The Big Bad Wolf

asked.
    Lipton shook his head. “No, not blackmail. He said he wanted to know what I
really
wanted.
Sexually.
And that he would help me get it. I threw him out. He came back the next day. He had records of everything I’d bought on the Internet. ‘So what do you
really
want?’ he asked again. I wanted young girls. Pretty ones, with no strings attached, no rules. He supplied me with two or three a month.
Exactly
what I fantasized. Color of hair, shape of breasts, shoe size, freckles, anything I desired.”
    “What happened to the girls? Did you murder them? You have to tell me.”
    “I’m not a killer. I liked to see the girls get off. Some did. We’d party, then they would be released. Always. They didn’t know who I was or where I was from.”
    “So you were satisfied with the arrangement?”
    Lipton nodded and his eyes lit up. “Very. I’d been dreaming of this my whole life. The reality was as good as the fantasy. Of course, there was a price.”
    “A bill had to be paid?”
    “Oh, yeah. I got to meet the Wolf, at least I think it was him. He had sent an emissary to my office in the early days. But then he came to see me. In person, he was very scary. Red Mafiya, he said. The KGB came up, but I don’t know what his connection to them was.”
    “What did he want from you?”
    “To go into business with him, to be a partner. He needed my company’s expertise with computers and the Internet. The sex club was secondary with him, a throw-in. He was heavily into extortion, money laundering, counterfeiting. The club was my thing. Once our deal was struck, I went looking for wealthy freaks who wanted their dreams fulfilled. Freaks who were willing to spend six figures for a slave, male, female, didn’t matter. Sometimes a specific target, sometimes a physical type.”
    “To murder?” I asked Lipton.
    “Whatever they wanted. Let me tell you where I think he was going with the club. He wanted to involve very rich, powerful men. We already had one, a senator from West Virginia. He had big plans.”
    “Does the Wolf live in Dallas?” I finally asked. “You’ve got to help me if you want my help.”
    Lipton shook his head. “He isn’t from around here. He doesn’t live in Dallas. Not in Texas. He’s a mystery man.”
    “But you know where he is?”
    He hesitated but finally went on. “He doesn’t know that I know. He’s smart, but not about computers. I tracked him once. He was sure his messages were secure, but I had them cracked. I needed to have something on him.”
    Then Sterling told me where he thought I could find the Wolf. And also, who he was. If I could believe what he was saying, Sterling knew the name Pasha Sorokin was using in the United States.
    It was Ari Manning.

Chapter 99
    I SAT HIGH in the cockpit of a luxury cabin cruiser in the Intercoastal Waterway near Millionaires Row in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Were we close to the Wolf now? I needed to believe that we were. Sterling swore to it, and he had no reason to lie to us, did he? He had every reason to tell the truth.
    Sightseers came here on motorboat tours, so I figured we wouldn’t be noticed right away. Besides, darkness was starting to fall. We drove past mansions that were mostly Mediterranean or Portuguese style, but an occasional Georgian Colonial supposedly signaled “northern money.” We’d been warned to tread lightly, not to ruffle feathers in this wealthy neighborhood, which, frankly, wouldn’t be possible. We were going to ruffle a lot of feathers in a few minutes.
    Onboard the cruiser with me were Ned Mahoney and two of his seven-person assault teams. Mahoney didn’t ordinarily go on missions himself, but since Baltimore, the director had been changing that. The FBI had to get stronger in the field.
    I watched a large waterfront house through binoculars as our boat approached a dock. Several expensive yachts and speedboats bobbed in the water nearby. We had secured a floor plan of the house and learned it had been purchased for twenty-four million two years ago.
Don’t ruffle any feathers.
    A large party was in progress at the estate, which belonged to Ari Manning. According to Sterling, he was Pasha Sorokin, the Wolf.
    “Looks like everybody’s having a fine old time,” Mahoney said from the deck. “Man, I love a good party. Food, music, dancing, bubbly.”
    “Yeah, it’s jumping. And the surprise guests haven’t even shown up,” I said.
    Ari Manning was known around Fort Lauderdale and Miami