London Bridges

was heavily filtered.
    “Good evening. This is the Wolf,” we heard.
    The hair on the back of my neck rose immediately. I knew the Wolf; I’d chased him for nearly a year. In fact, I’d never known a more ruthless killer.
    “I’m the one responsible for the destruction of Sunrise Valley. I’d like to explain myself—at least, as much as you deserve to know. Or should I say, as much as I want you to know at this time.”
    Monnie looked over at me and shook her head. She knew the Wolf, too. The news couldn’t have been worse if the call had come straight from hell.
    “It’s good to be able to talk to all of you, so many self-important people gathered together just to listen to my ramblings. The FBI, CIA, Homeland Security,” the Wolf continued. “I’m so very impressed. Humbled, actually.”
    “Do you want us to talk, or listen?” Burns asked.
    “Who am I speaking to? Who was that just now? Would you mind identifying yourself?”
    “It’s Director Burns, FBI. I’m with Director Weir of the CIA and Stephen Bowen of Homeland Security.”
    There was a crackling sound over the speakers that might have been a laugh. “Well, I’m just so very honored again, Mr. Burns. I’d have thought you would assign a lackey to speak to me. At first, anyway. Someone like Dr. Cross. But, you know, it’s better that we talk top-to-top. That’s always best, don’t you think?”
    Weir from the CIA said, “You specifically requested ‘the first team’ in your earlier contact. Believe me, this is the first team. We’re taking the bombing incident in Nevada seriously.”
    “You actually listened. I’m impressed. I’ve heard that about you, Mr. Weir. Although I foresee some possible problems between us in the future.”
    “Why is that?” Weir asked.
    “You’re the CIA. Not to be trusted. Not for a minute . . . Don’t you read your Graham Greene? Who else is on your first team?” the Wolf asked. “Stand up and be counted.”
    Burns went around the room, listing who was present. He omitted a couple of agents, and I wondered why.
    “Excellent choices, for the most part,” the Wolf said once Burns had finished the roll call. “I’m sure you know who to trust, and who not to, who you can depend on—with your very lives. Personally, I’m not keen on the CIA, but that’s just me. I find them to be liars and unnecessarily dangerous. Does anyone there disagree?”
    No one spoke, and the speakers crackled with the Wolf’s laughter. “That’s interesting, don’t you think? Even the CIA doesn’t disagree with my scathing indictment.”
    Suddenly the Wolf’s tone changed. “Now listen closely to what I have to tell you, you morons. That’s the important thing now, you have to
listen
to me. Many lives can be saved if you do. And you must obey.
    “Does everyone get that? Listen and obey? I want to hear you. Please, speak up. Do all of you fucking
understand?
”
    Everyone spoke at once, and although it seemed absurd and childish, we understood that the Wolf was showing us he was in control, total control.
    Burns suddenly spoke in a loud voice, “He’s gone! He hung up! He’s off the line, the son of a bitch!”

Chapter 21
    WE WAITED LIKE his puppets in the conference room, but the Russian mobster didn’t make contact again. I knew the bastard well, and I didn’t expect him to call us back. He was playing with us now.
    Eventually I went back to my office, and Monnie Donnelley headed to Virginia. I still hadn’t been assigned to the case—not officially, anyway. But the Wolf had known I would be there in the crisis room. He’d singled me out for a gratuitous insult. Just his style.
    What was he up to? A mobster using terror tactics? Starting a war? If a small group of madmen in the desert could do it, why not the Russian Mafiya? All it seemed to take was a ruthless enough leader, and money.
    I waited and wondered if the terrible uncertainty I felt was part of the Russian’s plan to increase the pressure and stress. To control us? Test our patience?
    And, of course, I thought about Geoffrey Shafer and how he might be connected. What was that all about? I’d already pulled up most of the recent data on Shafer. We had put an old girlfriend of Shafer’s—his therapist—under surveillance. Her name was Elizabeth Cassady and I was trying to get a look at the notes from her therapy sessions with Shafer.
    Later, I checked in at home and talked to Nana. She accused me of eating her corn bread and I