down one of the Wolf's bodyguards. I hit another, and a third bodyguard opened up on us.Meanwhile, the Wolf was out of the Range Rover and running down Fifth Avenue, staying out in the street with the cars. The condition of his face made him look as though he'd already been shot, or maybe badly burned in a fire. People on the sidewalk were hitting the pavement because of the gunshots coming from everywhere. Several were screaming uncontrollably. How far did the Wolf think he could get, looking the way he did? In New York City, maybe far!More gunmen appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. More of his bodyguards. He had certainly brought backup. Had we brought enough?And then the Wolf ducked into a store on Fifth. Mahoney and I followed him. I didn't even notice what store it was. Upscale. Glitzy. Fifth Avenue, for G.o.d's sake!The Wolf did the unthinkable then. Although nothing he did completely surprised me anymore. His right arm shot forward and released a dark object into the air. I watched it start to tumble.I shouted, "Grenade! Everybody down! Get down! Grenade!"A powerful explosion at the front of the store blew out two ma.s.sive picture windows. Shoppers were hurt. The smoke was very thick and dark. Everybody inside the store was screaming, including the clerks behind nearly every counter.I never lost sight of the Wolf, never lost my focus on him. No matter what he did, no matter what the danger, he couldn't be allowed to get away this time. The cost was too high. This was the man who had held the world hostage. He'd already murdered thousands.Mahoney ran down one aisle and I took another. The Wolf appeared to be headed for an exit onto a side street. I'd lost track of where we were. Fifty-fifth Street? Fifty-sixth?"He doesn't get out!" Ned shouted over to me."You've got that right."We were getting closer and I could see the Wolf's face. With all the bandages, the bruising and swelling, he looked fiercer than I could have imagined. Worse, he looked desperate, capable of anything. But we already knew that.He yelled, "I'll kill everybody in the store!"Neither Mahoney nor I answered; we just kept coming. But we didn't doubt what he'd said.He grabbed a small blond girl away from what looked to be a nanny. "I'll kill her. I'll kill the little girl. She's dead! I'll kill her!"We kept coming.He held the toddler against his chest. His blood was dripping all over her. The girl was screaming, squirming wildly in his arms."I'll kill -"Ned and I fired at almost the same time-two shots and the Wolf stumbled backward, letting go of the girl. She fell to the floor, then got up screeching and ran to safety.So did the Wolf. Out the nearest side door and onto the street."He's wearing a vest-has to be.""We'll shoot him in the head," I said.

Chapter 118.

We chased him east on Fifty-fifth Street, along with a couple of our agents and two fleet-footed New York City policemen. If any of the Wolf's bodyguards had survived the b.l.o.o.d.y shoot-out on Fifth Avenue, they'd lost track of their boss in the shuffle inside the store. They were nowhere to be seen now.Still, the Wolf looked as though he knew where he was going. Was that possible? How could he have planned for this? He probably couldn't have-so we'd get him now, right? I couldn't let myself believe otherwise-that all of this could come to nothing.We had him in our sights. He was right there in front of us.Suddenly he turned into a building, redbrick, eight to ten stories high. Did he know someone there? More backup? A trap? What?There was security inside; at least, there had been. But the uniformed guard was dead now, shot in the head, lying facedown and bleeding on the glossy marble floor.The elevators were all busy, red lights flashing the floors-eight, four, three-all going up."He's not getting out of here. That's settled," Mahoney said."We can't know that, Ned.""He can't f.u.c.king fly, can he?""No, but who the h.e.l.l knows what else he can do. He came in here for a reason."Mahoney a.s.signed agents to wait for all of the elevators, then to systematically check the floors from bottom to top. Reinforcements were on the way from the NYPD. There would be dozens of cops here soon. Then hundreds. The Wolf was in the building.Mahoney and I took to the stairs in pursuit."Where do we go? How far?""The roof. It's the only other way out of here.""You really think he's got a plan? How, Alex?"I shook my head; I had no way of knowing. He was bleeding, had to be weak; maybe he was even delirious. Or maybe he had a plan. h.e.l.l, he'd always had a plan before.So up we went, all the way. The top floor was nine, and we didn't see the Wolf as we peeked out of the stairwell. We quickly checked the offices; no one had seen him-and they sure would have remembered if they had."In the back. There's stairs up to the roof," someone told us in a law office.Ned Mahoney and I climbed more stairs, then we stepped outside into bright daylight. We didn't see the Wolf. There was a single-story structure, like a small hat on top of the old building. Water tower? The super's office?We tried the door; it was locked."He has to be here somewhere. Unless he jumped," Ned said.Then we saw him coming around from behind the tower. "I didn't jump, Mr. Mahoney. And I thought I told you not to work on this case. I think I was clear. Put down your guns right now."I stepped forward. "I brought him here.""Of course you did. You're the indefatigable, don't-give-up, relentless Dr. Cross. That's why you're so predictable, and useful."Suddenly a New York City policeman stepped out of the same trapdoor opening to the roof that we had used. He saw the Wolf and fired.He hit the Wolf in the chest, but it didn't stop him. He was wearing a vest, had to be. The Russian growled like a bear and charged the cop, waving both arms over his head.He grabbed the surprised officer and picked him up. There was nothing Ned or I could do. Next thing, he hurled the man off the roof.The Wolf started to race toward the other side of the rooftop, and he seemed genuinely insane. What was he doing? Suddenly I thought I knew. The building to the south was close enough so that he was going to jump for it. Then, coming in from the west, I saw a helicopter. For him? Was that the escape plan? Don't let this be happening.I ran after him. So did Mahoney. "Stop! Stop right there!"He was running in crazy zigzags away from us. We fired but didn't hit him with the first shots.Then the Wolf was airborne, both his arms flailing-and he was going to make it to the other rooftop with room to spare."You b.a.s.t.a.r.d, no!" Ned yelled. "No!"I stopped running, aimed carefully, and squeezed the trigger four times.

Chapter 119.

The Wolf kept pumping his legs and seemed almost to be running on thin air, but then he started to drop. His arms reached out toward the edge of the other building. His fingers reached for the roof.Mahoney and I ran up to the edge of our building. Could the Wolf get out of this one? Somehow, he always found a way. Except this time-I knew I'd hit him in the throat. He had to be drowning in his own blood."Fall, you f.u.c.k!" Ned screamed at him."He's not going to make it," I said.And he didn't. The Russian's body fell, and he didn't fight it, didn't make a sound, never screamed out. Not a sound came from him.Mahoney yelled down at him. "Hey, Wolf! Hey, Wolfman! Go to h.e.l.l!"The fall looked as if it had been shot in slow motion, but then he hit the ground in the alleyway between the buildings. Hit it hard. I stared down at the Wolf's mangled body, the bandaged face, and I felt satisfied for the first time in a long while. I felt fulfilled and whole. We'd gotten him, and he deserved to die like that, squashed like a bug on the pavement.Then Ned Mahoney started to clap and whoop and dance around like a complete madman. I didn't join in, but I knew what he was feeling. The man down there deserved this fate, if anyone ever did. Stone-cold dead in an alleyway."He didn't scream," I finally said. "Couldn't even give us that."Mahoney shrugged his wide shoulders. "I don't care if he did or not. Here we are up here, there he is down with the garbage. Maybe there's some justice after all. Well, maybe not," Ned said, and laughed, putting his arm around me and squeezing."We won," I said to him. "d.a.m.nit, we finally won, Neddy."