London Bridges

So up we went, all the way. The top floor was nine, and we didn't see the Wolf as we peeked out of the stairwell. We quickly checked the offices; no one had seen him-and they sure would have remembered if they had.

"In the back. There's stairs up to the roof," someone told us in a law office.

Ned Mahoney and I climbed more stairs, then we stepped outside into bright daylight. We didn't see the Wolf. There was a single-story structure, like a small hat on top of the old building. Water tower? The super's office?

We tried the door; it was locked.

"He has to be here somewhere. Unless he jumped," Ned said.

Then we saw him coming around from behind the tower. "I didn't jump, Mr. Mahoney. And I thought I told you not to work on this case. I think I was clear. Put down your guns right now."

I stepped forward. "I brought him here."

"Of course you did. You're the indefatigable, don't-give-up, relentless Dr. Cross. That's why you're so predictable, and useful."

Suddenly a New York City policeman stepped out of the same trapdoor opening to the roof that we had used. He saw the Wolf and fired.

He hit the Wolf in the chest, but it didn't stop him. He was wearing a vest, had to be. The Russian growled like a bear and charged the cop, waving both arms over his head.

He grabbed the surprised officer and picked him up. There was nothing Ned or I could do. Next thing, he hurled the man off the roof.

The Wolf started to race toward the other side of the rooftop, and he seemed genuinely insane. What was he doing? Suddenly I thought I knew. The building to the south was close enough so that he was going to jump for it. Then, coming in from the west, I saw a helicopter. For him? Was that the escape plan? Don't let this be happening.

I ran after him. So did Mahoney. "Stop! Stop right there!"

He was ru

Then the Wolf was airborne, both his arms flailing-and he was going to make it to the other rooftop with room to spare.

"You bastard, no!" Ned yelled. "No!"

I stopped ru

Chapter 119

The Wolf kept pumping his legs and seemed almost to be ru

Mahoney and I ran up to the edge of our building. Could the Wolf get out of this one? Somehow, he always found a way. Except this time-I knew I'd hit him in the throat. He had to be drowning in his own blood.

"Fall, you fuck!" Ned screamed at him.

"He's not going to make it," I said.

And he didn't. The Russian's body fell, and he didn't fight it, didn't make a sound, never screamed out. Not a sound came from him.

Mahoney yelled down at him. "Hey, Wolf! Hey, Wolfman! Go to hell!"

The fall looked as if it had been shot in slow motion, but then he hit the ground in the alleyway between the buildings. Hit it hard. I stared down at the Wolf's mangled body, the bandaged face, and I felt satisfied for the first time in a long while. I felt fulfilled and whole. We'd gotten him, and he deserved to die like that, squashed like a bug on the pavement.

Then Ned Mahoney started to clap and whoop and dance around like a complete madman. I didn't join in, but I knew what he was feeling. The man down there deserved this fate, if anyone ever did. Stone-cold dead in an alleyway.

"He didn't scream," I finally said. "Couldn't even give us that."

Mahoney shrugged his wide shoulders. "I don't care if he did or not. Here we are up here, there he is down with the garbage. Maybe there's some justice after all. Well, maybe not," Ned said, and laughed, putting his arm around me and squeezing.

"We won," I said to him. "Damnit, we finally won, Neddy."

Chapter 120

We won!

The next morning I flew back to Quantico in a Bell helicopter with Ned Mahoney and some of his stellar crew. They were celebrating the Wolf's demise at HRT over in Quantico, but I wanted to get home. I'd told Nana to keep the kids away from school because we were celebrating.

We won!

I let myself decompress for some of the car ride from Quantico to Washington. When I finally got to the house, when I could see it up ahead, I started to feel closer to normal, almost myself, or at least somebody I recognized. No one had come out onto the porch yet, so Nana and the kids hadn't seen me arrive. I decided to surprise them.

We won!

The front door wasn't locked, and I went inside. A few lights were on, but I didn't see anybody yet. Maybe they're going to surprise me?

Keeping very quiet, I made my way back to the kitchen. The lights were on-plates and silverware had been laid out for lunch-but nobody was there, either.

Kind of strange. Just a little bit off kilter. Rosie the cat came meowing from somewhere, rubbing up against me.

Finally I called out, "I'm home. Your daddy's home. Where is everybody? I'm home from the wars."

I hurried upstairs, but nobody was there. I checked for notes that might have been left for me. Nothing.

I ran downstairs. I looked out back, then up and down Fifth Street in front of the house. Not a soul in sight anywhere. Where were Nana and the kids? They knew I was coming.

I went back inside and made a few phone calls to places Nana and the kids might be. But Nana almost always left a note when she went out with the kids, even for an hour or so, and they'd been expecting me.

Suddenly I felt sick. I waited another half an hour before I contacted some people at the Hoover Building, starting with Tony Woods in the director's office. In the meantime, I'd looked around the house again, found no sign of any kind of disturbance.

A team of technical people arrived, and shortly afterward one of them approached me in the kitchen. "There are footprints out in the yard, probably male. Some dirt was recently tracked into the house. Could have been repairmen, or a delivery service, but it's definitely fresh."

That was all they found that afternoon, not another clue, not one.

Sampson and Billie came over in the evening, and we sat together and waited, at least for a call, something to go on, something to give me hope. But no call came, and sometime after two in the morning, Sampson finally went home. Billie had left about ten.

I stayed up all night-but nothing, no contact. No word at all about Nana and the kids. I talked to Jamilla on my cell phone, and it helped, but not enough. Nothing could have helped that night.

Finally, early in the morning, I stood at the front door bleary-eyed and stared up and down the street. It occurred to me that this had always been my worst fear, maybe everybody's worst fear, to be all alone, with nobody, and to have those you love the most in terrible danger.

We lost.