Read Online Deliver Us From Evil by David Baldacci - Free Book Online
Authors: David Baldacci
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man
slumped to the side, his dead weight kept in the chair only by the bindings. Waller grabbed him up by his slicked hair. “Now
you have been suitably punished. You are valuable to me. Very valuable. I cannot afford to lose you. But this is your only
forgiveness, do you understand?”
Anwar, the blood trickling from his mouth, mumbled, “I understand. I swear that I do. Thank you. I do not deserve such mercy.”
He started sobbing.
“Crying is not manly, Anwar, so stop it, now!”
Anwar choked back his last sob and looked up, his right eye puffy, his left one nearly closed.
Waller smiled. “I must reveal something to you. You will find it of interest I’m sure. We located your wife. We have Gisele.”
“You have her?” said an astonished Anwar.
“And I agree with you, she is a she-devil. A woman designed by God to drive men insane. Would you like to see her, tell her
what you think of her before we kill her?”
“It would give me great pleasure,” muttered Anwar unenthusiastically.
“Or perhaps you would like to do the honors? A bullet to the brain of the evil woman? It may do you much good. A catharsis.
A character builder.”
Anwar flinched. “I am an accountant. I have no courage for that.”
“Fine, fine. I just thought I would extend the offer.” Waller turned to one of his men. “Pascal, bring the woman in to face her wronged husband.”
Pascal, a small, trim man in his thirties, passed through another door. A few moments later the door opened again and Anwar
could see his wife’s head peering around the doorframe. Normally her skin was even darker than her husband’s. But now she
looked terribly pale, her eyes wide in stark terror.
“You miserable bitch. You devil. See what you have caused. You have… you have…” Anwar faltered as the door opened farther
and Pascal marched in holding the severed head by the dark strands. Pascal didn’t smile at the horror on the husband’s face.
He just clutched the back of the head and held it up, as he had earlier been instructed to do by his employer.
“Oh God. Oh God. No, no, it cannot be.” Anwar looked at Waller, then back to his wife’s head. “It cannot be.”
“It is, Anwar. It is. But now you can return to work a happy man.”
Anwar sobbed for a few more moments before lifting up his head and letting out a tortured yet relieved breath. “Thank you,
Mr. Waller. Allah thanks you.”
“I have no need of your Allah’s blessings, Anwar.” Waller raised his pistol and aimed it at the man’s head, his eyes first
focused on the metal nub of the sightline on the end of the muzzle and then onto the ultimate target.
Anwar jerked back. “But you said—”
“I lied.” The bullet torpedoed into Anwar’s brain. Waller relaxed and then triggered another round, tattooing the skin just
to the left of the first entry wound. He placed the fired gun on the table and took a few moments to pour one more finger
of scotch. Drinking this down slowly as he walked across the room to reach the door, he turned back and glanced at two of
his other men.
In an admonishing tone he said, “Just remember this time that a two-hundred-pound man needs twice that weight to hold the
body properly underwater.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Waller,” said one of the men nervously.
“And melt down the damn gun.”
“Right away, sir.”
“And Pascal, get rid of that ,” he added, pointing at the woman’s head. “Cheers.” Waller disappeared through the door and settled into a black armored
Hummer that sped off the moment he buckled his seat belt. An Escalade followed with another Hummer in front of Waller’s ride.
He’d discovered that his “trusted” accountant had a slush pile siphoned from Waller’s substantial cash flow. It was minor
skimming, less than a tenth of one percent, and had done Waller no financial damage, but it was an unforgivable act. To let
it go would have been a sign of weakness. In Waller’s
slumped to the side, his dead weight kept in the chair only by the bindings. Waller grabbed him up by his slicked hair. “Now
you have been suitably punished. You are valuable to me. Very valuable. I cannot afford to lose you. But this is your only
forgiveness, do you understand?”
Anwar, the blood trickling from his mouth, mumbled, “I understand. I swear that I do. Thank you. I do not deserve such mercy.”
He started sobbing.
“Crying is not manly, Anwar, so stop it, now!”
Anwar choked back his last sob and looked up, his right eye puffy, his left one nearly closed.
Waller smiled. “I must reveal something to you. You will find it of interest I’m sure. We located your wife. We have Gisele.”
“You have her?” said an astonished Anwar.
“And I agree with you, she is a she-devil. A woman designed by God to drive men insane. Would you like to see her, tell her
what you think of her before we kill her?”
“It would give me great pleasure,” muttered Anwar unenthusiastically.
“Or perhaps you would like to do the honors? A bullet to the brain of the evil woman? It may do you much good. A catharsis.
A character builder.”
Anwar flinched. “I am an accountant. I have no courage for that.”
“Fine, fine. I just thought I would extend the offer.” Waller turned to one of his men. “Pascal, bring the woman in to face her wronged husband.”
Pascal, a small, trim man in his thirties, passed through another door. A few moments later the door opened again and Anwar
could see his wife’s head peering around the doorframe. Normally her skin was even darker than her husband’s. But now she
looked terribly pale, her eyes wide in stark terror.
“You miserable bitch. You devil. See what you have caused. You have… you have…” Anwar faltered as the door opened farther
and Pascal marched in holding the severed head by the dark strands. Pascal didn’t smile at the horror on the husband’s face.
He just clutched the back of the head and held it up, as he had earlier been instructed to do by his employer.
“Oh God. Oh God. No, no, it cannot be.” Anwar looked at Waller, then back to his wife’s head. “It cannot be.”
“It is, Anwar. It is. But now you can return to work a happy man.”
Anwar sobbed for a few more moments before lifting up his head and letting out a tortured yet relieved breath. “Thank you,
Mr. Waller. Allah thanks you.”
“I have no need of your Allah’s blessings, Anwar.” Waller raised his pistol and aimed it at the man’s head, his eyes first
focused on the metal nub of the sightline on the end of the muzzle and then onto the ultimate target.
Anwar jerked back. “But you said—”
“I lied.” The bullet torpedoed into Anwar’s brain. Waller relaxed and then triggered another round, tattooing the skin just
to the left of the first entry wound. He placed the fired gun on the table and took a few moments to pour one more finger
of scotch. Drinking this down slowly as he walked across the room to reach the door, he turned back and glanced at two of
his other men.
In an admonishing tone he said, “Just remember this time that a two-hundred-pound man needs twice that weight to hold the
body properly underwater.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Waller,” said one of the men nervously.
“And melt down the damn gun.”
“Right away, sir.”
“And Pascal, get rid of that ,” he added, pointing at the woman’s head. “Cheers.” Waller disappeared through the door and settled into a black armored
Hummer that sped off the moment he buckled his seat belt. An Escalade followed with another Hummer in front of Waller’s ride.
He’d discovered that his “trusted” accountant had a slush pile siphoned from Waller’s substantial cash flow. It was minor
skimming, less than a tenth of one percent, and had done Waller no financial damage, but it was an unforgivable act. To let
it go would have been a sign of weakness. In Waller’s
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