The Big Bad Wolf - James Patterson [24]
“You are a pig,” the Wolf said, then laughed again.
“But a very smart pig.”
In the center of the room was a modular desk. Three flat-screen displays formed a semicircle around a well-worn rumble chair. Behind the display screens was a fire hazard of intertwined cables. There was only one outside window, the blind permanently drawn.
“Your site is very secure now,” Yeggy said. “Primo. One hundred percent. No possible screwups. The way you like it.”
“I thought it was already secure,” the Wolf replied.
“Well, now it’s more secure. You can’t be too careful these days. Tell you what else—I finished the latest brochure. It’s a classic, instant classic.”
“Yes, and only three weeks late.”
Yeggy shrugged his bony shoulders. “So what—wait’ll you see my work. It’s genius. Can you recognize genius when you see it? This is genius.”
The Wolf examined the pages before he said anything to the science man. The brochure was printed on 81/2-by-11-inch glossy paper bound in a clear report cover with a red spine. Yeggy had cranked it out on his HP color laser printer. The colors were electric. The cover looked perfect. The elegance was weird, actually, as if the Wolf were looking at a Tiffany’s catalogue. It sure didn’t look like the work of a man who lived in this shit hole.
“I told you that girls number seven and seventeen were no longer with us. Dead, actually,” the Wolf finally said. “Our boy genius is forgetful, no?”
“Details, details,” said Yeggy. “Speaking of which, you owe me fifteen thousand cash on delivery. This would be considered delivery.”
The Wolf reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a Sig Sauer 210. He shot Yeggy twice between the eyes. Then, for laughs, he shot Albert Einstein between the eyes too.
“Looks like you are no longer with us, either, Mr. Titov. Details, details.”
The Wolf sat at a laptop computer and fixed the sales catalogue himself. Then he burned a CD and took it with him. Also several copies of Novoye Russkoye Slovo that he had missed. He would send a crew to dispose of the body and burn this shit hole later. Details, details.
Chapter 26
I SKIPPED A CLASS on “Arrest Techniques” that morning. I figured I probably knew more on the subject than the teacher. I called Monnie Donnelley instead and told her I needed whatever she had on the white slave trade, particularly recent activity in the U.S., that might relate to the White Girl case.
Most of the Bureau’s crime analysts were housed ten miles away at CIRG, but Monnie had an office at Quantico. Less than an hour later, she was at the doorway of my no-frills cubicle. She held out two disks, looking proud of herself.
“This should keep you busy for a while. I concentrated on white women only. Attractive. Recent abductions. I also have a lot on the crime scene in Atlanta. I expanded the circle to get a read on the mall, owner, employees, the neighborhood in Buckhead. I have copies for you of the police and the Bureau’s investigative reports. All the things you asked for. You do your homework, don’t you?”
“I’m a student of the game. I prepare as best I can. Is that so unusual? Here at Quantico?”
“Actually, it is for agents who come to us from police departments or the armed forces. They seem to like to work out in the field.”
“I like field work too,” I admitted to Monnie, “but not until I’ve narrowed it some. Thank you for this, all of this.”
“Do you know what they say about you, Dr. Cross?”
“No. What do they say?”
“That you’re close to psychic. Very imaginative. Maybe even gifted. You can think like a killer. That’s why they put you on White Girl right away.” She remained in the doorway. “Listen. Some unasked-for advice, if I may. You shouldn’t piss off Gordo Nooney. He takes his little orientation games seriously. He’s also basically a bad guy. And he’s connected.”
“I’ll remember that.” I nodded. “So there are good guys too?”
“Absolutely. You’ll see that most of the agents are real solid. Good people, the best. All right,