Deliver Us From Evil (11 page)

E
VAN
W
ALLER
closed his eyes and let his mind wander back twenty, thirty years. In his mind’s eye the trappings of the legitimate Canadian
businessman with the underlying criminal enterprise fell away and the soul of Ukrainian Fedir Kuchin emerged like a serpent
discarding an old faded skin for a supple new one. His gaze wandered over his bare arm, searching for a spot to do it. He
made a bicep, the clench tightening the rubber strap around the muscle. The veins in his forearm swelled. His eye lit on one
tunnel of blood and he pushed the needle in and forced down the plunger. The customized cocktail flowed into him, some steroids,
some purified drugs, a bit of his own expensively purchased elixir from the Far East. It was totally unique, what he was shooting
in himself. As it should be, he felt. What was good enough for everyone else was not good enough for him.

He took a deep breath and let the fire rain over him, from the inside out. He smiled, sat back, then the adrenaline hit. He jumped up, did some jacks, then some rat-a-tat push-ups, then more jacks, and then he snagged the pull-up bar and
did a quick ten, grinning with each one.

He dropped back to the matted floor, breathing hard. He looked in the mirror. For sixty-three he was in extraordinary shape.
For sixty-three, fifty-three, hell, probably even thirty-three, at least by softened Western standards. He had small wedges
of love handles and the rock abs were no longer there, but the belly was flat and when he clenched it the muscle underneath
was hard. His thighs were a little thinner than before, but his arms and shoulders still bulged. He rubbed his bald head,
checked the gray mat of hair on his chest. It didn’t really matter anymore what he took, how much he exercised, how far he
ran, he was still getting old. A part of him was grateful about this, grateful that no one had managed to kill him yet. The
other part, well, he was just getting old. And he didn’t like it.

He showered, rubbing the sting out of his arm around the injection site. Wrapped in a robe, he walked through the confines
of his Montreal penthouse. He had fabulous views through the latest generation of ordnance-proof material. He knew this because
the U.S. president had similar materials on his limo and at the White House. Also laced into the thickened window glass was
a membrane that distorted the image portrayed to the outside world. He was now standing in the middle of the room, but the
image projected through the glass wall had him seven inches to the right. Five minutes later and at another spot in the room,
his image would be nearly a foot to the left. It constantly changed so no one could draw a perfect bead on him. At least in
theory.

As he stood looking out into a cool summer night he glanced down at his chest for the telltale red dot from the sniper scope.
There could be something out there that could calibrate the image illusion and shatter the whiz-bang barrier he’d put up between
himself and his enemies. Yet he didn’t step back into the shadows. If they wanted him badly enough they could try. They had
better take him down with the first shot, though, because they wouldn’t get a second chance. In his world whoever killed harder
survived.

The Muslims would soon find that out. The man they’d captured had not lasted long. After thirty minutes alone with Waller
and his little toolbox the fellow had told him everything he’d needed to know. Well, almost everything. He knew the names
of the men who’d ordered his death and their locations. And there was one more fellow, Abdul-Majeed. He had been Waller’s
initial point of contact, leading him down the road that had nearly resulted in his death. Waller was not easily fooled, and
yet Abdul-Majeed had managed it.

What the captured Muslim could not tell him was why they had attempted to kill Waller, because he didn’t know. At least he’d
sworn that with his last dying squeal. That was the most perplexing question of all. Was there some other force out there
targeting him?

He changed into dark slacks and a white silk shirt, then rode the private elevator down to the garage where his men met him.
He allowed no one in his apartment, not even cleaning personnel. Not even tough, faithful Pascal. It was his private sanctuary.
They climbed in their caravan of SUVs and rode out from under the cover of the parking garage.

Their route was north and the metropolis quickly fell away to more open spaces. Waller tapped his fingers on the glass, watching
the large trees pass by in the darkness. He thought he saw a moose near the roadway and then it was gone. His father had hunted
animals for food back in the rural part of Ukraine where he’d grown up. Now his son hunted human beings for pleasure and profit.
This was one of those excursions.

The building was drafty, cold. Because of the poor insulation, condensation clung to the windows like a fungus. Waller slipped
on a warm coat and walked through the door opened by one of his men. The room was large, warehouse-size, with girder ceilings
that disappeared into darkness. Six people stood lined up in the center of the space. They wore black jumpsuits and hoods
covered their heads. Their feet were shackled, their hands bound behind them. The tallest one barely came up to Waller’s pecs.

“How’s the leg?” he asked the slender man who appeared out of the shadows.

Alan Rice had apparently recovered from nearly being blown up, though even in the dark his skin seemed paler than normal and
he was limping a bit. “Nothing a handful of Advil can’t fix.”

“How many do we have tonight?”

Rice opened his mini-laptop and the light from the screen burned like a small fire in the dark. “In this shipment, ninety-eight.
Sixty percent from China, twenty percent from Malaysia, ten percent from Vietnam, four percent from South Korea, and the remainder
a hodgepodge from Myanmar, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, and Singapore.”

“What are we currently getting per unit?”

Rice clicked some computer keys. “Twenty thousand U.S. dollars. It’s up five percent from last year, even though the economy
tanking affected some of our downstream buyers. That’s an average. We get more for the Malaysians and Koreans and less for
the Stans women.”

“International tastes?” said Waller as he walked around the hooded figures. He clicked his finger and a spotlight hit the
small group. “Prejudice against the ladies of the former Soviet Union?” he said with disapproval.

“Well, the ones we’re getting from there
are
pretty scrawny,” noted Rice. “And you have the exotic factor still with the Far East Asians.”

“Actually I’ve always found Eastern European women the most beautiful in the world.”

Waller looked over where Pascal stood, hands clasped in front of him, not behind, so the gun pull from the holster would be
faster if necessary. Seeing Pascal always gave him a measure of comfort, and not just because of the man’s protection skills.

Pascal was his
son
.

His bastard son conceived with a Greek woman Waller had met on holiday. Pascal of course did not know this. He had no emotional
attachment to the younger man, nothing that approached love or devotion. Yet Waller had felt some obligation to the boy, particularly
since he had done nothing to support the mother. She’d died in extreme poverty, leaving only her orphaned son behind. He had
allowed this to happen for no other reason than he’d lost interest in the woman, who’d been lovely to look at but really was
only a simple, uneducated peasant. He’d taken Pascal, at age ten, trained him up, and now the boy turned fierce warrior worked
for him, protected him from all harm. Yes, Pascal had well earned his rank in Waller’s little army.

“Pascal,” he said. “What sort of women do you like? Eastern Europeans or the Asians?”

Pascal did not hesitate. “Greek women are the most sensual things God ever created. I would take Greek over anything else.”

Waller smiled, lifted one of the hoods, and looked down at the revealed girl, whose facial features evidenced her Chinese
origins. She was barely fourteen and blindfolded and shivering from equal parts cold and fright. Her mouth was taped over
so her whimpers were muffled even though there was no one around to hear her scream who would care.

Waller did the calculation in his head. “So one million nine hundred and sixty thousand for the current shipment?”

“Correct. Minus expenses. The net is still north of one point six million. All in U.S. dollars, so far still the currency
standard-bearer. Although I’ve been hedging our cash flow reserves in Chinese RMBs and Indian rupees just in case.”

Waller turned to look at him. “The margins have softened. Why?”

“Fuel costs on the ships primarily. They don’t travel on the
QE II
. We go on the cheap, transporting them in cargo containers, but it’s still expensive. And we have to use two boats for one
shipment because of the logistics and to avoid detection. That alone doubles the fuel costs. We have to provide basics like
food and water and bribing crewmen to let in oxygen on a regular basis. But it’s really the only way. Air transport is too
problematic and they’ve yet to invent the car that can travel over the Pacific. But it’s still an enviable net profit.”

Waller nodded as he continued to circle the women. “How many shipments are we receiving?”

“Four a month, roughly the same number of units in each. We’ve discovered that figure fills the containers quite nicely, and
we find we only lose two to three percent on the trip over due to starvation, dehydration, and sickness among other factors.
That’s well below industry standard for human trafficking, which averages about a twelve percent loss factor.”

“Why did you select these six?”

Rice shrugged. “The best. In looks, in health. Your choice, of course. But we did a thorough prescreening.”

“I respect your efforts.”

Rice drew closer. “It beats dealing with maniacs in turbans.”

“You think so?” asked Waller in amusement. “I found it quite exhilarating. And it’s given me a new goal in life. To exterminate
every last one of them.”

Rice spoke in a voice so low only Waller could hear him. “Do you think that’s wise, Evan? These people are truly insane. They’ll
kill us, themselves, anybody.”

“But therein lies the challenge. I want Abdul-Majeed in particular. He was the frontman and he wasn’t there. That means he
was the one who betrayed me. And his betrayal cost me two of my best men, may God watch over their souls.”

Since Dimitri and Tanner had killed at least six people that Rice had personally witnessed, he doubted God was doing anything
with them.

“But why would they do that? You had what they wanted.”

“I intend to ask that very question when I find dear Abdul.” Pascal’s BlackBerry chirped and he glanced at the message.

Waller had not missed this. “Yes, Pascal?”

Pascal came forward and whispered into his boss’s ear. Waller smiled. “The Muslims have come home to roost.”

“Progress?” asked Rice.

“It seems,” Waller said curtly.

Waller stared at each of his men who stood silently in the darkness, hands clasped in front of them. He had drawn most of
his associates from the military ranks of various countries, and they had retained their discipline and protocols. This pleased
Waller, since he had worn the uniform as well. His gaze settled on Rice. “It would be disappointing to learn that I had a
traitor within my own ranks.”

Rice managed to find some courage under the withering gaze and said, “Don’t look at me. Why would I betray you only to get
myself blown up?”

“An adequate response. For now.”

Waller lifted the hoods off the rest of the ladies, scrutinized them as he would cattle in an auction, and finally settled
on one, the smallest. He gripped her skinny arm and pulled her along, her feet stumbling with the shackles.

“We’ve soundproofed a room upstairs,” said Rice. “New carpeting and furniture too. Do you want the shackles and cuffs off?”

“No. Give me two hours and then send someone to clean up.”

As soon as Waller was outside of earshot one of the guards edged over to Rice and said in a low voice, “Isn’t Mr. Waller worried
about stuff?”

“Like what?” asked Rice sharply.

The big man looked embarrassed. “You know, like AIDS, STDs, stuff like that.”

“These women are all virgins. That’s sort of the point, Manuel.”

“But still, third world shit. Man never knows.”

Rice gazed up the rickety set of stairs where his boss had disappeared with the girl. “I don’t believe he actually has sex
with them.”

“What, then?”

“I don’t really want to know.”

R
EGGIE WAS WAITING
at the bakery by the time Shaw got there. They ordered and ate their pastries and drank their fresh coffee outside on bistro
chairs. Reggie’s hair was swept up under a Red Sox baseball cap. She had on jean shorts, a pale blue T-shirt, and Saucony
running shoes. Shaw was dressed in slacks, loafers, and a white long-sleeved shirt.

Reggie sipped her coffee, ran an eye over him, and said playfully, “You still dress like a lobbyist, even in Provence.”

Shaw smiled and eased back on the little chair. Behind them a workman was washing down the streets using a fire hose. The
rush of water would follow the laws of gravity and work its way over the cobblestone streets, down worn stone steps, and eventually
snake down the cliffs in diminished rivulets.

“Old habits die hard.” He took a bite of croissant. “But I left the ties and jackets in the closet.”

“Where are you staying? I think it’s only fair since you know where I am.”

He hooked a finger over his head. “Hotel and spa down that way. It’s nice. I’m thinking about getting a massage later today.”
He drank his coffee, wadded up the paper his pastry had come in, and tossed it in a nearby trash can. “Those guys still around?”

“The Citroën was there this morning, but only one man was inside. Whether they stayed there all night I don’t know. It does
seem sort of mysterious,” she added innocently.

“How’s your back where I threw you?”

“Fine, how’s your left kidney?”

“Not that great, actually. That’s why I’m thinking about the massage.”

“Next time remember to phone before you scale my wall.”

“Funny, these villas are usually rented out fully during the summer. But the one next to yours has been empty since I got
here.”

She forced a smile. “You’re a nosy one. Are you obsessing about villas now?”

You were nosy enough yourself.
He said, “No, just curious. I was thinking about renting one, but it was way too much money for me.”

“I thought all lobbyists were rich.”

“Except for the divorce, I’d be a very wealthy man. Now I’m still well off, but just by half.”

“I doubt I’ll ever get married.”

“Why’s that? Not intending to sound crass, but you’d be quite a catch for some young guy.”

“Why young?”

“Well, you’re young. Most people marry folks close to their own age.”

“How old are you?” she asked, smiling.

“Too old for you.”

“You’re flattering and disparaging yourself at the same time. I’m impressed.”

“It’s a talent I’ve burnished over the years. I hope you have your gun in a safe place. The cleaning help around here come
across it you’ll have some questions to answer from the local cops.”

“It’s in a very safe place, thank you for your concern.”

“So dinner tomorrow night?”

“I can’t do it tomorrow night. How about the next?”

“Okay. Here in town?”

“No, there’s a village nearby with a little restaurant that overlooks the valley. Do you kayak?”

He looked surprised by the sudden change in topics. “I’ve done it. Why?”

“I have a spot reserved today with a kayak company in Fontaine de Vaucluse. I hear the river there is really beautiful. I
was wondering if you’d care to join me? We’d have to leave in about an hour.”

Shaw finished his coffee, thinking quickly. “Okay. I’ll just have to change into something more appropriate.”

“A bathing suit would be fine.”

“Well, my goal is to stay
in
the boat. Even in summer I bet that water is cold.”

“You never know, you have to be prepared for the unexpected.”

As they parted company, Shaw watched her walk down the street. When he saw the man coming toward him he ducked down an alley.
It was the thug he’d seen last night spying on Janie. Whether he was following Janie or not, Shaw couldn’t be sure.

He had yet to make up his mind about the lady. And that bothered him. Despite a well-crafted plan he had no idea how things
would play out. He could sense his rear flank was exposed and he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

For now, apparently he was going to go kayaking. And he meant to heed the woman’s advice and be prepared for the unexpected.