London Bridges (Alex Cross 10)

“He’s staying out here?” I asked. I wondered if I was really being taken to the Wolf. For what possible reason?

“For the moment, Dr. Cross. But then he’ll be gone again. As you know, he moves around a lot. He is like a ghost, an apparition. You’ll see what I mean in a moment.”

The Peugeot pulled up in front of a small stone farmhouse. Two armed men immediately came out the front door to meet us. Both held automatic weapons aimed at my upper body and face.

“Inside,” said one of them. He had a white beard but was nearly as large and muscular as the man who had accompanied me thus far.

It was obvious that he had seniority over Black Beard, who had seemed in control until now. “Inside!” he repeated to me. “Hurry up! Can’t you hear, Dr. Cross?”

“He is an animal,” White Beard then said to me. “He shouldn’t have killed the woman. I am the Wolf, Dr. Cross. It’s good to meet you at last.”

Chapter 80

“DON’T TRY TO do anything heroic, by the way. Because then I’ll have to kill you and find a new messenger,” he said as we walked inside the farmhouse.

“I’m a messenger now? For what?” I asked.

The Russian waved off my question as if it were a pesky fly buzzing around his hairy face.

“Time is flying. Weren’t you thinking that with the French detective? They were just keeping you out of the way, the French. Didn’t you think as much?”

“The thought crossed my mind,” I said. Meanwhile, I couldn’t believe that this was the Wolf. I didn’t believe it. But who was he? Why had I been brought there?

“Of course it did. You’re not a stupid man,” he said.

We had entered a small, dark room with a fieldstone fireplace, but no fire. The room was cluttered with heavy wooden furniture, old magazines, yellowing newspapers. The windows were tightly shuttered. The place was airless. The only light came from a single standing lamp.

“Why am I here? Why show yourself to me now?” I finally asked him.

“Sit down,” said the Russian.

“All right. I’m a messenger,” I said, and lowered myself into a chair.

He nodded. “Yes. A messenger. It’s important that everyone fully understand the seriousness of the situation. This is your last chance.”

“We understand,” I said.

Almost before I had finished speaking, he lunged forward and hit me in the jaw.

My chair went over backward, I was in free fall, then my head struck the stone floor. I might have gone out for a couple of seconds.

But then I was being dragged back up by a couple of the other men in the room. My head was spinning and there was blood in my mouth.

“I want to be clear about this,” the Russian continued. It was as if hitting me had been a necessary pause in his speech. “You are a messenger. And none of you fools understand the seriousness now. Just as no one seems to understand, really understand, that they are going to die, and what that means, until the moment it happens. . . . The stupid woman in Paris today? Do you think she understood before a speeding bullet blew open her brain? The money must be paid this time, Dr. Cross. In full. In all four cities. The prisoners must be released.”

“Why the prisoners?” I asked.

He hit me again, but this time I didn’t go down. Then he turned and left the room. “Because I say so!”

He came back a moment later, with a heavy black valise. He set it on the floor right in front of me.

“This is the dark side of the moon,” he said. Then he opened it for me to see inside.

“It’s called a tactical nuclear explosive device. More simply, a ‘suitcase nuke.’ Produces a horrific explosion. Unlike conventional warheads, it operates at ground level. Easy to conceal, easy to transport. No mess, no fuss. You’ve seen pictures of Hiroshima, of course. Everyone has.”

“What about Hiroshima?”

“This