As she stood browsing a book on the abbey’s history, her cell phone buzzed. She checked the text message. It read, “six o’clock.” She put the book down, picked up another, and turned casually around.

Whit was standing behind her checking out a small wooden carving of the abbey building you could purchase for fifteen euros. He wore a baseball cap, shades, raggedy jeans, a week’s worth of beard, and had his iPod ear buds in. He put the book back and strolled outside. She waited a minute and then followed after buying the book she’d been looking at.

She saw him standing over by a low stone wall that stretched in front of the building. He was holding his camera and looking through the lens. He glanced up and saw her.

“Would you mind taking my picture in front of the abbey?” he asked.

She smiled. “Only if you’ll do the same for me.”

They alternated taking shots of the other and then strolled along together.

“Any results on my friend Bill?” she said in a low voice.

“Negative. No hits on prints. And we scored a zero on his picture too. He must be a good little boy. His full name, by the way, is William A. Young.”

“What does the A stand for?”

“We could never find that out.”

“Do you think he’ll realize you two went through his room?”

“We were very thorough in putting everything back exactly. His passport is American, the address checked out. There are lots of lobbyists named William Young registered in America. We can’t crank through them all in the time we have. Probably a waste anyway. I don’t see any dirt there.”

“Or his back cover could be as good as mine.”

“Or the bloke could be who he says he is, Reg.”

“He scaled a wall and then disarmed me. A lobbyist?”

Whit looked troubled by this. “Well, he is a big guy. But I guess I see your point. So what do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure. What does the professor think?”

“The brilliant one has deferred to your expertise in the field.”

“Great. So what do you think?”

“I reckon we have to nail Kuchin and changing plans willy-nilly now based on flimsy intelligence could screw everything up. So we go with the original plan and if something solid does come up, we work around it.”

“How’s Dom?”

“Fired up and ready to go. So what’re your first impressions of old Fedir?”

“The same as my original ones. He fills up every bit of space he’s in and then some.”

He glanced at her skeptically. “Not getting swept off your feet, are you?”

“With the monster? Hardly.”

“Actually I’m not talking about Kuchin.”

She gave him a hard stare.

Whit grinned maliciously. “Tall, mysterious, and the scaler of walls?”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” she answered coldly.

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do-”

“Then don’t, Whit.”

“Just watch yourself.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She gave him a sideways glance. “Did you really paint a swastika on a target’s forehead using his blood after shooting him in the balls?”

“What can I say? I’m an artiste.”

“Right. I’m heading back.”

“So dinner with our Ukrainian friend tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if tall and mysterious will be hovering.”

“It’s a small village.”

“Well, just don’t get yourself in the middle of a ménage à trois. They can be messy. And before you ask, yes, I speak from experience.”

“Whit, I don’t know how I tolerate you some days.”

“It’s bound to be my charm.”

“How do you know you even have any?”

He looked offended by the question. “Jesus, woman, I’m Irish. It’s in our DNA.”

34

REGGIE HAD INSISTED that they eat at one of the restaurants in Gordes instead of at his villa, and Waller had finally relented.

“You are tenacious,” he had said in a mildly scolding tone.

“No, I’m just exercising common sense. I don’t really know you. And my parents wouldn’t have wanted me to go unescorted to your house, even just for dinner.”

“Wise people, your parents.”

“They were, yes.”

“I see. I am sorry.”

“So am I,” Reggie had said firmly.

They had walked up together to the village and taken a table outside that was wrapped by a three-foot-high wrought iron fence. As usual, Waller’s men hovered at a nearby table. However, Pascal was not part of the security team tonight.

“Do they always go where you go?” Reggie asked as she observed the armed men.

“One of the prices that must be paid for success,” Waller said, spreading his arms in mock helplessness. He was dressed in a blue blazer with a white pocket kerchief, khaki slacks, white silk shirt, and royal blue deck shoes that showed his bare pale ankles. The air had not yet cooled from the day’s heat and there was a line of perspiration across his brow. She was sure there would be curves of sweat under his armpits too. Reggie had opted for a pale blue skort, yellow blouse, and white sandals, with a matching yellow scarf around her hair. There was no sweat on her face.

“It would be hard to imagine anyone trying to hurt anyone around here,” said Reggie as she finished her last bite of beef.

Waller sipped his wine and eyed her appraisingly. “It is serene here, bucolic. Beautiful.” He smiled. “Just as you are.”

At a wave from Waller the waiter brought a second bottle of the same wine and poured it out. Reggie picked up her full wineglass and began to swirl the liquid around, absently checking its color against the flame of the lighted candle set in a bowl in the middle of the table. “You mentioned that you might have children my age. Do you have children?”

He waved a hand carelessly. “No, I was merely speaking hypothetically. I suppose I was always too busy for children.”

“Wife?”

“If I had one now, she would be with me on this trip.”

“Had one now? So you were married?”

“Yes.”

“Did she pass away, or were you divorced?”

“Questions, questions,” he said in a casual tone, but his look was sterner.

“I’m sorry,” Reggie said. “I was just curious.”

“Both.”

“What?”

“The first one died and the second one divorced me.” He patted her hand. “You remind me a little of my first wife. She was beautiful too. And stubborn.”

“What was her name?”

Waller started to say something and then seemed to catch himself. “That is the past. I don’t dwell on the past. I live for the present and look to the future. Let’s finish this wonderful Bordeaux and then take a stroll and admire all things French.”

Later, he guided her back to the street where they set off, his arm through hers. She once more eyed the bodyguards. Waller followed her gaze.

She said, “I suppose for you it’s necessary, but I wouldn’t want to have to live my life that way.”

“But you yourself are obviously well off. You travel in style; you rent luxurious villas in one of the most beautiful places on earth. Are you not worried about being kidnapped? Or even killed for your money?”

“I have no money with me unless you count a few euros. If they want my credit cards, they hardly have to kill me for that. And if they kidnap me there won’t be anyone to pay the ransom. So you see, I would be a very inadequate target for a criminal.”

“Perhaps you are right. Now, the man you’ve been seeing, he looks like he would make a competent bodyguard.”

“Bill does look like he can take care of himself.”

“Ah, so it’s Bill. His last name?”

“He didn’t tell me his last name,” she said truthfully. Whit had found it out for her.

This ignorance seemed to brighten Waller’s spirits. “Then you are not that friendly with him. I have only been here a short time and already you know my last name.”

“It’s not a competition, Evan.”

“Of course not,” he said in an unconvincing tone.