Deliver Us From Evil (A. Shaw 2)

CHAPTER

35

EVAN WALLER climbed into the black SUV and his three-vehicle motorcade roared off, throwing road dust on an older couple slowly making their way up the hill to Gordes. Waller sat back and studied the screen on his phone. The email was brief, which he liked, and to the point, which he liked even better.

“How long?” he called up to the driver.

“GPS says fifty minutes, Mr. Waller. Crappy roads.”

“Make it forty.”

The man punched the gas and spoke into his headset. “Roll harder.” The other two vehicles in the column immediately gunned it.

Thirty-nine minutes later the three vehicles transitioned from a two-lane to a one-lane road and eventually wound their way far back to a small stone house wedged in among a stand of leafy trees. The yard was dirt, the roof in disrepair, and the stone crumbling. It was clear no one had lived here for a long time. And there was no other house for miles.

Waller popped open the SUV’s door and stepped out, waiting only a few seconds for his men to clear the area by sight, though he already had a man posted there who had come out of the house when the trucks had arrived. Waller marched into the house, his men bringing up the rear, with two left outside on perimeter watch.

The room was small, dark, and smelled of feces and mildew. It had no effect on Waller. He’d experienced much worse. There was one narrow table in the middle of the room, seven feet long and turned on one end so it reached nearly to the low ceiling. Two of the legs had been sawn off and the table edge rested against the floor. The remaining two legs were wedged against a wall for support. A naked man with dark hair and a beard was tied spread-eagled to the tabletop. Waller looked over at Pascal, who stood in one darkened corner, his gaze on the man with no clothes.

“You did well in organizing his capture, Pascal.”

“He tried to run, Mr. Waller, but he didn’t know how to.”

Waller walked up to the captive. From the light thrown by a couple of battery-powered lanterns, he could see the ambivalence in the man’s features. This angered Waller. Either fear him or hate him, but feel something. He slapped the man across his bloodied face.

“Are you awake, Abdul-Majeed? You do not seem to be all here.”

“I am awake. I see you. So what?” Waller knew that the man’s casual attitude was meant to embolden the Muslim and deflate his own expectation, as though Waller were the captive instead of the other way around. In actuality, it probably achieved neither. Fat Anwar the accountant had been westernized. Abdul-Majeed was still hard, a man of the desert for whom extreme privation was the norm. Waller had to respect such a man, but only to a certain degree.

“Do you miss Kandahar, Abdul-Majeed? Or do you like the beauty of Provence better?”

The man shrugged. “I like this room. It is actually better than what I have in Kandahar. But, again, so what?”

Waller took a step back and smiled. He had to admire at least the man’s courage.

“I do not like to be betrayed.”

“You do not understand the ways of the Muslim world, then. It was not betrayal. It was negotiation. It was caution. And all of Islam has been betrayed by the West many times. So why should you be any different?”

“I am here on holiday and yet I have to take time away from pleasantries because you tried to cut me out of the deal.”

“It is simply business. Do not take it personally.”

“Forgive me, but I always take it personally when someone tries to blow me up.”

“Then you are too sensitive.”

“Why did you do it?”

“You lied to us,” Abdul said simply.

“I do not lie when it comes to business.”

The Muslim scoffed. “A Canadian? You have enriched uranium? I do not think so. You are most likely a spy. That is why we tried to kill you.”

“Actually, I have highly enriched uranium. It is a critical difference. And if you did not believe it, why bother to deal with me at all?”

“I meant that I did not believe it. But others of my group did. They made the mistake and I was left with the mess to clean up.”