The Big Bad Wolf

said. “There’s been a significant break. Word just came down from Washington.” Mahoney paused, then he continued. “Since Monday, agents from our office in Newark have been monitoring a suspect named Rafe Farley. The suspect is a repeat sex offender. He did four years in Rahway Prison for breaking into a woman’s apartment, beating and raping her. At the time, Farley claimed that the victim was a girlfriend from where he worked. What alerted us to Farley is that he went into an Internet chat room and had a lot to say about Mrs. Audrey Meek. Too much. He knew details about Mrs. Meek, including facts about her family in the Princeton area, her house there, even the physical layout inside.
    “The suspect also knew precisely how and when Mrs. Meek was abducted at the King of Prussia Mall. He knew that her car was used, what kind of car it was, and that the children were left behind.
    “In a subsequent visit to the chat room, Farley provided specific details that even we don’t have. He claimed that she was knocked out with a specific drug and then taken to a wooded area in New Jersey. He left it vague whether Audrey Meek is alive or dead.
    “Unfortunately the suspect hasn’t gone to visit Mrs. Meek during the period we’ve been watching him. It’s been nearly three days. We believe it’s possible he may have spotted the surveillance. It is our decision, and the director concurs, that we take Farley down.
    “HRT is already on the scene in North Vineland, New Jersey, assisting the local field office and the police. We’re going in this morning, probably within the hour. Score one for the good guys,” said Mahoney. “Congratulations to everyone involved at this end.”
    I sat in my seat and applauded with the others, but I had a funny feeling too. I hadn’t been involved or even known about Farley or the surveillance on him. I was out of the loop, and I hadn’t felt like this for over a dozen years, not since I started with the police department in D.C.

Chapter 37
    A PHRASE FROM THE BRIEFING kept playing in my head:
the director concurs
. . . I wondered how long Director Burns had known about the suspect in Jersey, and why he had decided not to tell me. I tried not to be disappointed or paranoid, but still . . . I wasn’t feeling good as the meeting broke up to huzzahs from the group of agents.
    The trouble was, something felt wrong to me and I had no idea what it was. I just didn’t like something about this bust.
    I was leaving the room with the others when Mahoney came ambling up to me. “The director asked that you go to New Jersey,” he said, then grinned. “Come with me to the helipad. I want you there too,” he added. “If we don’t break Farley down immediately, I don’t think we’ll get Mrs. Meek back alive.”
    A little less than fifty-five minutes later, a Bell helicopter set down at Big Sky Aviation in Millville, New Jersey. Two black SUVs were waiting, and Mahoney and I were rushed to North Vineland, about ten miles to the north.
    We parked in the lot of an IHOP restaurant. Farley’s house was 1.2 miles away. “We’re ready to roll on him,” Mahoney told his group. “I have a pretty good feeling about this one.”
    I accompanied Mahoney in one of the SUVs. We wouldn’t be part of the six-man HRT team that would go into the house first, but we’d have immediate access to Rafe Farley. Hopefully we’d find Audrey Meek alive in the house.
    In spite of my misgivings, I was starting to get pumped about the takedown. Mahoney’s enthusiasm was contagious, and any kind of action beat sitting around. At least we were doing something. Maybe we’d get Audrey Meek back.
    Just then, we passed by an unpainted bungalow. I saw broken porch boards, and a rusty car and a camping stove in the small front yard. “That’s it,” said Mahoney. “Home, sweet home. Let’s pull over up there.”
    We stopped about a hundred yards up the road, near a stand of red oaks and pines. I knew that a couple of surveillance agents in ghillie camouflage suits were already nestled in close to the bungalow. These agents did nothing but surveillance and wouldn’t be involved in the actual bust. There was also a closed-circuit camera aimed at the bungalow and the UNSUB’s car, a red Dodge Polaris.
    “We think he’s sleeping inside,” Mahoney informed me as we jogged through the woods until we had the ramshackle house in view.
    “It’s almost noon,” I said.
    “Farley works a late-night shift. He