The Big Bad Wolf

the corner of the net.
    Goal—Canadiens!
    The Wolf smiled for the first time that night. Then he turned to his companion, his seven-year-old son, Dimitri, whose existence would have surprised everyone who supposedly knew the Wolf.
    “Let’s go, Dimmie, the game’s over. The Canadiens will win. Just like I told you they would. Didn’t I tell you?”
    Dimitri wasn’t convinced about the outcome, but he knew better than to argue with his father. “You were right, Daddy,” said the boy. “You’re always right.”

Chapter 80
    THAT NIGHT AT eleven-thirty I planned to enter the Wolf’s Den for the first time. I needed the help of Mr. Potter, though. Homer Taylor had been moved to Washington for the purpose. I needed his eyes.
    The two of us sat close together, Taylor in cuffs, in an operation room on the fifth floor of the Hoover. The professor was nervous, and I guessed that he was having second thoughts about our arrangement with respect to the Wolf. “Don’t think that he won’t get to you. He’s relentless. He’s
crazy,
” he warned me again.
    “I’ve avoided crazy men before,” I said. “We still have a deal?”
    “We do. What choice do I have? But you’ll regret it. So will I, I’m afraid.”
    “We’re going to protect you.”
    His eyes narrowed. “So you say.”
    The night had been a busy one already. The top computer experts at the Bureau had tried password-cracking software to get into the Wolf’s Den. So far, everything had failed. So had a “brute force” attack that could often decode encrypted data by feeding in combinations of letters and numbers. Nothing had worked. We needed Mr. Potter to get inside. We needed his eyes. The blood vessel patterns of the retina and the pattern of flecks on the iris provided unique methods of identification. Scanning involved a low-intensity light source and an optical coupler.
    Potter put one eye up to the device and then focused on a red dot. An impression was taken and then sent on. Seconds later, we had access.
    This is Potter, I typed as Taylor was led out of the operations room. He would be transferred to Lorton Federal Prison for the night, then taken back to New England. I put him out of my mind, but I wouldn’t be able to forget his warning about the Wolf.
    We were just talking about you, said someone with the user name Master Trekr.
    I wondered why my ears were buzzing, I typed, and wondered if I was communicating with the Wolf for the first time. Was he on-line? If so,
where was he? What city?
    I was center stage in the operation room used by SIOC. More than a dozen agents and technicians were gathered around me. Most were on computers too. The scene looked like a very high-tech classroom.
    Master Trekr: Weren’t really talking about you, Potter. UR paranoid. Same as it ever was.
    I looked at the other user names:

    Sphinx 3000
    ToscaBella
    Louis XV
    Sterling 66

    No Wolf. Did that mean he wasn’t on-line in the Den? Or was he Master Trekr? Was he observing me now? Was I passing his test?
    I need a replacement for “Worcester,” I typed. Potter had told me that Francis Deegan’s code name was Worcester.
    Sphinx 3000: Take a number. We were talking about my package. My delivery. It’s my turn. You know that, you fruitcake.
    I didn’t respond at first. This was my first test. Would Potter apologize to Sphinx 3000? I didn’t think he would. More likely, he’d come back with a caustic reply. Or would he? I chose to say nothing for now.
    Sphinx 3000: Fuck U, too. I know what UR thinking. U kinky bastard.
    Sphinx 3000: As I was saying before I was interrupted. I want a southern belle, the more hung up on herself, the more self-absorbed she is, the better. I want an ice goddess, who I plan to shatter. Totally into herself. She wears Chanel and Miu Miu and Bulgari jewelry, even to the shopping mall. Heels, of course. I don’t care if she’s tall or short. Beautiful face. Pert tits.
    ToscaBella: How original.
    Sphinx 3000: Fuck original, and, sorry to repeat myself, but fuck U. Give me that old-time rock-and-roll music. I want what I want, and I’ve earned it.
    Sterling 66: Anything else? This southern belle of yours? In her twenties? Thirties?
    Sphinx 3000: That’d be good. All or any of the above.
    Louis XV: Teens?
    Sterling 66: How long do you plan to keep her around?
    Sphinx 3000: One glorious night of ecstasy and wild abandon . . . just one night.
    Sterling 66: And then?
    Sphinx 3000: I’m going to dispose of her. Now, do I