CHAPTER 106
PASHA SOROKIN wasn’t the Wolf. Was that possible? There was no way to know for sure.
Over the next forty-eight hours it was confirmed that the men we had captured in Florida
were Pasha Sorokin and Russian Federov. They were Red Mafia, but both claimed never to
have met the real Wolf. They said they had played the “parts” they were given standin
roles, according to them. Now they were willing to make the best deals they could.
There was no way for us to know for sure what was going on, but the deal-making went on
for two days. The Bureau liked to make deals. I didn’t. Contacts were made inside the Mafia;
more doubts were raised about Pasha Sorokin’s being the Wolf. Finally, the CIA operatives
who’d gotten the Wolf out of Russia were found and brought to Pasha’s cell. They said he
wasn’t the man they’d help get out of the Soviet Union.
Then it was Sorokin who gave us a name we wanted one that blew my mind completely,
blew everybody’s minds. It was part of his deal.
He gave us Sphinx.
The next morning, four teams of FBI agents waited outside Sphinx’s house until he left for
work. We had agreed not to take him inside the house. I wouldn’t let it go down that way. I
just couldn’t do it.
We all felt that Lizzie Connolly and her daughters had been through more than enough pain
already. They didn’t need to see Brendan Connolly, Sphinx , arrested at the family house in
Buckhead. They didn’t need to find out the awful truth about him like that.
I sat in a dark blue sedan parked two blocks up the street but with a view of the large
Georgian-style house. I was feeling numb. I remembered the first time I’d been there. I
recalled my talk with the girls, and then with Brendan Connolly in his den. His grief had
seemed heartfelt, as genuine as his young daughters.
Of course, no one had suspected he had betrayed his wife, sold her to another man. Pasha
Sorokin had met Elizabeth at a party in the Connolly house. He’d wanted her; Brendan
Connolly didn’t. The judge had been having affairs for years. Elizabeth reminded Sorokin of
the model Claudia Schiffer, who had appeared on billboards all over Moscow during his
gangster days. So the horrifying trade was made. A husband had sold his own wife into
captivity; he’d gotten rid of her in the worst way imaginable. How could he have hated
Elizabeth so much? And how could she have loved him?
Ned Mahoney was in the car with me, waiting for action: the takedown of Sphinx. If we
couldn’t have the Wolf yet, he was our second choice the consolation prize.
“I wonder if Elizabeth knew about her husband’s secret life?” Mahoney muttered.
“Maybe she suspected something. They didn’t sleep together regularly. When I visited the
house, Connolly showed me the den. There was a bed in there. Unmade.”
“Think he’ll go to work today?” Mahoney asked. He was calmly munching an apple. A very
cool head to work with.
“He knows we took down Sorokin and Federov. I figure he’ll be cautious. He’ll probably play
it straight. Hard to tell.”
“Maybe we should take him at the house. You think?” He bit into his apple again. “Alex?”
I shook my head. “I can’t do it, Ned. Not to his family.”
“Okay. Just asking, buddy.”
We waited. A little past nine, Brendan Connolly finally came out the front door of the house.
He walked to a silver Porsche Boxster parked in the circular driveway. He had on a blue suit,
carried a black gym bag. He was whistling.
“Scumbag!” Mahoney whispered. Then he spoke into his two-way: “This is Alpha One … we
have Sphinx leaving the house. He’s getting into a Porsche. Prepare to converge. Vehicle
license is V6T-81K.”
We heard back immediately. “This is Braves One …we have Sphinx in full sight too. We’ve
got him covered. He’s ours.”
Then, ;raves Three in place at second intersect. We’re waiting on him.”
“Should be about ten to fifteen seconds. He’s heading down the street. Making a right.”
I spoke very calmly to Mahoney. “I want to take him down, Ned.”
He looked straight ahead through the windshield. Didn’t answer me. But he didn’t say no.
I watched the Porsche proceed at a normal speed to the next cross street. The Boxster eased
into the turn. And then Brendan Connolly ran!
“Oh, boy,” said Mahoney, and tossed away his apple.
The Big Bad Wolf
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