The Big Bad Wolf

college.
It hadn’t happened.
    So all of this had to be an impossibly bad dream, a nightmare of the sort that Francis Deegan hadn’t experienced since he was maybe three or four years old. And this man standing before him now, this absurd caricature with curly tufts of white-blond hair around the side of his balding head, dressed in a tight black leather bodysuit—well, he couldn’t be real either. No way.
    “I’m very angry at you! I’m good and pissed!” Mr. Potter yelled right in Francis’s face. “Why did you leave me?” he screeched. “Why? Tell me why. You must never leave me again! I get very scared without you and you know that. You know how I am. That was thoughtless of you, Ronald!”
    Francis had already tried reasoning with the madman—Potter, he called himself, and no, not Harry. Mr. Potter. But reasoning didn’t work. He’d told the raving lunatic several times that he had never seen him before. He wasn’t Ronald. Didn’t know any Ronalds! That had earned him a series of full-handed slaps across the face, one so hard that it bloodied his nose. The dweeby Billy Idol-looking freak was a lot stronger than he looked.
    So out of desperation, Francis finally whispered an apology to the creep. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again.”
    And then Mr. Potter was hugging him fiercely and he was crying all over him. Wasn’t this too weird? “Oh, God, I’m so glad you’re back. I was so
worried
about you. You must never leave me again, Ronald.”
    Ronald? Who the hell was Ronald? And who was Mr. Potter? What was going to happen now? Was Vince really dead? Had he been killed tonight back at the college? All of these questions were exploding inside Francis’s throbbing skull. So actually it was easy for him to cry in Potter’s arms, and even to hold on to him for dear life. To press his face into the fragrant black leather and whisper over and over again, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Oh, my God, I’m sorry.”
    And Potter answered, “I love you too, Ronald. I adore you. You’ll never leave me again, will you?”
    “No. I promise. I’ll never leave.”
    Then Potter laughed and pulled away sharply from the boy.
    “Francis, dear Francis,” he whispered. “Who the hell is Ronald? I’m just playing with you, boy. This is just a game of mine. You’re in college, you must have figured that much out. So let’s play games, Francis. Let’s go out to the barn and play.”

Chapter 64
    I RECEIVED A STRANGE E-MAIL from Monnie Donnelley at my temporary office. An update of sorts. She hadn’t been suspended, Monnie said. Not yet anyway. Plus, she had some news for me.
Need to see you tonight. Same place, same time. Very important news.—M
    So I arrived at the Command Post Pub just past seven and looked around for Monnie. What was this mysterious news she had? The bar area was crowded with customers, but I spotted her. Easy—she was the only woman. I also figured that Monnie and I might be the only non-Marines in the Command Post.
    “I couldn’t talk to you over the phone at Quantico. Does that suck or what? Who do you trust?” she said when I walked up to her.
    “You can trust me. Of course I don’t expect you to believe that, Monnie. You have news?”
    “I sure do. Take a load off. I think I have some good news, actually.”
    I took a stool beside Monnie. The bartender came and we ordered beers. Monnie started up as soon as he walked away. “I have a good friend at ERF,” she began. “That’s the Engineering Research Facility at Quantico.”
    “I know what it is. You seem to have friends everywhere.”
    “That’s true. I guess not at the Hoover Building, though. Anyway, my friend alerted me to a message the Bureau got a couple of days ago but dismissed as a crank call. It’s about a Web site called the Wolf’s Den. Supposedly, you can buy a lover at the Den, as in, have someone abducted. The site is supposed to be impossible to hack into. That’s the catch.”
    “So how did he get in? Our hacker.”
    “
She’s
a genius. I suspect that’s why she was ignored. Want to meet her? She’s fourteen years old.”

Chapter 65
    MONNIE HAD AN ADDRESS for the hacker in Dale City, Virginia, only about twelve miles from Quantico. The agent who’d fielded the original call hadn’t followed up very well, which bothered us, so we figured the agent wouldn’t mind if we did his job for him.
    I wasn’t actually planning on taking Monnie along, but she wouldn’t