David Baldacci - Deliver Us From Evil

She walked quickly inside and up to her bedroom, where she made the call.

“We have to meet,” said Whit.

“Meet? When?”

“Right now.”

“It’s one o’clock in the morning.”

“Now, Reg.”

“What’s wrong?”

“A new wrinkle you need to know about.”

“Jesus, Whit-”

“Usual place.” He clicked off.

She threw on some clothes and turned out all the lights as though she was going to bed. She went to the lower level of the villa, opened the rear door, made sure it was clear, and then hurried down the darkened path.

A few minutes later, taking great pains to make sure no one was following her, Reggie arrived at the rendezvous point. A hand on her shoulder almost made her scream.

Whit appeared from out of the darkness, his expression stony.

“What the hell is going on?” Reggie asked, clutching her chest. “Every time I have to sneak out it gives them an opportunity to become suspicious.”

“It couldn’t be avoided,” said Whit as he sat down on the stone bench.

“Okay, it’s obviously important, so tell me.”

“We got new orders from the professor.”

“What?”

“Let me rephrase that. I got new orders from the professor and already carried them out.”

Reggie stared down at him in amazement. “What are you talking about?”

“He ordered us to take your boy out of the equation.”

“My boy?”

“Bill Young.”

“What! You didn’t-”

“He’s okay. We just did a snatch. He’s resting comfortably.”

“Are you crazy? He’s-”

“It wasn’t my call, okay? And the prof didn’t want you to know. But I didn’t like that. So I’m here telling you.”

“Why would Mallory want you to kidnap Bill? He was leaving France.”

Whit looked put out. “I didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t have a chance to tell you.”

“Probably wouldn’t have mattered. The prof wanted him out of the way, and it was probably a good call considering what I just learned.”

“What are you talking about?” Reggie said slowly.

“Your boy’s not what he appeared to be.” Whit paused. “I think he might be a cop or something. Maybe in counterintelligence, Interpol, something like that.”

Now Reggie sat down on the stone bench next to him. “Why?”

“Things he said.”

Reggie looked away.

“You don’t seem shocked by this.”

“I knew Bill had disappeared from his hotel. When I went to check, I saw some men go into his room and take his things. The clerk later told me they had guns.”

“Well, thanks for telling me that.”

“Tell me everything. From the moment you took him.”

Whit laid it all out. He finished with, “He said to be careful whatever we were planning. He said Kuchin runs an international sex slavery ring. He snatches girls from Asia and Africa and sells them in the West. He also attempted to do a deal with some Islamic terrorists, sell them some nukes or something.”

“Wait a minute. Does he know Waller is really Kuchin?”

“Don’t think so, no. At least he never used that name. Anyway, Young said Kuchin ended up killing the Muslims. Guess they had a falling-out or something. But he said Kuchin definitely had an eye for you and to worry about you disappearing before we could make our move. He also said chances were pretty good that Kuchin would figure out at least partly what we were up to.” Whit stopped talking and sat back. “I guess I misjudged the bloke. Turns out we were sort of working on the same side, but didn’t know it.”

“But if he doesn’t know about Kuchin’s past why is he after him?”

“Maybe the terrorist stuff, or the sex slavery ring.”

“And Bill is okay?”

“Except for a little knot on his head, yeah, he’s fine. Tough guy, but then we knew that, didn’t we?”

“I appreciate you telling me, Whit.”

“No secrets, right? But look, Reg, what Young said gave me an idea.”

“What?”

“That Kuchin killed all those Muslims. We can use that to our advantage.”

“How do we do that?”

He sat forward. “Here’s how.”

SHAW LEANED AWAY from the door in frustration. Attempting to pick a deadbolt lock in near-total darkness using part of the guts of a toilet bowl tank could only lead to frustration, he told himself. There were over eighty-six thousand seconds in a day. Having counted over a hundred thousand seconds off in his head, and nearly driving himself mad in the process, the best Shaw could figure it was either the middle of the night or the middle of the day. He stepped forward and listened at the door. No steps, no breathing. And yet a solid door was between him and freedom. If he tried to break it down, they would be waiting for him with guns. He slumped back in the chair and tried to think of another way.

His motivation to get free had changed, but really only slightly. If these men were working with Janie Collins, that meant she wasn’t alone in dealing with Waller. So if he tried to do anything to her at least she’d have backup. But he felt certain they weren’t cops. The guy he’d talked with had seemed surprised about the sex slave trade and the nuclear terrorist pieces. So if they didn’t know about his illegal activities, then what was their motivation to take the guy down? And if they weren’t the authorities, why keep Shaw alive? A bullet to the head and a shallow grave in the middle of nowhere would’ve made more sense.

Thoroughly confused, Shaw sat in the chair and fiddled with the two pieces of metal he’d fashioned. Two useless pieces of metal from a toilet. If Frank could only see him now. As he glanced over at the commode, something occurred to him. He looked at the door and then glanced back at the toilet. Checking the jury-rigged tool in his hand, he thought it might just be possible.

“And how was your swim?” asked Waller. They were walking up to the village of Gordes the next afternoon.

“Refreshing. Did you enjoy watching?”

He looked taken aback. “Pardon?”

“I thought I saw someone peeking over the wall. I assumed it was you, but I guess it could have been one of your men.” She glanced back at the pair of security guards trailing them.

“It was not me,” said Waller stiffly. “And it was not one of my men.”

“Perhaps I was mistaken then.”

“Yes, you were.”

Reggie wasn’t sure why she’d made such a provocative statement to the man. No, maybe she did know. It was better than scratching his eyes out. Sex slaver. Nuclear terrorist. She drew a calming breath and managed a smile. “The big market is tomorrow. It’s far larger than the one you saw before.”

“I look forward to it,” said Waller.

After finishing their shopping they passed by the church again. “Have you been in yet?” asked Reggie.

“Not yet. I will attend Mass on Sunday.”

“I’ve been inside. It’s quite lovely. Would you like to see it?”

Waller looked unsure, glancing back at the two guards. “All right. For a few minutes. Then we must eat. I am hungry. And after the market tomorrow I want to take you to Pont du Gard to see the aqueduct. Then we can have dinner near there at a truly delightful restaurant. Then the next day, Gigondas.”

“You have it all planned out?”

“Of course I do.” This blunt statement was softened by his smile.

They walked down the narrow alley and tugged open the church door. Inside it was noticeably cooler. They moved forward and saw the stairs leading up to the bell tower that was the highest point in Gordes. The two bodyguards, one of whom was Pascal, waited just inside the entrance.

As they approached the altar, Reggie genuflected and crossed herself; Waller did likewise. An elderly priest walked out and saw them. He spoke to them in French and Reggie answered before the priest moved on.