Deliver Us From Evil (16 page)

“
W
HY WOULD I
be troubled?” asked Reggie.

She made no move toward Shaw, so he came to her.

“Sorry, guess I was wrong about that. How was dinner?”

“It was fine. He knows his wines very well. Good conversationalist.”

“I’m sure.”

“Is there a problem?”

“I told you one of his guys was spying on you. Then they block off the street like they own it—”

“Evan apologized for that,” she said, interrupting him.

“Oh, it’s Evan?”

“That
is
his name. In fact he told me his last name too. Unlike you. It’s Waller.”

“Young. Bill Young.” He paused. “Someone searched my room the day we went kayaking.”

Reggie looked genuinely startled by this news and both her respect for and suspicion of Shaw increased. “Was anything taken?”

“Not that I can tell, no.”

“Why would someone do that?”

He shrugged. “Gordes is certainly turning out to be more exciting than I thought it would be.”

They started to walk along. Up ahead, near the village square, a band of teenagers were playing guitars and drums and a small
crowd of people had stopped to listen and drop money in their basket.

“He asked about you,” said Reggie.

“About me? Why?”

She smiled. “I think he wanted to know if you were serious competition for him.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“That I hardly knew you. Which is true.”

“You don’t know him either,” he pointed out.

“He seems nice enough. I mean, he’s far too old for me.” She playfully smacked his arm. “He’s even older than you.”

“For some reason I don’t think age differences matter to a guy like that.”

“Well, I think that’s my decision to make, not his. If I tell him to back off, I’m sure he will.”

“He doesn’t look like a guy who takes no for an answer.”

“But you don’t know him. You’ve never even met him.”

“Did he tell you what he did for a living?”

“A businessman.”

“Well, that covers a lot of possibilities.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. This is Provence after all. What’s he going to do?”

Shaw quickly looked away, his pulse hammering at a vein near his temple.

“Are you okay?”

“Dinner’s not agreeing with me.”

“You want to go back to your room? I can make my way back to the villa by myself.”

“No, I’ll walk you.”

They took the shortcut and arrived at her villa a few minutes later. “Seems like our boy’s out for the night,” he said, looking
at the empty parking spaces in front of Waller’s villa.

“He did leave rather abruptly after dinner,” she noted. “Said he had some business to take care of.”

“Busy guy.”

Her next words sent a cold dread down Shaw’s back. “He’s going to Les Baux, to see the Goya exhibit. He asked me to go with
him.”

“And what did you tell him?” Shaw asked, a bit too sharply.

She stared at him, perplexed. “I told him I’d think about it and get back to him.”

Shaw thought swiftly and the words tumbled out of his mouth. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re going with me to Les Baux. Tomorrow. I’ve wanted to see the exhibit. I’d meant to ask you earlier.”

“Really?” she said skeptically.

“We can make a day of it. Have some lunch in Saint-Rémy?”

“Why are you doing this? Are you thinking this is a competition too? I’m not a prize to be won.”

“I know you’re not, Janie. And if you’d rather go with him instead, I’ll understand perfectly. It’s just that…”

“Just what?”

“I just wanted to spend some more time with you. That’s all. No fancy explanation. Just be with you.”

Reggie’s features softened and she grazed his arm with her hand. “Well, how can I turn you down since you asked so nicely.”
She smiled. “It’s a date. Now the critical question is, Vespa or car?”

“It’s a little far for the Vespa, so I think your Renault would work out far better. Let’s say nine o’clock? I’ll walk down
to your place.”

“Let me come up and get you.”

Shaw looked at her curiously.

“I just think it’ll be easier that way. We can drive straight out to the main road.”

“And Waller won’t know anything about it, you mean?”

“That’s right.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, Bill.” She paused. “And so can I.”

W
ALLER PLACED
a sticky patch connected to a long thin cable against the side of Abdul-Majeed’s neck. Then he connected the line to a small
battery-powered monitor that he turned on.

“What is that?” asked Abdul-Majeed nervously.

“It is nothing to worry about. It just measures your pulse. I do not have enough electrical power here to shock the truth
out of you, my Muslim friend. But there are other ways.” Waller placed a cuff around the man’s arm and then plugged the cord
running from the cuff into the same device as he had for the pulse reading. “And that of course measures your blood pressure.”

“Why do you need that?”

“Because I want to make sure I stop the pain before I kill you, of course.”

Abdul-Majeed tensed and began to chant under his breath.

“So your god is great, Abdul-Majeed?” said Waller, translating the words. “We will see how great he is to you.”

Abdul-Majeed did not answer, but kept up his chanting. Waller checked the readout of his vitals on the screen. “Your pulse
is already at ninety-eight and your blood pressure is elevated, and I have not even started. You must relax your breathing;
calm your nerves, my friend.”

“You will not break me!” the captive said defiantly.

Waller took duct tape out of his box and wound it around the man’s forehead, chin, and shoulders and around the table several
times. The result was that Abdul-Majeed could not move his head or upper torso even an inch away from the wood.

“Do you know why I do this?” Waller asked. “It is so you will not be able to render yourself unconscious when the pain becomes
too great. I have known men to crack their own skulls in order to escape it. I made that mistake once, but never again. Torture
does not work if one cannot feel the pain.”

Waller pulled more items from his box, placed one in his pocket, and came back over to the table. “They say that the agony
of a single kidney stone passing through one’s body is even greater than that experienced giving birth. I have never given
birth, of course, but I have passed kidney stones and the pain is indeed severe.” He slipped on latex gloves, looked down
at Abdul’s private parts, and then held up a thin glass tube twenty centimeters in length.

“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 earbuds 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.