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“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.
