Geoffrey Shafer drove a dark blue Oldsmobile Cutlass full-bore through the desert. He wasn't on board the jet that had flown out of Wells, Nevada. That would have been too easy. Weasels always have several escape routes planned.

As he drove, Shafer was thinking that the oddly brilliant plan in the desert had worked well, and there had certainly been backup contingencies just in case something didn't work right. He had also learned that Dr. Cross, now with the FBI, had shown up in Nevada.

Is that part of the big picture, too? Somehow, he expected that it was. But why Cross? What does the Wolf have in mind for him?

The Weasel eventually made a stop in Fallon, Nevada, where he was scheduled to make his next contact. He didn't know exactly who he was contacting, or why, or where this whole operation was leading. He just knew his piece-and his explicit orders were to call in from Fallon and get the next set of instructions.

So he followed his orders, registered at the Best Inn Fallon, and went straight to his room. He used a cell phone, which he'd been told to destroy after he made the call. There were no pleasantries exchanged, no unnecessary words. Just the business at hand.

"This is the Wolf," he heard as contact was made, and Shafer wondered if that was so. According to rumor, the real Wolf had impersonators, maybe even body doubles. All of them with their piece, right?

Next he heard disturbing news. "You were seen, Colonel Shafer. You were spotted and photographed near Sunrise Valley. Did you know that?"

At first, Shafer tried to deny it, but he was cut off.

"We're looking at copies of the pictures right now. That's how the Bronco was followed to Wells. Which is why we told you to exchange vehicles outside town and drive to Fallon. Just in case something went wrong."