ROM THE KITCHEN Reggie grabbed some buttered toast and put it on a plate with fried sausages and a sliced apple. Also juggling a cup of hot tea, she carried it all to the library. As she entered, Professor Mallory looked up from a large book written in Polish, took out his pipe, and smiled. “I thought I heard you come in last night. Your car has a distinctive sound.”

“It’s called a wretched exhaust pipe.” She sat down next to him, lined her toast with the sausages, bit into it, and drank her tea. “Where’s Whit?”

“I don’t believe he’s here yet. But I expect him shortly.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the personnel for the Kuchin job.”

Mallory laid aside his book. His bow tie was still askew, but this morning his shirt-collar points were both directed to where they should be and it looked like he’d actually combed his hair.

“Do you have thoughts?” he asked.

“I believe Whit should play a prominent role.”

“Did he ask you to talk to me?”

“Not in so many words.”

“It’s difficult for you, I know. And him.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve supplanted him as the leader in the field, Regina.”

The professor was the only one among them who referred to her by her proper name.

“I don’t see it exactly that way.”

“But it is exactly that way.”

“You know, Professor, quite frankly, you could use a bit more tact.”

He smiled at this mild reproach. “If you try to gloss over the truth or massage the facts all you’re doing is heightening your chances of arriving at an erroneous conclusion.”

“Whit is a good asset.”

“I completely agree with you. And if it were women we were going after we would probably have greater use of him in the lead role. Unfortunately, our targets trend to the male and heterosexual side.”

“He’s gone after men. Successfully.”

“Successful to the extent that they were terminated, yes. But we like to handle our work under the radar. For example, if we left evidence behind of why we had ended the lives of these people and that became public, you know what would happen?”

“The remaining ones would hide even deeper. But there are no more Nazis.”

“It doesn’t disprove the point. And let me correct you. There are no more Nazis of which we are aware. New intelligence may lead to more work in that arena. But take Kuchin. We dispose of him and word leaks out, other Eastern European mass murderers with new lives—and there are at least a dozen we’re researching at present—would be forewarned.”

“But we don’t broadcast why we’re killing them. It’s never made public.”

“But that’s not the only way to warn someone.”

“I’m not getting what you mean.”

Mallory said, “Your first lead target was the old Austrian married five times. You tied him up and did your job, but you ransacked the house and busted a door lock, so it looked like a robbery. And you didn’t do a bunk and scamper away but rather stayed on during the investigation so no one suspected you of anything. Now, let’s take Whit. This was before your time, but in one lead assignment he killed a former Gestapo chieftain by shooting him in the genitalia. He was supposed to inject the fellow with a poison that dissolves in the body in two minutes and is untraceable. He claims that the bottle the poison was in broke. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that putting a bullet in a man’s private region and letting him bleed out is a revenge-style killing. In fact, it could well have jeopardized future targets.”

“Maybe the bottle did break. Everything doesn’t go smoothly in the field.”

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.”