Deliver Us From Evil, Page 44

  Shaw got into London an hour later on a bus. He didn’t go to the Savoy. He wasn’t working. He couldn’t afford the place on his own dime. He checked into a far more modestly priced room in a far less desirable part of town. He had just thrown his bag down in a chair when his phone rang.

  He didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID. He wasn’t talking to anyone right now. He went out, bought some beer, came back, popped one, drank it down and then another, crumpling the empty cans in one hand and throwing them into the trash.

  The phone rang again. He had another beer, went to the window, gazed out on the street, and saw a bunch of people pass by who had never personally known Katie James and might not even know how close she had come to dying.

  “She’s a terrific person,” Shaw said to the window. “I don’t deserve her. And she sure as hell doesn’t deserve me.” He held up his beer can, tapped it against the glass, thinking of her hand squeezing his. It had felt wonderful and yet he knew he would never feel it again.

  At midnight his phone stopped ringing even as he finished off the last beer, which was now warm. He couldn’t sleep and rose in the middle of the night to throw up all that he had drunk into the toilet. He showered, shaved, dressed in fresh clothes, and headed out to find some breakfast at 4 a.m. This being London, he was successful after only a two-block search. He sat in the back of the mostly empty café and ordered the biggest platter they had. When it came he just stared at the food and instead drank down two cups of black coffee before dropping a pile of British notes on the checkered tablecloth and leaving.

  He walked along the Thames and found the spot where he and Katie had stood when a shot had rung out and a man had fallen dead into the river. Then he ventured to another street where if he’d been a second later Katie would have been murdered by a man wielding a syringe. He passed a shop where they had had dinner together. And finally the hotel where he had thrown her breakfast cart against a wall and she’d responded by calmly pouring him a cup of coffee. This memory drew a smile from him that quickly collapsed into a sob. At that same encounter she’d shown him the bullet wound on her upper arm. And shared with him the story of the Afghan boy who had died, she said, as a result of Katie’s reaching too far, too hard for a story.

  She’d flown across the Atlantic on a moment’s notice to be with Shaw when he needed her. She had always been there when he’d needed her. And now she was lying in a hospital with a hole in her chest because of him. Shaw staggered into an alleyway, leaned against a dirty brick building, and wept so hard he finally got the dry heaves.

  Later, at Trafalgar Square, he sat red-eyed with the pigeons, staring up at Lord Nelson until his neck hurt because he didn’t know where else to look. London was coming to life now, the pace of feet and vehicles picking up. As the sun rose, the air warmed. After all that had happened, it was hard to believe that it was still summer. Gordes, even Canada, seemed an eternity ago to him.

  He rose, looked around, debating where next to go, then stopped. Across the square Reggie was staring back at him. He started to walk in the opposite direction, but something made him reverse his path and cross the space toward her.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Lucky guess,” she said. “And I called Frank. He told me you were back in London.”

  “How’s Whit?”

  “Leg’s stiff but he’ll be fine. I’m glad Katie will be okay too.”

  Shaw absently nodded.

  Reggie wore the white jeans she’d had in Gordes, black flats, and a blue cotton blouse. Her hair hung limp to her shoulders. She looked older, thought Shaw. Hell, they all looked older. He felt like he was a hundred.

  “Tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”

  “I think my service was turned off,” he said.

  He started walking and she fell in beside him.

  He said, “Thanks for taking out Kuchin. It was a hell of a shot.”

  “I should’ve been faster. If I had, Katie—”

  He moved slightly away from her. “Don’t, Reggie, just don’t.”

  She fell silent as they walked farther into the Strand.

  “Did they ever find Dominic’s body?” he asked.

  “No. And the worst part is his parents will never really know what happened to him.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  She looked down, seeming to search for the right words. “Frank is talking to us about working with you.”

  Shaw stopped and looked down coldly at her. “With me?”

  “No, I meant with him. With his organization,” she said hurriedly.

  Shaw started walking again. “I don’t see how that could be possible.”

  She started speaking rapidly. “We would have to change some of the ways we operate. I mean we can’t, well, finish the jobs like we used to. But he said the information network and research support we have could prove useful if we were to combine certain—”

  Shaw held up a hand indicating for her to stop. “I don’t really care, okay?”

  She looked crushed by this but said, “Sure. Okay. I can understand that.”

  They came to a park and Shaw sat down on a bench. Reggie hesitated, seeming unsure whether he wanted her to join him or not. She finally just sat down, but kept a healthy space between them, which was difficult since Shaw was so big.

  “I don’t think I ever thanked you for saving my life.”

  “Shaw, you don’t have to thank me. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

  “I needed to say it.”

  “Fine, you said it. That’s enough.” She crossed her legs, drew an exaggerated breath. “It’s none of my business, but—”

  He cut her off. “Then drop it.”

  A minute of silence passed.

  “We weren’t more than friends,” Shaw said, breaking the quiet. “Not yet anyway. But we were friends. And she meant… she means a lot to me. More than I realized.”

  “Okay.” A tear slid down Reggie’s cheek.

  “And whether we ever would be more than friends is something that…” He shook his head, stared over at a little boy with his mother, and then dropped his gaze to the grass.

  “But, Shaw, she’s going to be okay. You can go and—”

  “That won’t be happening,” he said firmly.

  Another few moments of silence passed.

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked.

  “Few days off wandering around here until Frank puts me back to work.”

  “You could come out to Harrowsfield. In fact, I believe Frank is traveling there tomorrow to go over some things. And we could—” She stopped talking when he abruptly stood.

  “No, Reggie, I really don’t think we could.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Please, Shaw.”

  He looked over his shoulder at her. “I’m sorry.”

  “But if we can just take it slow.” Tears were starting to cluster in her eyes and this seemed to anger her. She brushed them away.

  He turned to face her as she stood to do the same. “I buried the one woman who meant more to me than anyone else. And I nearly lost another woman who I care about deeply.” He paused and drew a short breath. “I’m not going to make it three. Take care of yourself, Reggie.”

  She stared after him until even his tall figure disappeared into the growing crowds as London came to life.

  Reggie finally walked off in the opposite direction. She could not bring herself to look back.

  If she had glanced back, however, she would have seen Shaw stop and stare back at her for a long moment. Then he slowly turned around and kept walking.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  TO MICHELLE, who makes all our lives work.

  To Mitch Hoffman, editor extraordinaire.

  To David Young, Jamie Raab, Emi Battaglia, Jennifer Romanello, Tom Maciag, Martha Otis, Bob Castillo, Anthony Goff, Kim Hoffman, and everyone at Grand Central Publishing, for all you do.

  To Aaron and Arleen P
riest, Lucy Childs, Lisa Erbach Vance, Nicole Kenealy, Frances Jalet-Miller, and John Richmond, for helping me every step of the way.

  To Roland Ottewell, for your keen eye.

  To Maria Rejt and Katie James at Pan Macmillan, for their well-timed support from across the pond.

  To Grace McQuade and Lynn Goldberg, for wonderful publicity.

  To Bob Schule, for world-class consultant services.

  To Lynette, Deborah, and Natasha, for being a great team.

  DAVID BALDACCI ON WRITING

  Deleted Scenes:

  Sometimes an ending is absolutely spot-on the first time you write it, and sometimes it isn’t. I usually have two or three endings in mind as I wend my way toward finishing a novel. In rare instances I’ve gone back and changed the ending I wrote originally. This happened in Last Man Standing and First Family, to name two examples. It usually involves characters living or dying. In Deliver Us from Evil, it happened again. The ending was written, and I was reviewing it. I had given it to my inner circle of readers. The lobbying soon began to spare a character’s life. I am usually immune to outside influence when it comes to writing. That’s not to say I don’t listen—I do. And I’ve changed certain story elements when I think those advocating a certain point have valid arguments. But the denouement of a novel is something different. I really have to be persuaded. And this time, I was. So you can see how the novel ended in the first draft, and then in the final version. Just don’t read the draft first! I’ll leave it up to you which ending you like best. How’s that for service? Most writers only give you one ending. With me, you get a pair.

  Edited Manuscript:

  The editing process has multiple layers. And although typos sometimes still poke through (as readers are quick to remind me), the process is a time-tested one. The pages you’re looking at now contain my handwritten changes to them. The first section is rather early on in the writing process. As you will be able to see, the edits are both substantive and cosmetic. At this point I’m still working my way through the story, getting to know my characters. The second set of edits are set forth on what is known as page proofs. This is the last chance I will have to edit the manuscript unless some crazy error has slipped through. Or I throw a tantrum, which I never have. But I could, because you never know. After this it goes to the printer, the cover is slapped on, and the finished product is shipped to book outlets all over the country. You can tell these are page proofs because the words are typeset as opposed to printed pages off a computer. Some of the changes you see here are of the cosmetic variety, namely typos, changes in verb tense, or minor grammatical fixes. But I did include a substantive change necessitated by an issue in timing and action in a contained space. As you read through the edits you should be able to see why I made the changes I did. Or you might think, why did he do that? I liked the way it was just fine. Well, sometimes you just can’t win. But I’m showing my writing soul here so bare with me.

  Outlines:

  I do both typewritten and handwritten outlines. Outlines change all the time, and some days I write off the cuff, pure seat-of-the-pants, inspired pixie dust, whatever you want to call it. But outlines are useful for marshaling ideas, organizing story flow and, like airlines and air traffic controllers do every day, getting equipment (characters) where they need to be to carry it all off safely and professionally. The pages you’re looking at here detail my ideas in formulating the plot, character elements, twists, action flow, locale descriptions, and the like. When used properly outlines are invaluable. When used badly—for example, the novel simply being a bare bones outline with too many action scenes and plot contrivances to fill in the huge holes in the story—it can be disastrous. I also do quite a bit of research for my novels, and all that information is neatly organized in huge binders that I assemble for every novel. This may include personal interviews, photos, book and online research and first-hand descriptions I take when visiting a location. But the rule for me with research is that you must leave most of it out. I don’t write textbooks, I write fiction. And if the research gets in the way of the story flow I haven’t done my job.

  DAVID BALDACCI ON DELIVER US FROM EVIL

  How can you make beautiful Provence deadly? Place a thriller smack in the heart of it. I pride myself on research and I try to go to as many of the places that I write about in my books as I can. Last summer I traveled to Gordes in Provence. It was so beautiful and so mysterious that I wanted to write a story set there, at least in part. There was the history, the mystery, the closeness of the players in the drama. It has an Alfred Hitchcock movie feel to it, like To Catch a Thief.

  Shaw, my mysterious one-name international agent, is in his element in this novel, which takes readers from Provence to London, Washington, and the Canadian frontier. He is up against a villain quite unlike any I’ve ever created before. Evan Waller is certainly evil but he is also clever, driven, smart and a survivor with a fascinating personal history. It will take everything Shaw and his new sidekick, Reggie Campion, can bring to the battle to defeat him.

  The justice-driven group that Reggie works for is based at an old musty estate in the English countryside. They are characters that I will definitely explore again in future novels. I love this group and what they do. It brings together all the elements I love in fiction: history, action, fascinating locations, dramatic relationships, high stakes and the goal of vanquishing evil. What could be better?

  In this enriched e-Book version of the novel you will be able to see photos that I took of real places during my trip to Provence and that I later incorporated into the novel. They’re annotated so you’ll know what you’re looking at and why I decided to use that particular location. If the eBook reader you use has the capability, you will also be able to see video and audio commentary featuring yours truly talking about the ideas behind Deliver.

  Also, as in a director’s cut DVD, I will try to bring you behind the scenes, so to speak. You will be able to see hand-edited pages, which will allow you to follow my thought processes and choices I made as I edited the actual manuscript. And there are also outline pages so you can see how I created the plot. In addition, I’ve provided you with a different ending that I discarded after many pleas from my agent, editor and, most important, my wife!

  I hope you like the new enriched e-Book. This is new territory for authors and book publishers. We want to improve the experience going forward so any comments you have will be appreciated. Please email me at [email protected] or Grand Central Publishing at [email protected] with any feedback you might have on this new experience. We plan to do with this with future books, and we may go back to some of my earlier books and build in similar enhancements. I hope you enjoy the novel. Now on with the show!

  Happy Reading,

  David Baldacci

  OUTLINE NOTES

  AUTHOR’S MANUSCRIPT EDITS

  ALTERNATE TITLE PAGE

  ORIGINAL ENDING

  Fedir Kuchin fell backward with Shaw on top of him. And he hit him, once, twice, the blows accelerated, raining down on the dead man until there was no face left, only tissue that had been turned to pulp as Shaw’s knuckles cracked and his hands bled.

  “Shaw! Shaw!”

  Reggie tried to pull him off, but he used one big arm to knock her off her feet. Then seeming to realize what had happened, Shaw jumped up and raced to Katie. He straddled her, pumped her chest, then pinched her nose and blew air into her mouth. He pumped and blew. Pushing down on her chest, forcing air into lungs that refused to expand.

  “Shaw, stop! She’s dead. Stop! Stop it! You can’t bring her back.”

  Shaw was covered in the woman’s blood. Every time he dipped his lips