He carried Jansen over his shoulder, the gun held out in front of him just in case anyone else was around who wanted a piece of him. He used a lamp cord to tie him up, lifted his cell phone and his car keys, kicked open the front door, leapt off the short stack of steps, and climbed into a two-door gray hatchback parked in front of the house.

Ten seconds later he was flying down the road. The car had GPS and he inputted his destination with jabs of his finger.

Gordes.

He checked the clock on the dash that also had the current date.

Market day.

He might still have time. He floored the little car and reached a main road. He punched in a number. Frank’s voice came on. When he heard Shaw he started yelling.

“Shut up, Frank, and listen.”

“Me listen! Shaw, I will have your ass-”

“They’re going to hit Waller.”

That caught Frank’s attention. “What? Who is?”

Shaw filled Frank in on all that had happened. “I’m pretty sure it’s going down today. I need some backup.”

“There is none. We pulled all our assets from the area.”

“There’s nobody?”

“I’ve been spending all my time covering for your ass with my bosses. They think you went nutso over this chick. They are pissed.”

“I can’t do this by myself. I need some help. Waller has a lot of muscle.”

Frank was silent.

“Hey,” Shaw cried out, “talk to me.”

“There is one asset in the area.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

“Why are you still here?”

“Forget it, I just am.”

“Why, Frank?”

“Because I’ve been looking for you, that’s why. Happy? Now how do you want to play this?”

“Here’s how.” Shaw started talking fast.

When he was done Frank said, “Do you really trust this woman?”

“To the extent I trust anybody, yeah, I trust her.”

“Well, I hope to hell you’re right.”

Shaw clicked off and floored it. The hatchback’s engine whined to near its breaking point as the Provençal countryside whizzed by.

He reached the turnoff to Gordes, saw the traffic backup, ditched the car, and sprinted up the winding road. Reaching and clearing the side street leading to the twin villas, he saw no guard in front of Waller’s place, which meant he was probably not there. He looked around at the groups heading up to the market and the line of cars and vans filled with goods for sale. Walking up to one slow-moving truck that had racks of clothing and hats piled in the back, he pulled out some euros, and a minute later Shaw was covered up with a colorful poncho, a wide-brimmed canvas hat, and a cheap pair of sunglasses that the driver had thrown in from his own pocket for free.

He jumped in the back of the truck and got a ride up to town. There he moved quickly through the crowds, slouching to disguise his height. His gaze darted to all corners, looking for Reggie, Waller, or anyone else of interest. Finally his observation paid off when he passed by a side alley, glanced down it, and then drew back. He waited for a few moments, then pulled out his phone and made the call to Frank, telling him what to do.

That done, he checked the gun he’d stolen. You never went into possible combat without doing something that basic. The Glock 17 had been designed in the 1980s by its namesake Gaston Glock, an Austrian who had never built a gun before. What he did have was a lot of knowledge about advanced synthetic polymers. So he made, basically, the world’s first plastic handgun. It beat out H &K, SIG Sauer, the Italians’ Beretta, the Browning, and the top-notch Steyr favored by special forces personnel in a competition to arm the Austrian army. Its success around the world had been immediate and immense. Seven out of ten cops in America carried it in their holster. And yet with all that, just like any other weapon it wasn’t infallible. Shaw was stunned he hadn’t noticed it before.

The muzzle was cracked. It must’ve happened from the collision of the heavy door and heavier toilet against the weapon’s polymer frame. Thank God he hadn’t had to fire the pistol. It probably would’ve exploded in his hand. A Glock could fire wet all day. No gun, however, could fire safely with a damaged barrel. Now he had no weapon and no way to get one. Frank was at least thirty minutes away and Shaw was out of time.

The only way to move was forward. So he did.

57

THIS MARKET is certainly well-attended,” said Waller as he walked next to Reggie along the crowded and narrow streets of Gordes. “But one could become quite claustrophobic.” Waller glanced behind him. His two beefy guards were pushing past vendors and customers, struggling to keep up with the pair. Reggie had her market basket in her right hand and her walking pace was brisk. She’d already purchased some things, including six hand-stitched table napkins from a man with his wares housed in an ancient van with ratty tires. He’d given her a good price and even a bonus item that rested at the bottom of the basket but still within easy reach: a Beretta pistol.

“Well, the Saturday market is the big one.”

“I can see that. Would you like me to carry your basket?” offered Waller.

“Never ask a woman that when she’s in a shopping frenzy,” said Reggie, drawing a laugh from the man. He held up his hands. “I defer to the consumer expertise of the fairer sex.”

“Thank you.”

Reggie glanced over Waller’s shoulder and saw the sign. On cue, a car started to putter through the crowds and the mass of people slowly moved out of the way to allow the vehicle to pass. Reggie counted off the seconds along with her footsteps. She had to hit her marks precisely.

“That’s strange,” she said, as she stopped to look at a pair of sandals hanging from a rack at one vendor’s spot.

“What?” asked Waller.

She pointed over his shoulder. “I’ve never seen any Muslims here before.”

Waller jerked around and stared across the road, where two bearded men in starched robes and turbans were climbing out of the dented car that had been puttering along.

“Oh my God, are those guns?” exclaimed Reggie.

Waller looked for his guards, but then several loud bangs sounded and the street became filled with dense smoke. People screamed and ran blindly, crashing into racks of goods as well as each other. Waller called out for his guards. He couldn’t see them anywhere. That was because they were both on the ground, having received well-placed blows to the back of the head. A young woman raced past them shouting, the items in her market basket cascading into the street. Everywhere there were screams and sounds of people running. Two more twin bangs occurred and the smoke in the street grew thicker. From out of the haze the two men in robes and turbans appeared with guns out and protective masks over their faces. They had the street completely blocked.

“Shit!” exclaimed Waller as he saw them approaching.

“Evan, do you know those men?”

“We need to get out of here. Now!”

She grabbed his hand. “Quick. I know a way.”

They raced down a side street off the main courtyard. The street dead-ended here. Waller looked up and saw the church’s bell tower.

“There is no way out,” Waller screamed in fury.

“There is, but we have to go through the church. It’ll put us on the other side of the village. Remember the way I showed you before? It’s the only escape route.”

That was why she’d shown him the route earlier. So he would know it was a way to safety. It was risky but otherwise she could not have counted on his following her. Only this time she would not be leading him to safety.

To give urgency to their flight, a well-timed bullet whizzed over their heads. Waller turned back to see one of the Muslims rushing after them.

“Oh my God, they’re shooting at us,” screamed Reggie.

“Just keep moving,” urged Waller, grabbing her by the shoulder and thrusting her forward. “To the damn church, quickly.”