Deliver Us From Evil (17 page)

T
HE AIR
was cool, but oddly heavy. The darkness here was more intense than anything Reggie had experienced. She could only flash
her penlight every few seconds to see where she was going. Twice she bumped into hard objects, skinning her arm and bruising
a toe. She kept making her way down, pausing every few seconds to listen. After she passed through a door something grabbed
her.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Shhh. You’ll wake the bloody dead.”

A light flashed on the face next to her, revealing a grinning Whit.

“What the hell were you thinking sneaking up on me like that? If I had a gun I would’ve shot you.”

Whit turned the light away from his face. “Sorry, Reg, I guess this place does something to you. Makes you all silly.”

“Is it
all clear
at least?” she said sternly, her breath returning to normal.

“Of all living things. See for yourself.” He swept his light around. Reggie took in the revealed objects.

Crypts.

They were in the catacombs of Gordes’s Catholic church. Since Reggie had articulated her plan to Professor Mallory back at
Harrowsfield they’d used the church as the focal venue of their plans. Whit and Dominic had explored its interior and were
thrilled to find it held all they needed to entrap their quarry.

“How many do you reckon?” she asked.

“Dunno. Didn’t bother to count ’em. It’s a lot, though.”

“Now show me the pass-through you found. That’s the critical piece.”

He led her back the way she had come in to an intersection of two passages: the one they’d come through that led to the catacombs,
and the second heading off to the left. They walked down this long passage that was dimly lit by a few flickering electric
lights, then Whit hooked a left, led her down a long flight of aged steps, through another door, and they finally arrived
farther down the cliffs and on the other side of Gordes, near the villas.

He said, “Brilliant on your part using the religion angle.”

“It’ll only be brilliant if it actually works. Where’s Dom?”

“Back at our digs. He’s got an itchy finger to get this guy.”

“Then it’s your job to calm him down. I already told him that’s how mistakes happen. And with a guy like Kuchin we can’t afford
any errors.”

They walked back to the catacombs.

“So where’s
Bill
?” Whit asked.

“Why?”

“I saw you talking to him earlier tonight. Just wondering.”

“You were spying on me?” Reggie said.

“No, just covering your back. Partners do that, you know.”

“Okay,
partner
, we’re going to Les Baux tomorrow to look at the Goya exhibit.”

“You think that’s wise?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because you could spend that time further ingratiating yourself to Kuchin, now couldn’t you?”

That was true, thought Reggie. And yet she wanted to go to Les Baux. Or maybe she just wanted to go with Bill to Les Baux.

Whit seemed to be reading her mind. “You talk about focus, Reg? Then why don’t you practice what you’re bloody preaching?”
he said heatedly.

She looked up at him angrily. “You worry about Dom and yourself. And you’re the one who went off mission in your last lead.”

“What, by shooting a Nazi in his nuts and painting Hitler’s sign on his head? I told you before, I’m an artiste.”

“No, you just made our job a lot harder.”

“Oh, so you’ve bought into the professor’s theory on keeping a low profile so the future bastards won’t dig their hole deeper?”

“I don’t consider it a mere
theory
.”

“Well, consider this, love. You don’t think these blokes we’re hunting are dug in as deep as they can be? You don’t think
they know folks are coming after them? The prof wants a low profile? I say we scream our work to the heavens. I
want
these bastards to know we’re coming. I want them to lie awake at night thinking about how grisly their deaths will be. I
want them to piss in their pants with fear, just like the people they slaughtered had to. See, for me, that’s all part of
the fun.”

“What we do
isn’t
fun, Whit,” she said, though by her expression his words had stung her, had uncomfortably reached a level in her mind she
hadn’t before visited.

“Well, maybe that’s the principal difference between you and me.”

The two stared at each other in the semidarkness until Reggie said, “Do you have the poison yet?”

“Enough to kill ten Fedir Kuchins.” He looked around the room they were in. “I say right here is good. Tie him to that slab
over there. Read him his life story and then do the drip-drip. You got down how you want to show the prick his terrible deeds?
That’s the last piece as far as I can see.”

“Getting there. And after that?”

“Right, low-profile shit.” Whit flashed his light on a crypt against the wall. “That one’s top is very loose. Took a lot of
elbow grease from Dom and me, but we got it done. Nothing but bones at the bottom, plenty of room. I checked around the village;
they don’t use the catacombs anymore. Doubt they’ll ever find the guy till he’s bones too. Work for you?”

“Yes. I’m sure the professor will be very pleased too.”

“Not my job to please him.”

She grabbed his arm. “We have to be on the same page here. There’s too much at stake.”

He firmly disengaged her fingers. “I may disagree with people over stuff, but when the time comes to do the job, I’ll do the
bloody job. That good enough for you?”

“Yes.”

“In the meantime, enjoy Les Baux with your beau.”

In another few seconds, Reggie was alone.

She waited a few more minutes and then made her way back out to the darkened streets. Even after midnight Gordes was lovely
and felt safe. There was no one about as she made her way quietly back to the villa. She was aware that people would probably
be watching her as she approached Kuchin’s place. His men kept a 24/7 vigil around their boss. What Reggie hadn’t counted
on was someone watching her as she left the church.

And this time it wasn’t Shaw.

B
ECAUSE OF
the time difference it was one hour earlier back in England than in France. At Harrowsfield, Professor Mallory sat fully
dressed at a desk in the small study adjacent to his bedroom. He was prepared to work through the night on a new project that
would follow after the successful completion of the Fedir Kuchin matter. He puffed his pipe and sent acrid plumes of smoke
to the stained ceiling. A light rain started falling as the professor finally set aside the journal in which he was making
notations and sat back in his chair, lost in thought.

He heard a tap at the door.

“Yes?”

“It’s me, Professor,” said Liza.

He rose from the chair as she opened the door. She was dressed in a long nightgown with a beige wool robe over the top. Her
hair hung down to her shoulders. Slippers covered her feet.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

She sat down on a small worn leather couch across from him as he retook his seat. “I just heard from Whit. He and Reggie have
confirmed the site and the details have been worked out for the final phase.”

“That’s excellent.” He studied her. “But you look concerned.”

“It was something in Whit’s voice. He sounded upset. So I called Reggie and spoke to her. She also sounded upset, but when
I pushed her on what was the matter, she refused to talk about it. When I tried ringing Whit back, he didn’t answer.”

“So you think they might have had a row?”

“It seems so. And it couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

Mallory put his pipe aside, wandered over to the window, and looked out past the rain-splattered glass. “Did you contact Dominic
too?”

“No, he and Whit are rooming together, so I didn’t think he could be candid. And I don’t want to create even more tension.”

Mallory clasped his hands behind his back and stared moodily out into the dark. “I should have anticipated this. I should
have had Whit remain behind and sent either Caldwell or perhaps David Hamish with Dominic. Whit has resentment, a great deal
more than I had thought, apparently.”

“You don’t think that will interfere with him performing his duties?”

“If I had the answer to that I wouldn’t be worried, would I?”

She glanced over at his desk. “Burning the midnight oil again?”

“I seem to do my best thinking after dark.”

“Any further word on funding?”

Surprised, he turned to her. “Why, what have you heard?”

“Folks know it takes a lot to keep this place functioning. It’s not like we do this for money, but people are paid
some
wages. And the upkeep here. And then there’s the mission expense. The rent on the villa where Reggie is staying is quite
staggering. It all adds up.”

Mallory remained silent for a few moments before sighing and sitting back down. “Things are a bit tight, I won’t deny it.
The villa lease is all right, though. A gentleman of considerable means with a Ukrainian background stepped up for those funds.
And I have one or two other prospects. It must be done discreetly, of course.”

“Of course.” She added, “When was the last time you had a holiday, Miles?”

“A holiday?” He chuckled. “I could be incredibly saccharine and say that what I do here is a holiday, but I will refrain from
doing so.”

“Seriously, Miles, when was the last time?”

His eyes took on a faraway look. “I suppose while Margaret was still alive. Rome. And Florence. She always loved the statue
of David. She would sit and stare at him for hours. Quite the fan of Michelangelo was my dear wife. It was a nice visit. She
became ill after we returned. Six months later she was gone.”

“If I recall that was eight years ago.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose it was. Time does march on, Liza.”

“Everyone here is under considerable strain, but some more than others. You are our leader. We cannot afford to lose you.”

“I’m fine. Or as fit as an overweight and sedentary old professor can be.” He looked around. “I do love it here, this old
wreck of a place. Regina loves it here too. I hear her wandering around at all hours of the night.”

“She visits the cemetery regularly. Did you know that?”

Mallory nodded. “In particular the grave of Laura R. Campion. No connection that I have ever been able to discern. Yet she
does seem drawn to the woman.”

Liza gave him a piercing stare. “Was there a particular reason you targeted Reggie for recruitment?”

He gave her a hard look before saying, “None different than any other. She passed all the hurdles. But it really starts off
with a simple judgment call on my part. In that regard Regina Campion was hardly unique.”

She eyed him for a few seconds before looking away.

“Now this American,” Mallory began.

“Bill Young.”

“Yes, it’s not good. A distraction. Perhaps more. We have no real information on the man. Anyone can pose as a former lobbyist.”

Liza ran a hand along the drawstring of her robe. “True enough. By the way, Whit also reported that Reggie will be traveling
to Les Baux with him tomorrow.”

Mallory looked startled. “Les Baux? For what purpose?”

“Whit didn’t know why. He felt strongly that she should be working on Kuchin instead.”

“As do I. I think I’ll ring her right now.”

“Don’t do that, Miles.”

“But—”

“She’s under a lot of stress, but Reggie has the best instincts of anyone we have in the field. I think we can trust her.
I think she’s earned that, don’t you?”

Mallory seemed frozen with indecision, but his features finally relaxed. “All right. I largely agree with that assessment,”
he added stiffly.

Liza rose and glanced at the desk once more. “I suppose you’re working on the next one?”

“Never wise to let the grass grow, you know.”

“Well, let’s pray Reggie and the others come back alive so they can do it all again.”

She closed the door softly behind her.

Mallory stared after her for a few moments, then went back to his desk, rummaged in a drawer, and pulled out the photo he’d
received from Whit. He sat down and began studying the picture of Bill Young.

A troubling premonition was creeping up his spine. And something told him it had everything to do with this man. He did trust
Reggie, but there was always a limit to trust in anyone. And nothing could interfere with their getting to Kuchin. It was
too important. He debated for a bit and then decided to do it. He slipped a mobile phone out of his pocket and thumbed in
a text message. The professor was not nearly as electronics- illiterate as he let on. He put the mobile away and sat back in his chair. He hoped he had done the right thing.

Sometimes in this line of work all you had were your instincts. When you were right, all was well. When you turned out to
be wrong, however? Well, innocent people sometimes died.