The Big Bad Wolf

by James Patterson

  I ignored the sarcasm. He wasn’t very good at it. “You know we can confiscate the records of your father’s company, shut it down? Also, your father is a likely target for the Wolf. We’re not here to hurt your family members,” I added. “Not unless your father is involved in this too.”

  He shook his head, kept his eyes lowered. “My father has never been in trouble.”

  “That’s what I keep hearing,” I said. “I’ve read a lot about you and your family in the past day or so. Gone all the way back to your school days at Texas. You were involved in a couple of scrapes in Austin. Two date rapes. Neither case went to trial. Your father saved you then. It won’t happen this time.”

  Lawrence Lipton didn’t respond. His eyes were dead, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His blue dress shirt was as wrinkled as a used tissue, soaked with perspiration at the underarms. His hair was wet, dripping little rivers of moisture down to his shirt collar and sideburns. The skin under his eyes sagged and had a purplish tint in the harsh interrogation room light.

  He finally said, “I don’t want my family hurt. Leave my father out of this. Get him protection.”

  I nodded. “Okay, Lawrence. Where do we start? I’m ready to put your family in protective custody until we catch him.”

  “And afterward?” he asked. “It doesn’t stop with him.”

  “We’ll protect your family.”

  Lipton sighed loudly, then said, “All right, I’m the moneyman. I’m Sterling. I might be able to get you to the Wolf. But I need promises in writing. Lots of promises.”

  Chapter 98

  I WAS HEADING into the deepest darkness again, attracted to it as most people are attracted to sunlight. I kept thinking about Elizabeth Connolly, still missing and feared dead.

  Lipton’s father visited him a couple of times and the two men wept together. Mrs. Lipton was allowed to see her husband. There was a lot of crying among the family members, and most of the emotions seemed genuine.

  I was in the interrogation room with Sterling until a little past three in the morning. I was prepared to stay later, as long as it took to get the information I needed. Several deals were struck with his lawyers during the night.

  At around two, with most of the lawyering done, Lipton and I sat down to talk again. Two senior agents from the Dallas field office were in the room with us. They were only there to take notes and tape-record.

  This was my interview to conduct.

  “How did you get involved with the Wolf?” I asked Lawrence Lipton, after a few minutes during which I emphasized my concern for his family. He seemed clearer headed and more focused than he’d been a few hours before. I sensed that a weight had been lifted from him. Guilt, betrayal of his family—especially his father? His school records revealed he was a bright but troubled student. His problems always centered on an obsession with sex, but he’d never received a day of treatment. Lawrence Lipton was a freak.

  “How did I get involved?” he repeated, seeming to be asking the question of himself. “I have a thing for young girls, you see. Teens, preteens. There’s lots of it available these days. The Internet opened new sources.”

  “For what? Be as concrete as you can, Lawrence.”

  He shrugged. “For freaks like myself. Nowadays we can get what we want when we want it. And I know how to search for the nastiest sites. At first I settled for photos and movies. I especially liked real-time films.”

  “We found some. In your office at home.”

  “One day a man came to see me. He came to the office, just like you did.”

  “To blackmail you?” I 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 know
n around Fort Lauderdale and Miami for the parties he hosted, sometimes a couple a week. His extravaganzas were famous for their surprises—surprise guests, like the coaches of the Miami Dolphins and the Miami Heat; hot musical and comedy acts from Las Vegas; politicians and diplomats and ambassadors, even right up to the White House.

  “Guess we’re tonight’s surprise special guests,” Mahoney said, and grinned at me.

  “Flown in all the way from Dallas,” I said. “With our entourage of fourteen.”

  The guests, the nature of the glitzy party itself, made the operation tense, which was probably why Mahoney and I felt compelled to make a few jokes. We’d talked about waiting, but HRT wanted to go in now, while we knew the Wolf was there. The director agreed, and had actually made the final decision.

  A guy in a ridiculous sailor suit was vigorously waving us away from the dock. We kept coming. “What’s this asshole on the dock want?” Mahoney asked me.

  “We’re full up! You’re too late!” the man on the dock shouted to us. His voice carried above the music blasting from the back part of the mansion.

  “Party doesn’t start without us,” Ned Mahoney called back. Then he tooted the horn.

  “No, no! Don’t come in here!” Sailor Suit yelled. “Get away!”

  Mahoney tooted the horn again.

  The cruiser bumped a Bertram speeder, and the guy on the dock looked as if he were going to have a stroke. “Jesus, be careful. This is a private party! You can’t just come in here. Are you friends of Mr. Manning?”

  Mahoney tooted again. “Absolutely. Here’s my invitation.” He pulled out his ID and his gun.

  I was already off the boat and running toward the house.

  Chapter 100

  I PUSHED MY WAY through the crowd of very well-heeled partygoers making their way to candlelit tables. Dinner was being served now. Steak and lobsters, lots of champagne, and pricey wine. Everybody seemed to have worn their Dolce & Gabbana, their Versace, their Yves Saint Laurent couture. I had on faded jeans and a blue FBI windbreaker.

  Coiffed heads turned and eyes flashed at me as if I were a party crasher. I was. The party crasher from hell. These people had no idea.

  “FBI,” Mahoney called from behind as he led his heavily armed teams into the crowd.

  I knew from Sterling what Pasha Sorokin looked like, and I headed his way. He was right there. The Wolf had on an expensive gray suit, a blue cashmere T-shirt. He was talking to two men near a billowing blue-and-yellow-striped canopy where the grills were working. Enormous cuts of meat and fish were being prepared by smiling, sweaty chefs, all of them black or Hispanic.

  I pulled out my Glock, and Pasha Sorokin stared at me without moving a muscle. He just stared. Didn’t make a move, didn’t try to run. Then he smiled, as if he’d been expecting me and was glad I’d finally arrived. What was with this guy?

  I saw him flash a hand signal to a white-haired man whose arm was draped around a curvy blonde less than half his age. “Atticus!” Sorokin called, and the man scurried over faster than kitchen help.

  “I’m Atticus Stonestrom, Mr. Manning’s lawyer,” he said. “You have absolutely no reason to be here, to barge into Mr. Manning’s house like this. You’re completely out of line, and I’m asking you to leave.”

  “Not going to happen. Let’s move this private party inside. Just the three of us,” I said to Stonestrom and Sorokin. “Unless you want the arrest to take place in front of all these guests.”

  The Wolf looked at his lawyer, then shrugged as if this were no big deal to him. He started to walk toward the house. Then he turned, pretending he’d just remembered something. “Your little boy’s name,” he said. “It’s also Alex, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 101

  SHE WASN’T DEAD! How good was that? How amazing?

  Elizabeth Connolly was lost in her own world again, and it was the best place. She was walking a perfect beach on Oahu’s north shore. She was picking up the most amazing seashells, one after the other, comparing the textures.

  Then she heard shouts—“FBI!” She couldn’t believe it.

  The FBI was here? At the house? Her heart pounded, then nearly stopped, then pounded again even harder.

  Had they finally come to rescue her? Why else would they be here? OhmygoodGod!

  Lizzie began to shake all over. Tears spilled down her cheeks. They had to find her and let her out now. The Wolf’s arrogance was about to burn him down!

  I’m in here. I’m here! I’m right here!

  The party got terribly quiet suddenly. Everyone was whispering, and it was hard to hear. But she definitely heard “FBI,” and theories as to why they were here. “Drugs.” Everyone seemed to think so.

  Lizzie prayed this wasn’t about drugs. What if they took the Wolf to jail? She would be left here. She couldn’t stop shaking.

  She had to let the FBI know she was here. But how? She was always bound and gagged. They were so close. . . . I’m in the closet! Please look in the closet!

  She had imagined dozens of escape plans, but only after the Wolf opened the door and leashed her to go to the bathroom or walk in the main part of the house. Lizzie knew there was no way to get out of the locked closet. Not tied up the way she was. She didn’t know how to signal the FBI.

  Then she heard someone making a loud announcement. A male. Deep voice. Calm and in control.

  “I’m Agent Mahoney with the FBI. Everyone leave the main house immediately. Please assemble on the back lawns. Everyone is to leave the house now! No one leaves the grounds.”

  Lizzie heard shoes scraping the hardwood floors—rapid footsteps. People were leaving. Then what? She’d be all alone. If they took the Wolf away . . . what would happen to her? There had to be something she could do to let the FBI know she was in here. What?

  Someone named Atticus Stonestrom was talking loudly.

  Then she heard the Wolf speak, and it chilled her. He was still in the house. Arguing with someone. She couldn’t tell who, or exactly what they were saying.

  What can I do? Something! Anything!

  What, what?

  What haven’t I thought of before?

  And then Lizzie had an idea. Actually, she’d had it before but always dismissed it.

  Because it scared the hell out of her.

  Chapter 102

  “I’M GLAD YOU’RE HERE to see this for yourself, Atticus,” the Wolf said to his lawyer. “This is such bullshit harassment. My businesses are beyond reproach. You know that better than anyone. This is highly insulting.” He looked at me. “Do you know how many business associates you’ve insulted at this party?”

  I was still restraining myself from responding to his threat to my family, to Little Alex. I didn’t want to take him down; I wanted to take him out.

  “Trust me, this isn’t harassment,” I told the lawyer. “We’re here to arrest your client for kidnapping.”

  Sorokin rolled his eyes. “Are you people mad? Do you know who I am?” he asked. Jesus, I’d heard almost the same speech in Dallas.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” I said. “Your real name is Pasha Sorokin, not Ari Manning. Some people say you’re the Russian godfather. You’re the Wolf.”

  Sorokin heard me out, then he laughed a crazy laugh. “You are such fools. You, especially.” He pointed at me. “You just don’t get it.”

  Suddenly there were shouts coming from one of the other rooms on the first floor. “Fire!” someone was yelling.

  “C’mon, Alex!” Mahoney said. He and I left Sorokin with three other agents and ran to see what the hell was going on. How could there be a fire? Now?

  There was a fire. It seemed to have started in the large study off the main living room, in a closet. Swirls of smoke came from under the door. A lot of smoke.

  I grabbed the doorknob, which was hot. The closet was locked. I lowered my shoulder and hit the door hard. I slammed into it again. The wood cracked this time. I hit it once more, and the door collapsed. Thick black smoke billowed out. />
  I stepped up close and tried to peer inside. Then I saw something move.

  Someone was in there. I could see a face.

  Elizabeth Connolly was in there—and she was on fire!

  Chapter 103

  I TOOK A BREATH, then lunged forward into the cloud of smoke and heat. I felt the skin on my face begin to burn. I forced myself inside the walk-in closet. Stooped down. I grabbed Elizabeth Connolly in my arms and stumbled backward out of the closet with her. My eyes were tearing, and my face felt blistered. Elizabeth’s eyes were open wide as I removed her gag. Ned Mahoney worked on the rope bindings around her arms.

  “Thank you,” she whispered in a voice hoarse with smoke. “Oh, thank you,” she gasped.

  Tears ran from her eyes, smudging the soot on her cheeks. My heart thumped a wild beat as I held her hand and waited for the paramedics to come. I couldn’t believe she was alive, but it made everything worthwhile.

  I only got to savor the feeling for a few seconds. Shots rang out. I ran from the den, turned the corner, and saw two agents down but alive.

  “Bodyguard came in firing,” the closest agent told me. “He and Manning ran upstairs.”

  I hurried up the stairs with Ned Mahoney following close behind. Why would the Wolf go upstairs? It didn’t make sense to me. More agents joined us. We searched every room. Nothing! We couldn’t find the Wolf or the bodyguard. Why had they run upstairs?

  Mahoney and I did another full walk-through of all the rooms on the second and third floors. Fort Lauderdale police had begun to arrive and helped secure the house.

  “I don’t see how he got out of here,” Mahoney said. We were huddled together in the second-floor hallway, puzzled and disgusted.

  “Has to be a way out up here somewhere. Let’s look again.”

  We retraced our steps down the second-floor hallway, checking in several guest bedrooms. At the far end of the hall was another stairway, probably used by the help. We’d already searched it. Sealed it off at the bottom. Then it struck me: a small detail I had overlooked.