“And you are old enough to be my father, like you said.”

“In truth, I am actually old enough to be your grandfather, well almost.” He let go of her arm and pointed across at the church. “There is one of those in every village you will travel to here.”

“A church? Yes, I suppose so.”

“People use religion for much, mostly to explain their own shortcomings.”

“That’s an unusual theory.”

“Books filled up by foolish people who don’t want to take control of their own lives. So they look for some divine providence to explain their desires.”

“You mean to guide them?”

“No, I mean for excuses. The people who actually do something with their lives do so from here.” He tapped his chest. “They don’t need men in collars telling them what to think and who to pray to. And most importantly who to give their money to.”

“I take it you’re not a regular churchgoer.”

He smiled. “Oh, but I am. Every week I am there. And I give much money to the church.”

“Why, if you think it’s a bunch of crap?”

He took her arm once more. “No, I do so because it’s in my heart. I believe. And there is much good with faith. Much good. My mother would have been in a convent if she’d had her way. Fortunately she did not, otherwise I would not be here. I loved my mother very much.”

Reggie turned to see him staring directly at her.

“I am going on a private tour of the Les Baux photographic exhibit this week. Have you heard of it?”

“I read about it, yes.”

“Goya is the selected artist this year.”

“Goya? Not a very uplifting choice.”

“It is true that many of his masterpieces are bleak, but they have such power, such insight into the human soul.”

“They depict evil,” Reggie said, before looking away from the man she considered one of the most evil she had ever pursued.

“Yet evil is a large component of the soul. Its potential inhabits everyone.”

“I don’t believe that,” Reggie said breathlessly. “I refuse to believe that.”

“You may refuse if you choose to, but that does not mean that you are right.” He paused. “I would like for you to accompany me on this tour. We can debate further this point then.”

Reggie didn’t answer right away. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”

He smiled through this mild reproach, bent down and kissed the back of her hand. “I enjoyed our dinner, Janie. And now, as I have business to attend to, I wish you good night.”

He turned and walked off, his men following him.

Reggie just stood there in the middle of the street, desperately trying to divine what that last look had truly meant.

“Troubled?”

She turned around.

Shaw was leaning against a pillar in front of the church.

EVAN WALLER climbed into the black SUV and his three-vehicle motorcade roared off, throwing road dust on an older couple slowly making their way up the hill to Gordes. Waller sat back and studied the screen on his phone. The email was brief, which he liked, and to the point, which he liked even better.

“How long?” he called up to the driver.

“GPS says fifty minutes, Mr. Waller. Crappy roads.”

“Make it forty.”

The man punched the gas and spoke into his headset. “Roll harder.” The other two vehicles in the column immediately gunned it.

Thirty-nine minutes later the three vehicles transitioned from a two-lane to a one-lane road and eventually wound their way far back to a small stone house wedged in among a stand of leafy trees. The yard was dirt, the roof in disrepair, and the stone crumbling. It was clear no one had lived here for a long time. And there was no other house for miles.

Waller popped open the SUV’s door and stepped out, waiting only a few seconds for his men to clear the area by sight, though he already had a man posted there who had come out of the house when the trucks had arrived. Waller marched into the house, his men bringing up the rear, with two left outside on perimeter watch.

The room was small, dark, and smelled of feces and mildew. It had no effect on Waller. He’d experienced much worse. There was one narrow table in the middle of the room, seven feet long and turned on one end so it reached nearly to the low ceiling. Two of the legs had been sawn off and the table edge rested against the floor. The remaining two legs were wedged against a wall for support. A naked man with dark hair and a beard was tied spread-eagled to the tabletop. Waller looked over at Pascal, who stood in one darkened corner, his gaze on the man with no clothes.

“You did well in organizing his capture, Pascal.”

“He tried to run, Mr. Waller, but he didn’t know how to.”

Waller walked up to the captive. From the light thrown by a couple of battery-powered lanterns, he could see the ambivalence in the man’s features. This angered Waller. Either fear him or hate him, but feel something. He slapped the man across his bloodied face.

“Are you awake, Abdul-Majeed? You do not seem to be all here.”

“I am awake. I see you. So what?” Waller knew that the man’s casual attitude was meant to embolden the Muslim and deflate his own expectation, as though Waller were the captive instead of the other way around. In actuality, it probably achieved neither. Fat Anwar the accountant had been westernized. Abdul-Majeed was still hard, a man of the desert for whom extreme privation was the norm. Waller had to respect such a man, but only to a certain degree.

“Do you miss Kandahar, Abdul-Majeed? Or do you like the beauty of Provence better?”

The man shrugged. “I like this room. It is actually better than what I have in Kandahar. But, again, so what?”

Waller took a step back and smiled. He had to admire at least the man’s courage.

“I do not like to be betrayed.”

“You do not understand the ways of the Muslim world, then. It was not betrayal. It was negotiation. It was caution. And all of Islam has been betrayed by the West many times. So why should you be any different?”

“I am here on holiday and yet I have to take time away from pleasantries because you tried to cut me out of the deal.”

“It is simply business. Do not take it personally.”

“Forgive me, but I always take it personally when someone tries to blow me up.”

“Then you are too sensitive.”

“Why did you do it?”

“You lied to us,” Abdul said simply.

“I do not lie when it comes to business.”

The Muslim scoffed. “A Canadian? You have enriched uranium? I do not think so. You are most likely a spy. That is why we tried to kill you.”

“Actually, I have highly enriched uranium. It is a critical difference. And if you did not believe it, why bother to deal with me at all?”

“I meant that I did not believe it. But others of my group did. They made the mistake and I was left with the mess to clean up.”

“But they were right and you were wrong.”

“Again, so you say. The Americans own your country. Everyone knows that. Canada is a satellite of the great Satan. A dog does not leave its master’s side.”

Waller turned to his men and flicked a hand at the door. They obediently left and shut the door behind them with Pascal being the last one out. Before closing the door he pointed to a metal case sitting on the floor in one corner of the room. He and his employer exchanged a look of mutual understanding.

Waller turned back to the captive and grabbed a handful of the man’s filthy hair. “This is simply because you think I’m Canadian? Can you truly be that stupid?”

Abdul-Majeed’s eyes flashed interest for the first time. “Think you are Canadian? You mean you are not?”

“No, Abdul-Majeed, I am not.” He slipped off his jacket and pulled up his shirtsleeve, revealing a mark on the inside of his upper arm, where it could not be easily seen when his shirt was off. He held it up in front of the Muslim. “Do you see that? Do you know what it means?”