The Wolf was still in Los Angeles, but reports were coming in from the Nevada desert on a regular basis. Police arriving near Sunrise Valley… then helicopters… the U.S. Army… finally the FBI.

His old friend Alex Cross was out there now, too. Good for Alex Cross. What a good soldier.

Nobody understanding a goddamn thing, of course.

No coherent theory about what had happened in the desert.

How could there be?

It was chaos, and that was the beauty of it. Nothing scared people more than what they didn't understand.

Case in point, a local L.A. hot shit named Fedya Abramtsov and his wife, Liza. Fedya wanted to be a big Mafiya gangster, but also lead the life of a movie-star type in Beverly Hills. This was Fedya and Liza's house that he was staying in now, but really, the Wolf thought of it as his house; after all, their money was his money. Without him, they were nothing but small-time punks with big ambitions.

Fedya and Liza hadn't even known he was at their house. The couple had been at their place in Aspen and finally got back to L.A. at just past ten that evening.

Imagine their surprise.

A powerful-looking man sitting by himself in the living room. Just sitting there. So peaceful. Rhythmically squeezing a rubber ball in his right hand.

They had never seen him before.

"Who the hell are you?" demanded Liza. "What are you doing here?"

The Wolf spread his arms. "I am the one who gave you all of this wonderful stuff. And what do you give me in return? Disrespect like this? I am the Wolf."