David Baldacci - Deliver Us From Evil

“But it was a snatch-and-tell. He could still lead us to the terrorist cell.”

“Not if he killed them all. The one guy we were really interested in, Abdul-Majeed, has fallen completely off the radar. Our intel concludes that Waller probably got to him too. Bottom line is there’s no one left for him to rat on.”

“But he’s a bad guy. You just said he’ll go back to his sex slavery business now. He has to be stopped.”

Frank rose. “That’s not our concern. We’re officially pulling our tent on this one.” He held out a packet of materials. “I got your new assignment here. Early morning flight out to Madrid, then on to wild Rio for a while. You’ll get briefed on the way, but it has to do with Chinese ties to some violent antidemocratic leaders in that hemisphere. My counterpart in South America will be meeting you and going over more specifics.” When Shaw didn’t take the packet, Frank dropped it on the desk.

Shaw was shaking his head. “Tomorrow morning? That’s not enough time for me to wind things up here.”

Frank, who was heading to the door, stopped and turned back to him. “Wind things up? What the hell is there to wind up?”

“Give me an extra week here, Frank.”

“A week! Forget it. Your orders are in that packet. You go tomorrow. It’s all set.”

“And if I don’t?”

Frank drew closer to him. “Do you really want to go there?”

“I think I’m going to have to.”

“Because of her? I thought you said there was nothing there.”

“I said there was nothing romantic there. But I can’t leave the lady alone with Waller. That’d be like signing her death warrant.”

“Oh come on. We’ve had this discussion. The guy is not going to try anything with her. This is Provence. And the lady’s not some abandoned young girl from a mud-hut town in Guangdong Province that nobody cares about. She’s not in his wheelhouse at all.”

“If the guy wants her, he’ll take her. That I know. And I’m pretty sure he wants her. So just run some interference for me with the guys up top. Just buy me some time.”

But Frank had already turned away. “Be on the flight tomorrow, Shaw. And stop playing guardian angel. The look doesn’t wear well on you.”

Shaw kicked the door shut behind the man.

I MISSED YOU, Janie.”

Waller took her hand.

“I’m sure you had plenty to keep you busy.”

“If I may inquire, where did you go today?”

Reggie drew a shallow breath and said, “I went to Les Baux-de-Provence to look at the Goya exhibit.”

His smile disappeared. “That is most unfortunate. As I explained, I was hoping to take you there myself.”

“I’m sorry,” she said curtly.

“And you went alone?”

“Evan-”

“I see. I’m sure you two had a wonderful time,” he said with a trace of bitterness.

“Look, I’m sorry. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. There are lots of other sites we can visit around here.”

This seemed to bolster his spirits. “You’re right. Would you then join me for dinner tonight? At my home? I would be honored. I have engaged a local chef.”

“I actually already have plans. Bill’s coming over and we’re going to cook at my place.”

“So Bill is coming over. I see. I don’t suppose you could cancel on Bill?”

“No, but I don’t have any plans for tomorrow or the next day.”

“Then let me claim that time right now and also every day after that. We can go to Roussillon in the morning, in fact.”

Reggie pretended to think about this. “I guess that’ll be fine, but let’s take it one day at a time.”

“Excellent.” He bent to kiss her hand.

Reggie turned when she saw the slender man emerge from Kuchin’s villa and start toward them. She noted he walked with a slight limp. He was dressed in blue slacks and a sleeveless yellow sweater over a white shirt.

Kuchin straightened. “Ah, Alan, let me introduce you to this lovely young lady. Alan Rice, Jane Collins.”

They shook hands.

“Alan is my business associate. He works all the time, but I succeeded in convincing him to join me here for at least a brief time.”

She said, “It was a good decision, Alan. There are few places like Provence.”

“So Evan keeps telling me.”

“Well, enjoy your time here.”

“I plan to.”

Later, Reggie was sitting on her bed and staring down at the tile floor. In a few days it would all happen. And during that intervening time she could make no mistakes, had to hit her marks to perfection, and still it might all go wrong. She knew that she had Fedir Kuchin where she wanted him. But she had been doing this long enough to know that not everything was always as it seemed to be. That he was cunning was without doubt, so she could not assume that she had deceived him fully. He was playing the role of the elder suitor quite admirably, but that was all it might be, a role.

She put her face in her hands. It was not easy, the career she had chosen. You literally couldn’t trust anyone. And there was something else on her mind.

The potential for evil lurks in all of us.

Though she’d openly disagreed with Kuchin’s opinion, in fact she could see some truth in it. Indeed, at a certain level what she did could be seen as evil. Judge, jury, executioner. Who was she to make those decisions? What gave her the right? And then there was the reason why she had chosen this life for herself. The image of her dead brother flashed across her mind. Only twelve, so innocent. A tragic loss.

She hurried to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and ran some water over her face. She had to stop thinking about such things. She had to focus.

She was playing Bill against Kuchin for the benefit of the mission. All the time she spent with either man was because of the mission, she told herself. Bill Young was merely a convenient piece on the game board, nothing more or less.

There was a momentary disconnect in her mind, like a flash of lightning’s effect on a TV. When her synapses started operating again, the revelation almost made her sick.

If Kuchin thinks I’m really interested in Bill, he might…

A part of Reggie was cold and calculating. That part said collateral damage happened, but if the mission was successful the sacrifice was justified. Another part of her was repulsed by an innocent person’s possibly dying just so she could claim her target. That, for her, was the epitome of the very evil she professed to be fighting against.

Reconcile that, Reggie.

Yet she had already set everything in motion. How could she possibly stop it now?

REGGIE STRIPPED OFF her clothes and showered, scrubbing so hard it felt like her skin was peeling off her bones. Afterwards she dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, drifted downstairs, found her market basket, and headed up the hill to town. She left through a rear door that opened onto the cobblestone path so she would not have to deal with her neighbor.

An hour later she returned, her basket full of the ingredients for the meal. She prepped the kitchen, freshened up in the bathroom, and put on a white skirt and a light blue tank top. She remained barefoot, as she liked the coolness of the tile floor against her soles. She took time with her hair and face in the bathroom mirror, taking five whole minutes to decide on a bracelet and earrings.

She froze in the middle of this, staring at her made-up face and wide eyes made wider by the magic of eyeliner and mascara.

It’s jealousy. Playing one against the other. That’s all it is.

Whit’s voice sparked across her brain. “So this is all tied to the mission?”

She kept staring at her image in the mirror. “It’s always about the mission.” One more monster ticked off the list. That was all she wanted. And however she got there it didn’t matter.