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"It doesn't matter who I am, not in the least. You're looking for the Wolf,
aren't you? I'm taking you to meet him now."
He threw me a dark look, then handed me a cloth sack. "Put this over your
head. And do exactly as I say from now on. Remember, show-and-tell."
"I remember." I put on the hood. I would never forget the cold-blooded murder
of Detective Boulard. The Wolf and his people killed easily, didn't they? What
did that mean for the four cities under threat? Would they kill thousands and
thousands so easily? Was that their plan to demonstrate power and control? To
get revenge for some mysterious crime in the past?
I don't know how long we rode around in the Peugeot, but it was well over an
hour: slow city driving at first, then an hour or so on the open highway.
Then we were slowing again, possibly traveling on a dirt road. Hard bounces
and bumps shocked and twisted my spine.
"You can take off the hood now," Black Beard spoke to me again. "We're almost
there, Dr. Cross. Nothing much to see out here, anyway."
I took off the hood and saw that we were in the French countryside somewhere,
riding down an unpaved road with tall grass waving on either side. No markers
or signs anywhere that I could see.
"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 todo 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
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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. Ididn'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. Thisis 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. "Youare 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."
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"What about Hiroshima?"
"This suitcase has approximately the same yield. Devastating. We, the old
Soviet Union, used to manufacture these bombs by the truckload.
"Want to know where some of the others are right now? Well, there is one or
more in Washington, D.C., Tel Aviv, Paris, London. So, as you see, we have a
new member in the exclusive 'nuclear community.' We are the new members."
I was starting to feel cold all over. Was there really a nuclear bomb in the
suitcase?
"That's the message you want me to deliver?"
"The other reactors are in place. And to show my good faith, you can takethis
reactor back with you. Let the boys in the shop look it over. But tell them to
look very quickly.
"Now, maybe,maybe, you understand. Get out of here. To me, you are a gnat,
but at least you are a gnat. Take the nuclear weapon with you. Consider it a
gift. Don't say I didn't warn you about what was going to happen. Now,
go.Hurry, Dr. Cross."
Chapter 81
Everything was ablur from there on that afternoon. The dark cloth hood had
just been for show, I figured, since I wore nothing over my eyes on the ride
back to Paris, which seemed a lot shorter than the ride out.
I kept asking my captors where I was being taken with the suitcase bomb, but
neither man in the car would give me an answer. Not a word. They spoke nothing
but Russian on the ride.
To me, you are a gnat. . . . Take the nuclear weapon with you. . . .
Soon after we entered Paris, the Peugeot stopped in the crowded parking lot
of a shopping center. A gun was held in my face, and then I was handcuffed to
the suitcase. "What's this about?" I asked my captors but received no answer.
Moments later the Peugeot stopped again, at place Igor Stravinsky, one of the
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