The Big Bad Wolf

already identified by Innocent Images. It seems logical that the pervs using the Wolf’s Den might visit porn sites too. We need help. If the Wolf turns out to be Pasha Sorokin, we’ll need a lot of help.”
    Stacy Pollack was interested. She led a discussion in which both Monnie and I were given the third degree. It was clear that we threatened some of the other agents in the room. Then Pollack made a decision.
    “You can have resources,” she said. “We’ll watch the porn sites twenty-four/seven. Thing is, we have nothing better at this point. I want our Russian group out of New York on this too. I can’t quite believe Pasha Sorokin would be personally involved in this, but if he is, it’s huge. We’ve been interested in Sorokin for six years! We’re very interested in the Wolf.”

Chapter 68
    DURING THE NEXT TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, more than thirty agents were assigned to surveillance of fourteen different porn sites and chat rooms. It had to be one of the most lurid “stakeouts” ever. We didn’t know exactly who we were looking for—other than anyone who happened to mention a site called the Wolf’s Den, or possibly the Wolf. In the meantime, Monnie and I were gathering all the information we could about the Red Mafiya and especially about Pasha Sorokin.
    Later that afternoon, I had to leave. The timing couldn’t have been much worse, but there wouldn’t have been any good time for this. I’d been asked to attend a preliminary meeting with Christine Johnson’s lawyers at the Blake Building in the Dupont Circle area. Christine was coming after Little Alex.
    I arrived at a little before five and had to fight the tide of office workers streaming from the unusual twelve-story structure, which actually rounded the corner where Connecticut Avenue met L. I checked the downstairs registry and saw that the tenants in the building included Mazda, Barron’s, the National Safety Council, and several law offices, including Mark, Haranzo, and Denyeau, which represented Christine.
    I trudged to the elevator bank and pushed a button. Christine wanted custody of Alex Jr. Her attorney had arranged for this meeting in hopes of resolving things without going to court or resorting to alternative dispute resolution. I had talked to my attorney in the morning and decided not to have him present, since this was an “informal” meeting. I tried to have only one thought as I rode the elevator to the seventh floor:
Do what is best for Little Alex.
No matter what, or how it might make me feel.
    I got off at seven and was met by Gilda Haranzo, who was slim and attractive, dressed in a charcoal suit with a white silk blouse knotted at the throat. My lawyer had competed against Ms. Haranzo and told me she was good, and also “on a mission.” She was divorced from her physician husband and had custody of their two children. Her fees were high, but she and Christine had gone to Villanova together and were friends from back then.
    “Christine is already in the conference room, Alex,” she said after introducing herself. Then she added, “I’m sorry it’s come to this. This case is difficult. There are no bad people involved. Will you please follow me?”
    “I’m sorry it’s come to this too,” I said. I wasn’t so sure that there weren’t any bad guys, though. We’d see soon enough.
    Ms. Haranzo led me to a midsize room with gray carpeting and light blue fabric walls. There was a glass table with six tony black leather chairs in the center of the room. The only things on the table were a pitcher of ice water, some glasses, and a laptop computer.
    A row of tall windows looked out on Dupont Circle. Christine was standing near the windows, and she didn’t speak as I entered. Then she walked over to the table and sat in one of the leather chairs.
    “Hello, Alex,” she finally said.

Chapter 69
    GILDA HARANZO SLID into her seat behind her laptop, and I chose a spot across from Christine at the glass conference table. All of a sudden, the loss of Little Alex seemed very real to me. The thought took my breath away. Whether it was a good decision or not, fair or unfair, Christine had walked away from us, moved thousands of miles away, and hadn’t been to see him once. She’d knowingly relinquished her parental rights. Now she’d changed her mind. And what if she changed her mind again?
    Christine said, “Thank you for coming here, Alex. I’m sorry about the circumstances. You must believe that I’m sorry.”
    I