Deliver Us From Evil (8 page)

T
HE NEXT DAY
Shaw traveled fifteen kilometers and met up with Amy Crawford near the ruins of an old fort set high on top of a hill, as
old forts often were for strategic reasons. Crawford was petite, barely up to Shaw’s chest. But he knew she was proficient
in several martial arts, was a marathon runner, and could kill or disable with either her hands or her feet. Yet while her
physical prowess was superb, it was her coolness in the field that had attracted Shaw’s attention and caused him to select
her for the team.

They drove separately to the old quarry where the caves at Les Baux were located and took the tour. Shaw had a pinhole camera
in his shirt and videotaped everything for later analysis.

Walking back to their cars, Crawford said, “Good to be working with you again.”

“Same here.”

“Based on the floor plan in there, extraction should go smoothly. Guy couldn’t have picked a more convenient place for us
to do it.”

“And he probably knows that too. So he and his guards will be on high alert. We’ll have two seconds of surprise. It’s incredibly
rare we have this sort of detailed intel on a target. We have to hit our marks perfectly.”

“Understood.”

Shaw motioned for her to get in her car, a two-door Audi. He climbed in the passenger seat. “Give me the extract from A to
Z; make sure we’re on the same page.”

Crawford fingered the steering wheel. “Private tour starts at ten o’clock. His past experience shows he’ll travel with a minimum
of four and a max of six muscle, holsters and Glocks. They hit the entrance. The tour guide is our plant. He’s got hair-follicle
audio feed and a pinhole video on his guide badge that’ll give us their movements in real time. He’ll make sure the flow matches
the timetable as close as possible. All attendants have been previously removed from the scene. Five minutes to read the orientation
materials on the walls, plus listening to the recorded introductory spot, puts us at ten after ten tops. First room goes
in five minutes. Second in two. Third in four. That puts our time mark at twenty-one minutes past ten o’clock. Fourth room
is ground zero. Sixty meters by sixty meters, good cover on front and left sidewalls. Extraction team is already in position.
Power is scheduled to be yanked sixty seconds after they hit ground zero. Seven shooters with flex optics and laser-guided
dart rifles. Aim points are neck, arm, or thigh in case of body armor. Our guy in the power room commences his five-second
countdown as soon as the video feed shows the last muscle in the party cross Room Four threshold. Code word ‘red’ comes over
our headsets one second before power is cut. Fire to commence on that one-second mark to prevent any reaction that might foul
the shots. You take out main target while I drop the guy on his hip, with the other shooters dropping the man in their prescribed
sectors, flowing outward from main target. All muscle and main target down in two seconds.”

“Exit?”

“Two passages branch off east and west from that cave. West circles back to the entrance. East passage is two hundred meters
long and empties to an emergency exit that takes us to the other side of the quarry. There’s an egress road at that point.
Wheels waiting in the form of an ambulance. Gurney is stowed in the east passage. Target loaded on; that’ll take no more than
thirty seconds. The same to get him down the passage. Wheels roll as soon as the ambulance doors clunk shut. Private airstrip
is forty minutes south of here. Wheels up as soon as the aircraft door closes. Target and extraction team are out of French
airspace before his muscle wakes up in a dark cave and wonders what the hell just happened.”

He nodded appreciatively. “Then on to the next job,” said Shaw.

“Story of my life too.” She hesitated, glancing at him.

“What?” he asked, noting her trepidation.

“Just scuttlebutt. Always wondered if it was true.”

Shaw looked at her inquiringly. “What?” he said again.

“Did you really shoot Mr. Wells in the head?”

“We had a little misunderstanding.”

She smiled. “I like your style.”

“Frank’s actually not a bad guy once you get past the two hundred pounds of anger and dysfunction.”

“Really?”

“No, not really.”

T
HE NEXT DAY
Shaw watched with interest as the mystery lady did her shopping in Gordes. Men of all ages stared as she walked by in a sunhat
and knee-length skirt that the sneaky breeze would occasionally catch and pitch upward around her thighs. Then the men would
stare with even greater focus. While seeming to window shop along the street, Shaw watched as men approached her speaking
French, Italian, Greek, and English, at least by his count. They were offering to help her with her shopping, the language,
or perhaps assisting her off with her clothes in the privacy of their room. She politely declined all offers. She in fact
needed no help. She spoke fluent French and she knew the prices of things. And she could bargain. Shaw had watched her haggle
over a blouse, a decorative blue-and-yellow plate, a bottle of wine, and a dozen zucchini flowers presumably to later fry
up, until arriving at the prices she wanted.

That night, he was sitting at an outdoor café in Gordes contemplating what to have for dinner when he was surprised by her
walking up to his table.

“Parlez-vous français?”

“Oui, je parle français.”
But he added,
“Mais mon anglais est meilleur.”

She smiled warmly. “My English is much better than my French too. Do you mind if I join you? I’ve eaten alone the last few
times, and while it started out kind of fun, it grows old fast.”

He indicated for her to take a seat. “Please.”

She took off her hat and set it on the seat next to her before picking up a menu.

“What looks good?” she asked, lifting up her Maui Jims though the setting sun was dropping a bucket of glare right at her.

“Chicken puttanesca, or you can never go wrong with the old steak and pommes frites with salad.”

“Shall we order wine?”

“We’re in Provence. I think it’s the law.”

They gave their orders to the waiter, who promptly brought the selected bottle of red and two glasses. He poured and left
them alone.

“I’m sure this seems very forward of me,” she said. “Coming over to you like this.”

“I’m not sure there is such a thing as ‘forward’ anymore for men or women.”

“First things first, I’m Jane Collins. But Janie to my friends.” She held out her hand. With an amused look Shaw shook it.

“Bill.”

“American?”

He nodded. “You?”

“What it says on my passport.”

“I’m from D.C.”

“And what do you do in our nation’s capital?”

“As little as possible. I was a lobbyist, but I sold my practice and decided to see a little bit of the world beyond Capitol
Hill.”

“Do you have a family?”

“Let me play the proud dad.” He took out his wallet and handed her the picture of a girl and a boy that Frank had provided
him. “Michael and Alli. They’re back in the States.”

She handed the photo back. “Beautiful. So your wife’s not with you?”

“We’re divorced.” He slipped the photo in his shirt pocket. “The picture’s a little old. They’re both teenagers now.”

“You must have started early, you don’t look that old.”

“Keep drinking wine, I like the effect on your vision. How about you? What’s your story?”

“Nothing very exciting. My dad made huge amounts of money. He and my mom died way too early and I was the only child.”

“Sorry to hear that. I guess the money doesn’t make up for it.”

“I never thought it could, and I turned out to be right. I was young when they passed away, but I still miss them.”

“I can understand that.”

“But life goes on,” she said, staring off for a moment before looking back at him and managing a weak smile. “I’m rich, I
like to travel, see different places. It’s so beautiful here. So how long have you been in town?”

“A few days.”

“And after this?”

“Italy and then Greece. But I’m taking my time. My whole life has been run on a tight plan. I’m sort of into winging things
now.”

“Where are you staying?”

Shaw shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, maybe there is such a thing as forward after all.”

Her cheeks reddened. “Okay, I guess I deserved that. I tend to ask too many questions and volunteer too much about myself
to complete strangers.”

“I would agree with that. The part about you being rich is not something you want to blab about. Too many lowlifes who’d take
advantage of that information.”

She looked like she’d been scolded. “I guess you’re right.”

“How come you’re solo? Don’t you have any friends who’d like to travel with you? I’m sure you go first-class.”

“Friends have jobs. That’s the downside to not having to work for a living.”

“I think most people would be able to cope with the trade-off,” he said kindly.

“Well,
we
could hang out.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Sure I do. You’re um…”

“Bill,” he said helpfully.

She playfully punched his arm. “From D.C. Ex-lobbyist guy and divorced with two beautiful teenagers. See, my memory’s not that bad.”

“Okay, Jane—”

“Janie to my friends.”

“All right, Janie, but just take it slow with people.”

She said sheepishly, “I’m nearly thirty; you would’ve thought I’d have gotten that lesson by now.”

“Some people never get it.”

“So where’d you learn to speak French?”

“How do you know I really can? The few words I spoke aren’t exactly going to get me a job at the UN. Your French sounded pretty
authentic. Where’d you learn?”

“I took an immersion class for six months before I came here. It’s amazing what you can fit in your day when you don’t have
a job.”

Shaw lifted his glass of wine and clinked it against hers. “I’m really looking forward to finding that out.”

Their food came and they continued to talk through dinner. They split the check using cash. Afterwards they walked through
the street. Most of the shops were closed at this hour, but the warm breeze was nice, there were many people strolling about
just as they were, and music could be heard coming from a bar past the town center.

She looked up at him. “How tall are you?”

“About six-six.”

“You must’ve been the tallest lobbyist in D.C.”

“Nope, they have some ex-NBA players trolling for dollars there. One of them is seven feet. Poor guy has to duck through doorways
when he’s pressing the flesh and begging for his supper.”

“Well, I’m down this way,” she said.

Shaw hooked a finger over his shoulder. “I’m that way.”

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”

“Small town, the odds are good.”

She smiled. “I’ll be far more reticent next time.”

He returned the smile. “And I’ll be far less critical.”

Reggie Campion immediately returned to her villa, where she made a call. She explained her meeting with Bill to Professor
Mallory and gave him a detailed description of the man. “Find out what you can. There’s something about him.”

“All right, Regina. But it may be nothing.”

“And it may be everything. I trust my instincts. Word on Waller?”

“On schedule.”

“Then I have my work cut out for me if this new development turns into a mess. You’re certain everything is a go on my cover?”

“It has been for quite some time. One of our benefactors owns a technology company with elite-level programs and access to
numerous core databases. He allowed us in through a back door to do all we needed to do. All the information you’ve memorized is backed up in all the places
anyone might look. Vital records in the U.S., an American Social Security number, bank accounts, educational backgrounds,
degrees conferred, parents’ history. Oh, did you like your Facebook page?”

“Brilliant. Nice chums I have. And I must say, Professor, you certainly know more about computers than you let on.”

“I’m just an old duffer. Merely regurgitating what I’m told.”

“If you say so.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“It’s the only way I stay alive.”

Barely a half mile away Shaw was sitting on his bed lifting a nice set of prints off the special coating on the photo of the
fake kids he’d handed “Janie.” Using a handheld computing device he scanned them in, emailed them to Frank, and then called
him.

“Sounds like a hottie,” said Frank after Shaw finished filling him in.

“I don’t like ‘hotties’ showing up when I have a job to do, especially if they’re staying at the villa next door to my target.
And she made inquiries about Waller’s place earlier too.”

“But from what you said, she’s a bit of a ditz.”

“We don’t know that for sure. Could be an act.”

“I told you our prelim gave off no warning bells. You going paranoid on me?”

“No, Frank, I’ve
been
paranoid for a long time.”