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The genial look faded from Mallory’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry, I left out one piece of critical information, didn’t I? Whit painted a bloody swastika on the man’s bloody forehead and had the effrontery to ask me if I thought that was too subtle.”
Reggie suppressed a smile. “Oh.”
“Quite right, oh. The international press had a positive field day and made our future work that much more difficult. Mr. Beckham and I had a row about that one.”
“I’m sure.”
“In Huber’s case we already know that they believe he died after attempting to have sex with the beautiful Barbara, and that she fled in fear of retribution. No one is pursuing it, because the man was ninety-six years old and apparently died extremely happy.” The professor could not resist a smile at this remark.
“But we do have an advantage in this case. The world has no idea Evan Waller is Fedir Kuchin. Even if he is killed under mysterious circumstances, other men in hiding like Kuchin will probably take no note.”
The professor shook his head. “No, no. We can’t count on that. There will be press. There will be inquiries. Someone somewhere may recognize the man. He has kept a very low profile for decades. Even with his so-called philanthropic work, no one gets to see him. It’s all done through intermediaries. But still we can’t draw unnecessary attention to the matter.”
“Well, I can’t fake having sex with the man and then have him conveniently die like I did with Huber. There are limits to what I can do. Perhaps a businessman like him has other enemies and we can foist the blame there. What do we know about other dealings he might have had?”
Mallory shrugged. “Not that much. Our people had other priorities. They were looking for Kuchin, not a possibly dishonest entrepreneur. I agree he might have other interests that would satisfy his evil nature, but I don’t know what they are and we have no time to look for them now.”
Reggie sat back. “I still think Whit should be in on this one. Kuchin looks well capable of taking care of himself. I won’t be able to single-handedly overpower him. It needs to be a total team effort at the end.”
“It’s true, our prey are getting younger and stronger, aren’t they?” He tugged absently at his beard. “I largely agree with you. You will need muscle on this. And whilst he has some shortcomings, Whit certainly has that. You can tell him I said so.”
Reggie looked irritated. “Why don’t you tell him yourself?”
Mallory looked bemused. “We don’t get on that well. Now, let’s get down to some details before the meeting officially starts.”
“Why do you do this, Professor?” she said suddenly.
“Do what? You mean smoke this foul-smelling pipe?”
“You’re not Jewish. You’ve never mentioned that anyone you loved ever suffered at the hands of any of these vile creatures. So why?”
He eyed her steadily. “Does a man need a reason to pursue justice?”
“Indulge me.”
“Not today. Perhaps another time. I can tell you one thing. You’ll enjoy your little abode in Provence.”
“Really? And why is that?”
“It’s a five-level villa with extraordinary vistas of the Luberon valley, and you can walk to the quaint village of Gordes in under five minutes. Horribly expensive, the lease payments are more than I paid for my cottage. And that’s not the best part.”
“What’s the best part?”
Mallory’s bushy eyebrows twitched in delight. “It’s right next to where our Fedir Kuchin will be staying.”
CHAPTER
12
EVAN WALLER sat back in his desk chair and read the spreadsheet for the fifth time. He loved numbers; his nimble mind grasped their complexities easily, massaging data into precise conclusions. He made his decision, rose, poured himself a slender finger of Macallan’s, and drank it. He put the glass down, picked up a pistol, and faced the man bound to the chair.
“Anwar, what am I to do with you? Tell me.” His voice was deep, cultured, and overlaid with traces of his Eastern European origins. His tone was that of a disappointed father to a misbehaving child.
Anwar was a short man with a thickened, soft body who slumped in his chair, his arms and legs tightly bound. His face was round and his skin would normally have been a light brown color, but now yellow and purplish bruises clustered on his cheeks, forehead, and jawline. A knife cut traveled from his left cheek to his split nostril. The blood there had congealed and blackened. His dark hair was slicked back solely with the sweat of fear.
“Please, Mr. Waller, please. It will never happen again, sir, I swear.”
“But how can I trust you now? Tell me. I want to find a way. I value your services, but I need to know I can trust you.”
