The Big Bad Wolf

CHAPTER 68

DURING THE NEXT TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, more than thirty agents were assigned to

surveillance of fourteen different porn sites and chat rooms. It had to be one of the most lurid

“stakeouts” ever. We didn’t know exactly who we were looking for other than anyone who

happened to mention a site called the Wolf’s Den, or possibly the Wolf. In the meantime,

Monnie and I were gathering all the information we could about the Red Mafia and

especially about Pasha Sorokin.

Later that afternoon, I had to leave. The timing couldn’t have been much worse, but there

wouldn’t have been any good time for this. I’d been asked to attend a preliminary meeting

with Christine Johnson’s lawyers at the Blake Building in the Dupont Circle area. Christine

was coming after Little Alex.

I arrived at a little before five and had to fight the tide of office workers streaming from the

unusual twelve-story structure, which actually rounded the corner where Connecticut Avenue

met L. I checked the downstairs registry and saw that the tenants in the building included

Mazda, Barron’s, the National Safety Council, and several law offices, including Mark,

Haranzo, and Denyeau, which represented Christine.

I trudged to the elevator bank and pushed a button. Christine wanted custody of Alex Jr. Her

attorney had arranged for this meeting in hopes of resolving things without going to court or

resorting to alternative dispute resolution. I had talked to my attorney in the morning and

decided not to have him present, since this was an “informal” meeting. I tried to have only

one thought as I rode the elevator to the seventh floor: Do what is best for Little Alex. No

matter what, or how it might make me feel.

I got off at seven and was met by Gilda Haranzo, who was slim and attractive, dressed in a

charcoal suit with a white silk blouse knotted at the throat. My lawyer had competed against

Ms. Haranzo and told me she was good, and also “on a mission.” She was divorced from her

physician husband and had custody of their two children. Her fees were high, but she and

Christine had gone to Villanova together and were friends from back then.

“Christine is already in the conference room, Alex,” she said after introducing herself. Then

she added, “I’m sorry it’s come to this. This case is difficult. There are no bad people

involved. Will you please follow me?”



“I’m sorry it’s come to this too,” I said. I wasn’t so sure that there weren’t any bad guys,

though. We’d see soon enough.

Ms. Haranzo led me to a midsize room with gray carpeting and light blue fabric walls. There

was a glass table with six tony black leather chairs in the center of the room. The only things

on the table were a pitcher of ice water, some glasses, and a laptop computer.

A row of tall windows looked out on Dupont Circle. Christine was standing near the windows,

and she didn’t speak as I entered. Then she walked over to the table and sat in one of the

leather chairs.

“Hello, Alex,” she finally said.