The Big Bad Wolf

just before the cars would have gotten on the Florida Turnpike. They hit with automatic weapons and also rocket launchers, which took out most of the escort cars in under a minute. There were bodies and smoking metal everywhere.
    The black van that Pasha Sorokin was riding in was quickly surrounded by six men in dark clothes, no masks. The car doors were yanked open and the police guards were beaten and then shot dead.
    A tall, powerful-looking man strode up to the open door and peered inside. He smiled playfully, as if a small child were in the prison van.
    “Pasha,” the Wolf said, “I understand that you were going to turn me in. That’s what my sources say, my very good sources, my incredibly well-paid sources. Talk to me about this.”
    “It’s not true,” said Pasha, who meanwhile was cowering in the middle seat of the van. He wore an orange jumpsuit, and his wrists and ankles were bound by chains. He no longer had his Florida tan.
    “Maybe, maybe not,” said the Wolf.
    Then he fired one of the rocket launchers point-blank at Pasha. He didn’t miss.
    “Zamochit,”
he said, and laughed. “One can’t be too careful these days.”

About the Author
    James Patterson’s most recent major international bestseller is
The Lake House.
He is the author of twenty-three books and lives in Florida.