The Big Bad Wolf

Part Two

FIDELITY, BRAVERY, INTEGRITY


CHAPTER 25

NO ONE HAD been able to



figure out the Wolf yet.accrding to information from Interpol and the Russian police, he was

a no-nonsense, hands-on operator, who had originally been trained as a policeman. Like

many Russians, he was able to think in very fluid, commonsense terms. That native ability

was sometimes given as the reason the Mir space station was able to stay in space so long.

The Russian cosmonauts were simply better than the Americans at figuring out everyday

problems. If something unexpected went wrong in the spacecraft, they fixed it.

And so did the Wolf.

On that sunny afternoon, he drove a black Cadillac Escalade to the northern section of

Miami. He needed to see a man named Yeggy Titov about some security matters. Yeggy

liked to think of himself as a world-class Web site designer and cutting-edge engineer. He had

a doctorate from Cal-Berkeley and never let anyone forget it. But Yeggy was just another

pervert and creep with delusions of grandeur and an attitude, a really bad attitude.

The Wolf banged on the metal door of Yeggy’s apartment in a high-riser overlooking

Biscayne Bay. He was wearing a skullcap and a Miami Heat windbreaker, just in case

anyone saw him visiting.

“All right, all right, hold your urine!” Yeggy shouted from inside. It took him another couple of

minutes to finally open up. He had on blue-jean shorts and a tattered, faded-black novelty-store sweatshirt with Einstein’s grinning face on it. Quite the kidder, that Yeggy.

“I told you not to make me come and see you,” the Wolf said, but he was smiling broadly, as

if he were making a big joke. So Yeggy smiled too. They had been business associates for

about a year which was a long time for anyone to put up with Yeggy. “Your timing is

perfect,” he said.

“How lucky for me,” said the Wolf, as he strolled into the living room and immediately

wanted to hold his nose. The apartment was an incredible dump littered with fast-food

wrappers and pizza boxes, empty milk cartons, and dozens, maybe a hundred, old copies of

Novoye Russkoye Slovo, the largest Russian-language newspaper in the United States.

The odor of filth and decaying food was bad enough, but even worse was Yeggy himself,

who always smelled like week-old sausages. The science man led him into a bedroom off the

living room area only it turned out not to be a bedroom at all. It was the lab of a very

disorganized person. Ugly brown carpeting, three beige CPU boxes on the floor, and parts in a

corner, discarded heat sinks, circuit boards, hard drives.

“You are a pig,” the Wolf said, then laughed again.

“But a very smart pig.”



In the center of the room was a modular desk. Three ?at-screen displays formed a semicircle

around a well-worn rumble chair. Behind the display screens was a ?re hazard of intertwined

cables. There was only one outside window, the blind permanently drawn.

“Your site is very secure now,” Yeggy said. “Primo. One hundred percent. No possible screw-up. The way you like it.”



“I thought it was already secure,” the Wolf replied.

“Well, now it’s more secure. You can’t be too careful these days. Tell you what else , I

finished the latest brochure. It’s a classic, instant classic.”



“Yes, and only three weeks late.”



Yeggy shrugged his bony shoulders. “So what what’ll you see my work. It’s genius. Can you

recognize genius when you see it? This is genius.”



The Wolf examined the pages before he said anything to the science man. The brochure was

printed on 81/2-by-11-inch glossy paper bound in a clear report cover with a red spine. Yeggy

had cranked it out on his HP color laser printer. The colors were electric. The cover looked

perfect. The elegance was weird, actually, as if the Wolf were looking at a Tiffany’s

catalogue. It sure didn’t look like the work of a man who lived in this shit hole.

“I told you that girls number seven and seventeen were no longer with us. Dead, actually,” the

Wolf finally said. “Our boy genius is forgetful, no?”



“Details, details,” said Yeggy. “Speaking of which, you owe me ˙teen thousand cash on

delivery. This would be considered delivery.”



The Wolf reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a Sig Sauer 210. He shot Yeggy twice

between the eyes. Then, for laughs, he shot Albert Einstein between the eyes too.

“Looks like you are no longer with us, either, Mr. Titov. Details, details.”



The Wolf sat at a laptop computer and fixed the sales catalogue himself. Then he burned a CD

and took it with him. Also several copies of Novoye Russkoye Slovo that he had missed. He

would send a crew to dispose of the body and burn this shit hole later. Details, details.