Deliver Us From Evil (21 page)

“
I
’VE GOT TO USE
the john,” Shaw called out into the darkness. “Now.”

A minute went by and he thought that no one was going to respond. Then the door opened and the same man appeared. “I told
you about the toilet in the corner over there.”

“I don’t think I can hit the bowl from here. Go figure.”

The man stepped forward. “Then I guess I’ll have to untie you.”

“I guess you will.”

“Firing line,” the man reminded him.

“Right, got it.” Shaw kept his gaze dead on the man as he approached, his muscles tensing, his mind burning through every
possible angle and point of attack on the primary and secondary targets. He would put the man between him and the shooter
and work his way out of here. It was as solid a plan as he could concoct under the circumstances.

Unfortunately, he never got a chance to execute it.

The man punched the syringe in his arm, right through his shirt.

When Shaw awoke, he was on the floor, his arms tucked under him. He slowly rose, flexing his limbs, trying to bleed circulation
back into them. He did his business at the toilet and looked around. The room was empty except for the bolted-to-the-floor
chair and a mattress lying in one corner and the toilet. He paced off the parameters of the square. Eight by eight. Sixty-four
square feet with a ceiling that was not much higher than he was tall. Walls were stone and solid, no chinks in the mortar,
slab floor. He lifted his hand up. The ceiling was plaster.

A rattling sound behind him made Shaw whirl around in time to see a tray of food come through a hinged slot in the lower part
of the door that he hadn’t noticed before.

He picked up the tray and carried it over to the mattress, sat down and ate, finishing off the bottle of water in a couple
of long gulps. He examined the residue on the tray. No utensils, so no sharp edges. Styrofoam plate, plastic bottle.

A few minutes later a voice called out, “Slide it through.”

He rose and passed the tray through the slot. It was barely three inches high and he had to lay the bottle of water down.
He resumed his pacing, examining every square inch of his prison. His gaze returned to the toilet. He walked over, lifted
the tank lid in back, and felt around. A minute later he’d worked free the long piece of metal. He walked over to the door
and examined the lock.

Deadbolt. Made things problematic but maybe not impossible.

Plopping down in the chair, he began fashioning the metal into the instrument he needed to attack the lock. Well, actually
two instruments since it was a deadbolt. He had no idea what time it was, day or night. They’d taken his watch. But he did
start counting off the seconds in his head. He would work from the notion that the meal he’d been given was either lunch or
dinner and time it out from there. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing.

After he’d broken the metal in half and worked the pieces into proper shapes using the hard surface of the walls to bend them,
he ventured quietly over to the door. He listened for a moment, his ear right against the two-inch-thick wood, at least judging
by the width of the slot. The hinges were on the outside of the door, so they were no help to him. It was just him and the
lock.

He got down on his hands and knees and edged open the slot a few centimeters. He listened for sounds of breathing, of movement,
of a heart thudding too fast—other than his own, that is.

There it was. A foot grazing across the floor. He retreated to the chair and sat down, continuing to count the seconds. He
needed to get out of here, fast. But that was obviously not going to happen.

Slow it down, take your time. Speed means mistakes.

His only problem with that philosophy was that Janie might not have a lot of time left. Even if Waller had nothing to do with
his kidnapping, the guy was now free to do whatever he wanted to with her. And it sickened Shaw to think what the guy must
want whenever he looked at the young woman.

Patience, Shaw, patience.

He fingered the pieces of metal and kept counting the seconds.

“
S
O HOW LONG
have you worked with Evan?” asked Reggie.

She was standing on the terrace of Waller’s villa looking at the descending sun. Alan Rice was next to her dressed in khaki
pants and a loose-fitting shirt with a red kerchief around his neck. If he was looking for a debonair effect, he had missed
the mark, she felt. He was sipping from a glass of wine while Reggie worked on some club soda. She’d selected a knee-length
skirt and blouse with low heels for the dinner. Her hair was damp and hung to her shoulders. The trip to Roussillon had been
relatively uneventful, and Waller had been charming and informative and treated her like a princess. She could see how an
unsuspecting woman might be taken in. However, each time she looked at the man all she could see were the hopeless victims
of his sick mind. And yet she smiled and was playful and even seducing to him at times, because she had to be.

“Nearly four years,” said Rice, setting his glass down on a table and placing his arms on the chest-high stone wall enclosing
the terrace. “He’s a brilliant businessman.”

“He seems quite accomplished at everything. Very worldly.”

“That’s the exact right word. Worldly.”

“How did you two hook up?”

“I was working at a firm in New York. He came there on business. We met. He charmed me, like he does everyone else. One thing
led to another. And I came to work for him.”

“I assume it’s challenging.”

“Absolutely. Mr. Waller doesn’t suffer fools or anyone else gladly. Makes for a lot of pressure to perform. But you learn
a lot.”

“Well, then you probably needed a little vacation. I see you’re not limping as much. Were you injured?”

“Fell in the shower and messed up my knee awhile back. It’s healing fine.”

Waller came out a few moments later and Reggie noted that Alan Rice quickly disappeared back into the house. Waller took a
sip of his cocktail and said, “I trust Alan was keeping you in good company.”

“Absolutely. He really likes working for you.”

He sat down on a sofa and motioned for Reggie to join him. “I am fortunate to have him.”

She sat near him, their knees almost touching. “What kind of business are you in?”

“The kind that makes money.”

“The profit motive drives you, I guess,” she said coolly.

“When one grows up without money, yes, it can be a motivating force.”

“But you came to Provence as a child. You must have not been in too desperate circumstances. Traveling here from Canada couldn’t
have been cheap, even back then.”

He flashed a look that was inscrutable. Yet for one terrible instant Reggie thought she had gone too far.

“It’s none of my business, of course,” she added hastily.

“No, it’s all right. As I mentioned, my mother was French. So we did not have to pay to stay anywhere. We had the family cottage.
And back then we came by boat, third-class steerage. Followed by third-class steerage on a train. It was very cheap, if not
very comfortable.”

“Of course.”

“And once one arrived in Provence,
how
one got there became irrelevant.” He stood and looked out at the breathtaking view of the Luberon valley. “It is glorious.”

She joined him. “It is.” She added, “My mother would have said that God was in fine form when he created Provence.”

“A religious woman, I take it?”

“A good Catholic, just like me.”

“On her dying bed my mother said to me, ‘Never forsake your faith in God. It will keep you, in the good and especially in
the bad.’ She was a wise woman.”

“And has it kept you, in good and bad?”

“No life is without pain. I am rich now, but once I was not. Once I…” He smiled. “I think dinner is ready. You will sit next
to me. Alan is joining us as well. You should ask him about his theory on French versus California wines. It is most interesting.
He is completely wrong, of course, but it is worth hearing nonetheless.” He walked her into the dining room.

After the meal was done, they had more drinks and then dessert out on the lower patio next to the pool. Rice joined them for
a few minutes but then abruptly left. Whether this was on a high sign from his employer or not, Reggie didn’t know. Waller
stared moodily at the water.

“You have a pool at your villa, correct?”

Reggie nodded. “I swim. In fact, after this meal I should probably swim a couple of miles to work it off.”

He waved this comment away. “Ridiculous. You are in superb shape.”

“You don’t have much fat on you either.”

“I do what I can,” he said modestly. “Americans eat too much garbage, but you have obviously escaped that trap.”

“Being wealthy gives me certain advantages many Americans don’t have. I can afford to eat right, and I have the time to exercise.”

“Here, a peasant can go to market and get the freshest ingredients for a few euros. And they walk to market and thus get their
exercise.” He paused and added, “But I judge no one.”

Reggie felt her face flush uncontrollably at this statement. Fortunately, Waller was not looking at her.
You only judged hundreds of thousands of people to their deaths.

She rose. “Thank you for a wonderful day.”

He said, “You are not leaving.”

She flinched for an instant, since it was not clear if that was a question or a command. “It’s been a long day.”

“But it is still early.”

“Perhaps for you.”

“I wish very much that you would stay.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon enough. And not everyone gets their wish.”

He rose. “You will not reconsider? I would like to get to know you better.”

“I need to swim.”

“You can swim here.”

“Good night, Evan. I can show myself out.”

“There are few who would venture to disagree with me.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you.”

“But—”

She stood on tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek. “It’s all in the timing, actually.”

After she closed the door of her villa securely behind her, Reggie spit on the floor and then wiped off her mouth.

“
Y
ES,
Whit, I understand the situation quite clearly, perhaps better than you.”

Professor Mallory sat at his desk in his study at Harrowsfield, attempting to light his pipe at the same time he was clenching
the phone against his cheek with his left arm.

“I took the action that I deemed most prudent.” Mallory paused as a string of words came over the line from the obviously
upset Irishman.

Mallory finally got the pipe going and took a moment to suck greedily on the stem. He flicked the match out and dropped it
on his desk, where it continued to smolder.

“I can’t see where it’s robbed you of any necessary manpower, but if you require reinforcements I can have them to you tomorrow.
Yes, yes, well I can do the math too. You have four men for the outside and then the three of you on the inside. If you think
that’s insufficient?” He paused and listened some more. “Yes, I have talked to Regina, and no, she doesn’t know about it.
What really would be the point? Have the final details been worked out? I see. Projection equipment?” He listened some more.
“Yes, I suppose that would come in rather handy. All right. Yes, just let me know.”

Mallory put the phone down and puffed on his pipe. He looked up to see Liza standing by the doorway.

“Problems?” she asked.

Mallory cleared his throat. “Nothing unmanageable. Whit is a bit put out, but he’ll get over it.”

Liza frowned. “We’re too close to D-day, aren’t we, to have anyone
put out
over anything?”

“It’ll be fine, Liza, don’t worry.”

“And you’re telling me you’re not concerned?”

“I’m always concerned until my people are back here safely. But they have everything under control and the plan is a sound
one. In fact, Regina came up with a new wrinkle that I think will work out quite nicely.”

“There
is
one flaw in your plan,” pointed out Liza.

“No plan is perfect, and we had to put this one together rather on the fly.”

“But they aren’t even aware of the potential pitfall. You know I disagreed with you on that.”

“Without that we wouldn’t have gotten our shot at Kuchin.”

“Yes, but that might be the difference between ‘your people’ coming home safely or not.”

“I am quite aware of the risks,” Mallory said a bit indignantly.

“You are, but they aren’t, not fully.”

“There is inherent risk in everything we do.”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

“We sit here in our cozy old English country house and plan these things and then send them out to execute our plans.”

“They participate in creating those plans.”

“Good night,
Professor
.”

She left Mallory to angrily puff on his pipe, until he knocked out the wedge of tobacco, stuffed the pipe in his jacket pocket,
and sat there moodily in his old leather chair.

Whit sat gazing at the phone. Sometimes he just didn’t get Mallory. No, that was wrong. He almost never understood the man.
The professor had handed Whit another task at a critical time in their mission and the Irishman didn’t appreciate it one bit.
Babysitting Bill Young was not something he’d signed on for. He pocketed his phone and marched down the hallway.

“Give me the key, Niles,” he said to the man stationed there, and he handed Whit the key.

Niles Jansen knocked on the door and called out, “Away!” Then he pulled his gun and pointed it at the door as Whit inserted
the key. The door clicked open and Whit stood just inside the doorway.

Shaw stood against the far wall, staring back at him.

“Ready to let me go?”

“Sit,” ordered Whit.

Shaw looked at the gun pointed at him and slowly walked to the chair and sat down. Whit moved forward a few inches.

“You know, you look familiar,” said Shaw.

“I look like a lot of guys.”

“So what can I do for you?”

“You can tell me what you’re really doing in France.”

“I’m on holiday. Why are you here?”

Whit leaned against the wall. “Lobbyist from D.C. who can scale walls and disarm people? You really think we’re buying that?”

Shaw didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I’m a
retired
lobbyist. And I was supposed to be returning to the States to be with my son. You obviously had a different idea.”

“You look too young to be retired.”

“I made my money and I wanted out. Is that a crime? Is that the reason you bashed me in the head and are holding me prisoner
here?”

“Like you were told before, chill and you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but what about Janie Collins?”

“Who?”

Shaw crossed his arms and studied the other man. “What are you planning?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But you’re working together.”

Whit shook his head slowly. “Again, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do. I told Janie I was a retired lobbyist. I scaled her wall and disarmed her. No one else knew about that.”

“Those things are easy enough to find out.”

“No they’re not. And why would you want to find them out?”

“So you’re not going to tell me why you’re here?”

“You first.”

“Then you can just rot in here.” Whit turned to leave.

Shaw hesitated and said, “Take care with Waller, he’s not who you think he is.”

Whit slowly turned back around. “What the hell do you know about it?”

“More than you, apparently. By the way, I just remembered where I saw you. Kayaking. You were tailing us. You’re after Waller,
aren’t you?”

“Don’t know what you’re smoking.”

“He’s a dangerous guy.”

“Really?”

Shaw knew he shouldn’t do it, but his concern for Janie overrode his professional instincts for secrecy.

“Waller runs a global prostitution ring. He takes women from Asia and Africa and sells them into slavery in the West.”

When this revelation only raised mild interest in Whit’s features, he added, “He was also trying to sell uranium to some Islamic
fundamentalists before he apparently killed them all after a disagreement.”

“Terrorists?” exclaimed Whit.

“They probably screwed him somehow and he made them pay for it. He’s a bad guy from top to bottom. And he has an eye for Janie,
although I guess now I know that’s not her real name. Whatever you guys have planned, you better account for Waller figuring
some of it out beforehand. And you better start worrying that Janie doesn’t disappear before you even get to your ground zero.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“I think you know why. If he gets Janie it’s all over.”

Whit slammed the door behind him and locked it. Shaw heard the two men outside talking fast. Then he heard footsteps as the
men moved off.

He sat down in the chair. His initial instincts had been right and wrong. Janie Collins was not who she claimed to be. But
she was not here to interfere with Shaw’s mission; she hadn’t even known about it, apparently. They’d gotten suspicious about
Shaw, but didn’t know why he was here. They had been working at cross-purposes. So now the questions were clear. Why were
they after Waller? And how were they planning to do it?

Shaw looked around at the four walls. He needed to get out of here more than ever. He had a sinking feeling that whatever
plan they had, it would not be good enough. And chances were very good that Waller would kill them instead.