David Baldacci - Deliver Us From Evil

“Even speak the language passably,” replied Shaw.

“Goody for you.”

Whit made arrangements to meet one of their people who had the fake documents they would need to get out of the country.

“Okay, that’s done. Now what?”

“Just sit back and relax.”

Whit kept his gun in his hand. “And after Reims?”

“Since we can’t risk an airport, the Chunnel train to St. Pancras is the most direct route. That’s why we need passports. If that doesn’t pan out we head east and work our way across the Channel by boat. Maybe from Belgium or Amsterdam.”

“Passport Control is pretty tight at Gare du Nord,” pointed out Reggie.

“It is, but airport security is a lot tighter. And there’re fewer ways out of an airport if things go bad. And most of them take you through lots of armed guys in uniforms.”

“Okay, the train. And after that?”

“We’ll play it by ear.”

“Who are you with?” asked Reggie as she leaned forward from the rear seat.

“I’m with Frank back there on the plane. That’s pretty much all you need to know.”

“So you’re cops,” said Whit.

“I wouldn’t describe it that way, no.”

“Spies.”

“No comment.”

“What’s left?”

“Me.”

Whit grinned and looked at Reggie. “The big guy is growing on me, Reg. He really is. Now here’s the deal, Shaw army of one. If we get to England safe and sound you’re going to go your way and we’re going ours.”

“Who’s going to protect you against, what was his name, Kuchin?”

“You obviously don’t know who that is,” said Reggie.

“Should I?”

“There was a man named Mykola Shevchenko. KGB. He’s known as the Butcher of Kiev, but Kuchin was his top assistant, and he was the man who slaughtered hundreds of thousands of innocent people in the most brutal ways possible. Shevchenko was executed by firing squad after the Wall fell, but Kuchin got away.”

“I guess history only remembers the top guy, not the ones running around pulling the triggers,” said Shaw. “So you were going after the guy for that. What’s your connection? Some of you Ukrainian?”

“Yeah, on my mother’s side,” said Whit with a smirk. “And to answer your other question, we can protect ourselves.”

Shaw eyed him skeptically. “You’ve done a hell of a job of it so far.”

“Sometimes plans go awry, things don’t work, the unexpected occurs.”

“Come on! It was a cock-up from start to finish,” fired back Shaw.

Whit snapped, “Well, you blokes were here to nail him too and then you pulled out without even taking a shot. At least we tried.”

“Not my call.”

“Where were you going to hit him?” asked Reggie.

Shaw hesitated. “Les Baux, the caves.”

She considered this. “Probably a better place than the one we chose.”

“Hey,” barked Whit. “We did the best we could with what we had. And you coming into the equation didn’t help matters,” he added, glowering at Shaw. “We might not have fancy jets but we usually get the job done.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that. But if you think you can protect yourselves against this guy without help, you’re wrong. You can ask some dead Muslims about it.”

“I don’t care if he snuffed a couple of those guys,” declared Whit. “And you know what else? I’m going after his ass again. And this time we’ll get him.”

“The only thing you’ll get is dead.”

“Why don’t you just shut up and drive?” Whit turned to stare moodily out the windshield.

Shaw glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Reggie staring at him.

He mouthed, It’ll be okay.

But even as he said it Shaw knew he was lying to the woman.

He turned his gaze back to the road.

KUCHIN’S PLANE was halfway across the Atlantic. Rice had accessed the Internet to check on the Facebook page that had been set up for Reggie posing as Jane Collins and also the other background information they had found there. It had all been deleted.

He fearfully told Kuchin of this while the man rested in his seat.

“We didn’t print copies out either,” Rice said, his voice trembling. “So we don’t even have her photo.”

“I have her photo,” said Kuchin surprisingly. “I took it when you both were out on the terrace talking before dinner.”

“You had suspicions?”

“No, I wanted a picture of a beautiful woman. But now, now I have suspicions,” Kuchin added sarcastically.

“We have nothing on Bill Young.”

By now Kuchin had drawn sketches of Reggie, Shaw, Whit, and Dominic. His eye and memory for detail were astonishing. He showed them to Rice, who nodded approvingly. “Spot-on, Evan. You’re quite an artist.”

“I want the three sketches of the men transferred into a digital format or whatever it is called. Can this be done in a way that would allow a search through a photo database?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Then make it happen. Along with the photo of the woman, of course. On every database we can buy our way onto.”

“Understood. But if you have a picture of the woman why did you sketch her too?”

Kuchin didn’t answer this. Instead he said, “I do not like leaving Europe. The accents from the men were unmistakable, particularly the Irishman.”

“But not the lobbyist?”

“No. He is different.” Kuchin rubbed his battered jaw. “I have been hit before in my life. I have never been hit that hard. I am stunned my jaw isn’t broken. A strong man. A dangerous man.”

Rice added, “He knocked out Manuel like he was nothing. And then took out Pascal like he was cardboard, and you know how good Pascal is. And he lifted me up like I was a child. I felt his arm, it was like iron.”

“It was not so much his strength that impressed me,” said Kuchin. “There are many strong men, stronger even than he is. It was the speed, and the skill. Three armed men, four counting you, Alan. But three armed men who are good with weapons, and still he managed to do it.”

“There was some luck involved, surely.”

“There is always an element of luck. The question becomes, did it happen on its own, or did he create it himself? I tend to think the latter. He came out with his elbows raised horizontally, a classic close-quarters combat technique. It allowed him to strike fast on a pivot and with maximum power since he could use his weight and the leverage of his torso and hips. And bent-elbow strikes are preferable over a fist. There are many small bones in the hand that can break on contact. Any one of them snaps, that limb is useless. An elbow, on the other hand, is comprised of only three bones at a pivotal juncture, and they’re all relatively large. The elbow is at its greatest risk of breaking when it’s extended. You fall, reach out palm down, arm straight, and the part of the anatomy that takes the brunt of the fall is the elbow. It snaps.” Kuchin made a V with his arm. “But if you bend the arm those stress points vanish and the resulting durability and striking power are formidable.”

“You know a lot about these things.”

“I know enough. And he kept moving, always moving, making it very difficult to line up a shot.”

“If he’s that good, maybe we should give it a pass.”

Kuchin looked at him, clearly disappointed. “They strapped me to a crypt. They were going to put me in a grave with old bones. They defiled consecrated ground in a Catholic church. And I must now hit them back far harder than they hit me. So from this point forward it is the only thing I will focus on.”

“But the business.”

“That is why I have you.” He put an arm around the other man’s narrow shoulders and squeezed. Rice moaned slightly, since his entire body was sore from his brief but painful encounter with Shaw. “You will do a good job. And if I see any indication of you overstepping your authority or trying to replace me at the top, just keep in mind that the dogs I used on Abdul-Majeed are still available.”