London Bridges

Peugeot. For what it was worth, I memorized both license plates.
    “Now we go for a little ride in the country,” said the Russian man, who seemed to be having a good time so far.
    “Who are you? What do you want from me?” I asked him. He was tall, maybe six-five, and muscular. Very much the way I had heard the Wolf described. He was holding a Beretta pointed at the side of my head. His hand was rock steady, and he was no stranger to guns and how to use them.
    “It doesn’t matter who I am, not in the least. You’re looking for the Wolf, aren’t you? I’m taking you to meet him now.”
    He threw me a dark look, then handed me a cloth sack. “Put this over your head. And do exactly as I say from now on. Remember, show-and-tell.”
    “I remember.” I put on the hood. I would never forget the cold-blooded murder of Detective Boulard. The Wolf and his people killed easily, didn’t they? What did that mean for the four cities under threat? Would they kill thousands and thousands so easily? Was that their plan to demonstrate power and control? To get revenge for some mysterious crime in the past?
    I don’t know how long we rode around in the Peugeot, but it was well over an hour: slow city driving at first, then an hour or so on the open highway.
    Then we were slowing again, possibly traveling on a dirt road. Hard bounces and bumps shocked and twisted my spine.
    “You can take off the hood now,” Black Beard spoke to me again. “We’re almost there, Dr. Cross. Nothing much to see out here, anyway.”
    I took off the hood and saw that we were in the French countryside somewhere, riding down an unpaved road with tall grass waving on either side. No markers or signs anywhere that I could see.
    “He’s staying out here?” I asked. I wondered if I was really being taken to the Wolf. For what possible reason?
    “For the moment, Dr. Cross. But then he’ll be gone again. As you know, he moves around a lot. He is like a ghost, an apparition. You’ll see what I mean in a moment.”
    The Peugeot pulled up in front of a small stone farmhouse. Two armed men immediately came out the front door to meet us. Both held automatic weapons aimed at my upper body and face.
    “Inside,” said one of them. He had a white beard but was nearly as large and muscular as the man who had accompanied me thus far.
    It was obvious that he had seniority over Black Beard, who had seemed in control until now. “
Inside!
” he repeated to me. “Hurry up! Can’t you hear, Dr. Cross?”
    “He is an animal,” White Beard then said to me. “He shouldn’t have killed the woman. I am the Wolf, Dr. Cross. It’s good to meet you at last.”

Chapter 80
    “DON’T TRY TO do anything heroic, by the way. Because then I’ll have to kill you and find a new messenger,” he said as we walked inside the farmhouse.
    “I’m a messenger now? For what?” I asked.
    The Russian waved off my question as if it were a pesky fly buzzing around his hairy face.
    “Time is flying. Weren’t you thinking that with the French detective? They were just keeping you out of the way, the French. Didn’t you think as much?”
    “The thought crossed my mind,” I said. Meanwhile, I couldn’t believe that this was the Wolf. I
didn’t
believe it. But who was he? Why had I been brought there?
    “Of course it did. You’re not a stupid man,” he said.
    We had entered a small, dark room with a fieldstone fireplace, but no fire. The room was cluttered with heavy wooden furniture, old magazines, yellowing newspapers. The windows were tightly shuttered. The place was airless. The only light came from a single standing lamp.
    “Why am I here? Why show yourself to me now?” I finally asked him.
    “Sit down,” said the Russian.
    “All right. I’m a messenger,” I said, and lowered myself into a chair.
    He nodded. “Yes. A messenger. It’s important that everyone fully understand the seriousness of the situation. This
is
your last chance.”
    “We understand,” I said.
    Almost before I had finished speaking, he lunged forward and hit me in the jaw.
    My chair went over backward, I was in free fall, then my head struck the stone floor. I might have gone out for a couple of seconds.
    But then I was being dragged back up by a couple of the other men in the room. My head was spinning and there was blood in my mouth.
    “I want to be clear about this,” the Russian continued. It was as if hitting me had been a necessary pause in his speech. “You
are
a