“Yes, but it’s not exactly a cube. It’s only seven stories on Pennsylvania Avenue because of the D.C. building codes. And eleven stories in back.”

“Thanks for sharing that. You’re starting to sound like a Feebie. I’ll bet it feels weird to be in there.”

“No, I just figure I’m on the fifth floor. Could be in either part of the building.”

“Ha ha. No, working the other side, the dark side. Being in the J. Edgar Hoover Building. Being a Feebie. Just thinking about it makes me shiver.”

“The waiting is the same, Jam. The waiting’s always the same.”

“At least you have good friends to talk to some of the time. At least you have some nice phone pals.”

“I do, don’t I. And you’re right, it’s easier waiting here with you.”

“I’m glad you feel that way. We need to see each other, Alex. We need to touch each other. There are things we have to talk about.”

“I know that. As soon as this case is over. I promise. I’ll be on the first plane.”

Jamilla laughed again. “Well, get cracking, boy. Catch the big bad Wolf psycho bastard. Otherwise I’ll be on my own plane east.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Chapter 83

Chapter 83

A DOZEN OR SO AGENTS were sitting around eating thick roast beef sandwiches and German potato salad and drinking iced tea when contact with the Wolf’s Den was made again. “Roast beef” had a special meaning inside the FBI, but that was another story. The Wolf was calling.

Potter. We’ve made a decision on your request, the e-mail said. Get back to us.

The group continued to eat. We agreed there was no need to get back to the Wolf instantly. It would raise his suspicions if Potter was there waiting for the call. An agent was already playing the part of Dr. Homer Taylor in Hanover. We had spread a lie that the professor had the flu and wouldn’t be conducting any classes for a while. Occasionally, “sightings” of Professor Taylor were arranged at his house—sometimes looking out windows or sitting out on the front porch. To our knowledge, no one had inquired about Taylor at Dartmouth or at his house in Webster. Both locations were being watched closely by agents.

I hoped that the agents in the field knew what the hell they were doing. At this point we had no idea how careful the Wolf was or whether his suspicions had already been aroused. We didn’t know enough about the Russian. Not even if he had someone in the Bureau feeding him information.