The Big Bad Wolf

pale, with deep, dark hollows under his eyes. He appeared to have put on at least thirty pounds, all of it muscle. I wondered why—what had given Kyle hope? Whatever it was scared me a little.
    “All roads lead to Florence?” he quipped, and grinned as I entered the interview room. “Some associates of yours from the Bureau were here just yesterday. Or was it the day before? You know, the last time we met, Alex, you said you didn’t care what I think. That hurt.”
    I corrected him, which I knew would annoy Kyle. “Not exactly what I said. You accused me of being condescending and told me that you didn’t like it. I said, ‘Who cares what you like anymore?’ I do care about what you think. That’s why I’m here.”
    Kyle laughed again, and the braying sound he made, the baring of his teeth, chilled me. “You always were my favorite,” he said.
    “You were expecting me?” I asked.
    “Hmm. Hard to say. Not really. Maybe at some time in the future.”
    “You look like you have big plans. You’re all buffed.”
    “What plans could I possibly have?”
    “The usual. Grand delusions, homicidal fantasies, rape, the slaughter of innocents.”
    “I do
hate
it when you play psychologist, Alex. You didn’t make it in that world for a good reason.”
    I shrugged. “I know that, Kyle. None of my patients in Southeast had money to pay me. I needed to start a practice in Georgetown. Maybe I will someday.”
    He laughed again. “Talk about delusions. So why are you here? No, I’ll tell you why. There’s been a terrible miscarriage of justice and I’m being released. You’re the messenger of glad tidings.”
    “The only miscarriage is that you haven’t been executed, Kyle.”
    Kyle’s eyes sparkled. I
was
one of his favorites. “All right, now that you’ve charmed me, what is it that you want?”
    “You know what I want, Kyle,” I said. “You know exactly why I’m here.”
    He clapped his hands loudly. “
Zamochit!
The mad Russian!”
    For the next half an hour I told Kyle everything I knew about the Wolf; well, nearly everything. Then I gave him the kicker. “He met with you on the night he came here to kill Little Gus Palumbo. Did you set up the kill for him? Somebody did.”
    Kyle leaned back and seemed to be considering his options, but I knew he’d already decided what he meant to do. He was always a step or two ahead.
    Finally he leaned forward and beckoned me closer. I wasn’t afraid of Kyle, at least not physically, not even with his extra pounds of muscle. I almost hoped he’d make a move.
    “I do this out of love and respect for you,” Kyle said. “I did meet with the Russian last summer. Ruthless chap, no conscience. I liked him. We played chess.
I know who he is, my friend.
I might be able to help you.”

Chapter 113
    IT TOOK ME another day at Florence, but I finally negotiated a name out of Kyle.
Now, could we believe him?
The name was checked and rechecked in Washington, and the Bureau was becoming confident that he had given us the Red Mafiya leader. I had doubts—because it came from Kyle. But we had no other leads.
    Maybe Kyle was trying to blow me up or embarrass the Bureau. Or maybe he wanted to demonstrate how smart he was, how well-connected, how superior to us all. The name, the person’s position, made the arrest controversial and risky. If we went after this man and we were wrong, the embarrassment would stick to the Bureau.
    So we waited for nearly a week. We checked all of our information again and did several interviews in the field. The suspect was put under surveillance.
    When we had completed the due diligence, I met with Ron Burns and the director of the CIA in Burns’s office. Ron got to the point. “We believe he’s the Wolf, Alex. Craig is probably telling the truth.”
    Thomas Weir from the CIA nodded my way. “We’ve been watching this suspect in New York for some time. We thought he’d been KGB back in Russia, but there wasn’t conclusive evidence. We never suspected Red Mafiya, never the Wolf. Not this man. Not given his position with the Russian government.”
    Weir’s look was intense. “We increased the levels of audio surveillance to include the apartment where the suspect lives in Manhattan. He’s making arrangements to go after Director Burns again.”
    Burns looked at me. “He doesn’t forgive and forget, Alex. Neither do I.”
    “Is that it? We go to New York and arrest him?”
    Burns and Weir nodded solemnly. “This should be