Deliver Us From Evil

by David Baldacci

  “This will have to serve as my kidney stone. Now take a deep breath. And then relax.”

  Instead the man’s breathing accelerated and his cheeks bulged out as though he were tensing before the killing blow fell. “You will not break me!” he screamed over and over.

  Waller methodically worked the glass tube up the man’s penis, using a rubber hammer to finish tapping it in. Abdul shrieked in pain with every millimeter it was thrust inside him.

  “It is no more than a catheter, really. Now, this, this is the painful part.”

  He slipped the vise grips from his pocket and looked at him. “All I require are names.”

  “Go to hell!” screamed Abdul.

  “Of course, very original of you.” Waller set the tension on the grips, lowered them into position, and snapped them into place, crushing the glass tube inside the man.

  This time the scream was far louder than before. Waller’s men, who were waiting outside but near the door, looked at each other and then nervously moved away from the sounds. Only Pascal stayed close to the doorway, ever alert.

  “You are bleeding in a place you would not like, Abdul,” said Waller, peering down at his work.

  The response was a string of shouts in the man’s native tongue.

  “Yes, yes, my mother and father are already quite dead, thank you,” said Waller.

  The tears rolled down Abdul’s strained face, his jaw muscles bulged and shook. His tethered neck was stretched tight in his agony, every vein and artery visible. So great was his misery that if Waller had not bound it to the table, he would have indeed smashed his skull against the wood.

  Waller continued on calmly. “I learned Pashto and a little Dari during the Soviets’ disastrous intrusion into your country. They are hard languages to learn, but not as difficult as English, which has so many exceptions there are no rules left.” He checked the monitor. “Pulse one-thirty-nine. I’ve seen far higher. When I run, in fact, I can get it up to over one-forty and I’m sixty-three. You are a young man, this is nothing. Now your blood pressure is one-fifty over ninety. A bit precarious. Well, let’s see.”

  He snapped the grips on a new location and the man’s pelvis jerked upward, pulling against his bindings as he roared in pain again.

  “Pulse one-fifty-seven. Okay, now I believe that I have your attention. We were discussing names.”

  In gasps, Abdul said, “You will just kill me if I tell.”

  “Now that is progress. That is good. We are closer to negotiation. And yet if you tell me, do you want me to just let you go? But if I do then you could go and warn those who betrayed me. Hardly a worthy proposition.”

  “So I die then?”

  “I did not say that.”

  Waller undid the grips and then locked them higher up, crushing a particularly sensitive part of the Muslim’s anatomy.

  Again, Abdul’s shrieks slammed into every corner of the small room. He threatened to kill Waller, behead him, disembowel him, come back and haunt him, slaughter everyone he ever cared about.

  “I understand your anger, my friend, but it gets us nowhere,” said the Ukrainian. He looked down. “You are bleeding more heavily, Abdul, but it is not life-threatening so have no worries.”

  Waller went back to his box and pulled out a small scalpel. He held it up for the Muslim to see. “A surgeon’s knife; it is very delicate, very effective. I make one incision here and here.” He placed the blade against two spots on Abdul’s neck. “And you bleed out in minutes. But I don’t want that, so instead I do this.”

  Seconds later Abdul’s right pupil had been slashed open. The Muslim writhed in agony, his screams again filling the small space.

  Waller studied the monitor. “One-ninety-five on the pulse rate. That is unsustainable, my friend. And your blood pressure, yes, it too gives me trouble. You will assuredly suffer a stroke if you don’t calm down. I truly fear for your health.”

  He looked down at the sobbing and now partially blinded man. “Would you like me to now employ sleep deprivation or play what they call the rap music?” He bent lower. “What do you say? You are begging me? What, to kill you, my friend? No, no. I am not a violent man. I am a fair man. And I do not kill. But instead I do the work piecemeal.” The knife struck again and part of the captive’s left ear fell to the dirty floor.

  He checked the monitor readout. “Over two hundred is the pulse and the blood pressure is not good, not good at all. I tell you to calm and yet you do not. You are too stubborn.” He turned back to the Muslim. “I will let you rest a bit. And then the real interrogation will begin. If you thought this was painful, Abdul, you will be disappointed, I think. This, this was merely the foreplay.”

  Waller withdrew from his case an instrument that looked somewhat like a large cheese grater, only its cutting edges were longer and looked lethal and were also on pivots, so they could turn at different angles. “I know you can see what I’m holding, but you may not realize what it is. So I will ask you a question. What is the largest organ in the body?” Waller pretended to wait for a response. “You say you do not know? Then I will tell you. It is the skin. Yes, the skin is the largest organ in the body. Many people do not realize this. Adults average two square yards of skin on their bodies, weighing up to nine pounds. Yes, nine pounds. Now, with this tool that I am holding I can shave all the skin off your body in less than one hour. I do not make empty boasts. I have done it before. It takes a firm hand and an efficient method. I start with the face and work my way down. It comes off in long strips, you see. Not counting the face and the arms, which are slightly problematic and require extra time, I once almost did a continuous roll of skin from the torso to the feet. Sadly, the procedure broke down near the knees. You see, the woman had very bony knees. I was disappointed of course, but still, I was proud of my accomplishment.

  “Now, because I of course cannot have you thrashing around while I perform this task, I will inject you with this.” He reached in his metal case and held up a small bottle of liquid and a syringe. “The Soviets came up with it back in the seventies. It paralyzes the body but allows the person to be fully conscious and aware of everything. You understand me? You will feel nothing when I peel off your skin, but you will be able to see it all. That is why I left you with one eye. So you would not miss a second of the procedure. The effects wear off in a few hours. And then, well, then you will feel a lot.”

  “Please, please,” sobbed Abdul-Majeed.

  Waller smiled down at him. “So you do not prefer the taking of the skin? Well, then did you know that if cut out of the body properly a man can hold his own intestines for hours? You would think that one would bleed out, but it’s not true. You will surely die of something else, but not because of blood loss, because I know what I’m doing. Now, I will tell you that my practice is to stuff the intestines inside the mouth, at least as much as will fit. Perhaps I am too soft but I find it wicked to expect a dying man to hold his own bowels. You have twenty seconds to decide which you prefer, or I will make the decision for you. And, in the spirit of full disclosure, I am very partial to the skin.”

  Finally, in gasps interrupted only by sobs, Abdul-Majeed said, “I will tell you what you want to know.”

  Waller smiled. “Now that is ironic. Because I will tell you something first. I know who ordered my killing. They are already dead, in fact. I saved you for last.”

  “Then why did you do this to me?” the captive screamed.

  “Because I could. And it is good for one to practice. Otherwise one’s skills diminish. You said I could not break you. But I did.” Waller’s voice lost its casual tone. “And if someone hits you, my friend, you have to hit them back or else they will think you are weak. And I am many things, but weak is not one of them.”

  “Then kill me,” roared the disfigured man. “Finish it.”

  Waller took his time pulling off the cuff and pulse monitor and vise grips and packing them away in the box. “You are not important enough for me to waste any more of my
time. Tell Allah I said hello. And that I wondered what kept him from coming to your aid. Perhaps, like me, he also had better things to do.” He raised the scalpel once more. “What I am about to do now is an act of mercy, Abdul-Majeed. You will understand why very shortly.” He slashed the Muslim’s good eye, fully blinding the man. “It would be the height of cruelty to allow you to see what is coming next.”

  The man’s screams of terror followed Waller out the door. His men stiffened to attention when they saw him emerge from the cottage. Waller nodded. “I’m done.”

  Pascal along with another man hustled to an SUV that had pulled up within the last few minutes. They opened the back gate and hauled out two animals. They were burly pit bulls tethered to metal control poles. Leather muzzles were securely fastened over their snouts. Using the poles, the men, with difficulty, maneuvered the lunging beasts to the front door. Then they released the wire nooses connected to the poles, whipped off the muzzles, and pushed the animals through the opening, slamming the door behind them.

  As Waller nimbly stepped into his ride, the snarls of the attacking dogs and the screams of Abdul-Majeed could be heard over the sound of the vehicle’s engine. Waller slipped in his ear buds and selected a joyful song on his iPod even as his thoughts turned back to the beautiful young woman he’d had dinner with tonight. He looked forward to seeing her again.

  Soon.

  CHAPTER

  38

  THE 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.

  CHAPTER

  39

  BECAUSE 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