"My name is Dr. Alex Cross. I'm a forensic psychologist," I began. "I was a homicide detective in Washington, D.C., before I became an agent with the FBI. Less than a year ago, I worked on a case that put me in touch with the Red Mafiya. In particular, I was involved with a former KGB man known only as the Wolf. The Wolf is my subject this morning."

I could have done the rest in my sleep. For the next twenty minutes I talked about the Russian. But even as I was finishing up and the question-and-answer period began, it was clear to me that although the French were willing to listen to what I had to say, they were steadfast in their belief that Islamic terrorists were the real source of the threat to the four targeted cities. Either the Wolf was part of al Qaeda or he was working with them.

I was trying to keep my mind open, but if their theory was correct, my mind would be completely blown. I just didn't buy it. The Wolf was Red Mafiya.

About eleven o'clock, I went back to my cubicle office and found that I had a new partner.

Chapter 78

A new partner? Now?

Everything was going so fast; it was all a blur to me, often incomprehensible. I had to assume that the FBI had contacted someone and pulled some strings. Someone had. The new partner was an agent de police, a woman named Maud Boulard, who immediately informed me that we would be working in the "French police way," whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

Physically, she was very much like Etienne Marteau: thin, with an aquiline nose and sharp features—but shiny red hair. She went out of her way to tell me she had visited New York and Los Angeles and didn't care for either city at all.

"Our deadline is close," I told her.

"I know the deadline, Dr. Cross. Everyone does. To work fast does not mean to work intelligently."

What she called "our surveillance of the Red Mafiya" began along the Parc Monceau in the eighth arrondissement. Unlike in the United States, where the Russians seemed to hang out in such working-class neighborhoods as Brighton Beach in New York, the Mafiya was apparently situated in pricier digs here.

"Maybe because they know Paris better and have operated here longer," Maud suggested. "I think so. I have known the Russian thugs for many years. They don't believe in your Wolf, by the way. Believe me, I've asked around."

And that's what we did for the next hour or so. Talked about the Wolf to Russian thugs Boulard knew. If nothing else, the morning was beautiful, with bright blue skies, which made it excruciating for me. What was I doing there?

At 1:30, Maud said cheerfully, "Let's have lunch. With the Russians, of course. I know just the place."