Lee Ch ld
Tr pw re
PROLOGUE
Hook Hob e owed the whole of h s l fe to a secret nearly th rty
years old. H s l berty, h s status, h s money, everyth ng. And l ke
any caut ous guy n h s part cular s tuat on, he was ready to do
what was necessary to protect h s secret. Because he had a lot
to lose. The whole of h s l fe.
The protect on he rel ed on for nearly th rty years was based
on just two th ngs. The same two th ngs anybody uses to
protect aga nst any danger. The same way a nat on protects
tself aga nst an enemy m ss le, the same way an apartment
dweller protects h mself aga nst a burglar, the same way a
boxer guards aga nst a knockout blow. Detect on and response.
Stage one, stage two. F rst you spot the threat, and then you
react.
Stage one was the early-warn ng system. It had changed over
the years, as other c rcumstances had changed. Now t was well
rehearsed and s mpl f ed. It was made up of two layers, l ke two
concentr c tr pw res. The f rst tr pw re was eleven thousand
m les from home. It was an early-early warn ng. A wake-up call.
It would tell h m they were gett ng close. The second tr pw re
was f ve thousand m les nearer, but st ll s x thousand m les
from home. A call from the second locat on would tell h m they
were about to get very close. It would tell h m stage one was
over, and stage two was about to beg n.
Stage two was the response. He was very clear on what the
response had to be. He had spent nearly th rty-years th nk ng
about t, but there was only ever one v able answer. The
response would be to run. To d sappear. He was a real st c guy.
The whole of h s l fe he had been proud of h s courage and h s
cunn ng, h s toughness and h s fort tude. He had always done
what was necessary, w thout a second thought. But he knew
that when he heard the warn ng sounds from those d stant
tr pw res, he had to get out. Because no man could surv ve
what was com ng after h m. No man. Not even a man as ruthless
as he was.
The danger had ebbed and flowed l ke a t de for years. He had
spent long per ods certa n t was about to wash over h m at any
t me. And then long per ods certa n t would never reach h m at
all. Somet mes the deaden ng sensat on of t me made h m feel
safe, because th rty years s an etern ty. But other t mes t felt
l ke the bl nk of an eye. Somet mes he wa ted for the f rst call on
an hourly bas s. Plann ng, sweat ng, but always know ng he
could be forced to run at any moment.
He had played t through h s head a m ll on t mes. The way he
expected t, the f rst call would come n maybe a month before
the second call. He would use that month to prepare. He would
t e up the loose ends, close th ngs down, cash n, transfer
assets, settle scores. Then, when the second call came n, he
would take off. Immed ately. No hes tat on. Just get the hell out,
and stay the hell out.
But the way t happened, the two calls came n on the same
day. The second call came f rst. The nearer tr pw re was
breached an hour before the farther one. And Hook Hob e d dn't
run. He abandoned th rty years of careful plann ng and stayed
to f ght t out.
ONE
Jack Reacher saw the guy step n through the door. Actually,
there was no door. The guy just stepped n through the part of
the front wall that wasn't there. The bar opened stra ght out on
to the s dewalk. There were tables and cha rs out there under a
dr ed-up old v ne that gave some k nd of nom nal shade. It was
an ns de-outs de room, pass ng through a wall that wasn't
there. Reacher guessed there must be some k nd of an ron
gr lle they could padlock across the open ng when the bar
closed. If t closed. Certa nly Reacher had never seen t closed,
and he was keep ng some pretty rad cal hours.
The guy stood a yard ns de the dark room and wa ted,
bl nk ng, lett ng h s eyes adjust to the gloom after the hot
wh teness of the Key West sun. It was June, dead-on four
o'clock n the afternoon, the southernmost part of the Un ted
States. Way farther south than most of the Bahamas. A hot
wh te sun and a f erce temperature. Reacher sat at h s table n
back and s pped water from a plast c bottle and wa ted.
The guy was look ng around. The bar was a low room bu lt
from old boards dr ed to a dark colour. They looked l ke they
had come from old broken-up
sa l ng sh ps. Random p eces of naut cal junk were na led to
them. There were old brass th ngs and green glass globes.
Stretches of old nets. F sh ng equ pment, Reacher guessed,
although he had never caught a f sh n h s l fe. Or sa led a boat.
Overlay ng everyth ng were ten thousand bus ness cards,
tacked up over every spare square nch, nclud ng the ce l ng.
Some of them were new, some of them were old and curled,
represent ng ventures that had folded decades ago.
The guy stepped farther nto the gloom and headed for the
bar. He was old. Maybe s xty, med um he ght, bulky. A doctor
would have called h m overwe ght, but Reacher just saw a f t
man some way down the wrong s de of the h ll. A man y eld ng
gracefully to the passage of t me w thout gett ng all st rred up
about t. He was dressed l ke a northern c ty guy on a shortnot ce tr p to somewhere hot. L ght grey pants, w de at the top,
narrow at the bottom, a th n crumpled be ge jacket, a wh te sh rt
w th the collar spread w de open, blue-wh te sk n show ng at h s
throat, dark socks, c ty shoes. New York or Ch cago, Reacher
guessed, maybe Boston, spent most of h s summer n a rcond t oned bu ld ngs or cars, had these pants and th s jacket
stashed away n the back of h s closet ever s nce he bought
them twenty years ago, brought them out occas onally and
used them as appropr ate.
The guy reached the bar and went nto h s jacket and pulled a
wallet. It was a small overloaded old tem n f ne black leather.
The sort of wallet that moulds tself t ght around the stuff
crammed ns de. Reacher saw the guy open t w th a pract sed
fl ck and show t to the bartender and ask a qu et quest on. The
bartender glanced away l ke he'd been nsulted. The guy put the
wallet away and smoothed h s w sps of grey ha r nto the sweat
on h s scalp. He muttered someth ng else and the bartender
came up w th a beer from a chest of ce. The old guy held the
cold bottle aga nst h s face for a moment and then took a long
pull. Belched d screetly beh nd h s hand and sm led l ke a small
d sappo ntment had been assuaged.
Reacher matched h s pull w th a long dr nk of water. The
f ttest guy he had ever known was a Belg an sold er who swore
the key to f tness was to do whatever the hell you l ked as long
as you drank f ve l tres of m neral water every day. Reacher
f gured f ve l tres was about a gallon, and s nce the Belg an was
a small wh ppy guy half h s s ze, he should make t two gallons
a day. Ten full-s ze bottles. S nce arr v ng n the heat of the
Keys, he had followed that reg men. It was work ng for h m. He
had never felt better. Every day at four o'clock he sat at th s
dark table and drank three bottles of st ll water, room
temperature. Now he was as add cted to the water as he had
once been to coffee.
The old guy was s de-on to the bar, busy w th h s beer.
Scann ng the room. Reacher was the only person n t apart
from the bartender. The old guy pushed off w th h s h p and
stepped over. Waved h s beer n a vague gesture that sa d may
I? Reacher nodded to the oppos te cha r and broke the plast c
seal on h s th rd bottle. The guy sat heav ly. He overwhelmed
the cha r. He was the sort of guy who keeps keys and money
and handkerch efs n h s pants pockets so that the natural
w dth of h s h ps s way exaggerated.
'Are you Jack Reacher?' he asked across the table.
Not Ch cago or Boston. New York, for sure. The vo ce
sounded exactly l ke a guy Reacher had known, spent the f rst
twenty years of h s l fe never more than a hundred yards from
Fulton Street.
'Jack Reacher?' the old guy asked aga n.
Up close, he had small w se eyes under an overhang ng brow.
Reacher drank and glanced across at h m through the clear
water n h s bottle,
'Are you Jack Reacher?' the guy asked for the th rd t me.
Reacher set h s bottle on the table and shook h s head.
'No,' he l ed.
The old guy's shoulders slumped a fract on n
d sappo ntment. He shot h s cuff and checked h s watch. Moved
h s bulk forward on the cha r l ke he was about to get up, but
then sat back, l ke suddenly there was t me to spare.
'F ve after four,' he sa d.
Reacher nodded. The guy waved h s empty beer bottle at the
bartender who ducked around w th a fresh one.
'Heat,' he sa d. 'Gets to me.'
Reacher nodded aga n and s pped water.
'You know a Jack Reacher around here?' the guy asked.
Reacher shrugged.
'You got a descr pt on?' he asked back.
The guy was nto a long pull on the second bottle. He w ped
h s l ps w th the back of h s hand and used the gesture to h de a
second d screet belch.
'Not really,' he sa d. 'B g guy, s all I know. That's why I asked
you.'
Reacher nodded.
'There are lots of b g guys here,' he sa d. 'Lots of b g guys
everywhere.'
'But you don't know the name?'
'Should I?' Reacher asked. 'And who wants to know?'
The guy gr nned and nodded, l ke an apology for a lapse n
manners.
'Costello,' he sa d. 'Pleased to meet you.'
Reacher nodded back, and ra sed h s bottle a fract on n
response.
'Sk p tracer?' he asked.
'Pr vate detect ve,' Costello sa d.
'Look ng for a guy called Reacher?' Reacher asked. 'What's
he done?'
Costello shrugged. 'Noth ng, far as I know. I just got asked to
f nd h m.'
'And you f gure he's down here?'
'Last week he was,' Costello sa d. 'He's got a bank account n
V rg n a and he's been w r ng money to t.'
'From down here n Key West?'
Costello nodded.
'Every week,' he sa d. 'For three months.'
'So?'
'So he's work ng down here,' Costello sa d. 'Has been, for
three months. You'd th nk somebody would know h m.'
'But nobody does,' Reacher sa d.
Costello shook h s head. 'I asked all up and down Duval,
wh ch seems to be where the act on s n th s town. Nearest I
got was a t tty bar upsta rs someplace, g rl n there sa d there
was a b g guy been here exactly three months, dr nks water
every day at four o'clock n here.'
He lapsed nto s lence, look ng hard at Reacher, l ke he was
ssu ng a d rect challenge. Reacher s pped water and shrugged
back at h m.
'Co nc dence,' he sa d.
Costello nodded.
'I guess,' he sa d qu etly.
He ra sed the beer bottle to h s l ps and drank, keep ng h s
w se old eyes focused t ght on Reacher's face.
'B g trans ent populat on here,' Reacher sa d to h m. 'People
dr ft n and out, all the t me.'
'I guess,' Costello sa d aga n.
'But I'll keep my ears open,' Reacher sa d.
Costello nodded.
'I'd apprec ate t,' he sa d amb guously.
'Who wants h m?' Reacher asked.
'My cl ent,' Costello sa d. 'Lady called Mrs Jacob.'
Reacher s pped water. The name meant noth ng to h m.
Jacob? Never heard of any such person.
'OK, f I see h m around, I'll tell h m, but don't hold your
breath. I don't see too many people.'
'You work ng?'
Reacher nodded.
'I d g sw mm ng pools,' he sa d.
Costello pondered, l ke he knew what sw mm ng pools were,
but l ke he had never cons dered how they got there.
'Backhoe operator?'
Reacher sm led and shook h s head.
'Not down here,' he sa d. 'We d g them by hand.'
'By hand?' Costello repeated. 'What, l ke w th shovels?'
'The lots are too small for mach nery,' Reacher sa d. 'Streets
are too narrow, trees are too low. Get off Duval, and you'll see
for yourself.'
Costello nodded aga n. Suddenly looked very sat sf ed.
'Then you probably won't know th s Reacher guy,' he sa d.
'Accord ng to Mrs Jacob, he was an Army off cer. So I checked,
and she was r ght. He was a
major. Medals and all. M l tary pol ce b gshot, s what they
sa d. Guy l ke that, you won't f nd h m d gg ng sw mm ng pools
w th a damn shovel.'
Reacher took a long pull on h s water, to h de h s express on.
'So what would you f nd h m do ng?'
'Down here?' Costello sa d. 'I'm not sure. Hotel secur ty?
Runn ng some k nd of a bus ness? Maybe he's got a cru ser,
charters t out.'
'Why would he be down here at all?'
Costello nodded, l ke he was agree ng w th an op n on.
'R ght,' he sa d. 'Hell of a place. But he's here, that's for
certa n. He left the Army two years ago, put h s money n the
nearest bank to the Pentagon and d sappeared. Bank account
shows money w r ng out all over the damn place, then for three
months money w r ng back n from here. So he dr fted for a
spell, then he settled down here, mak ng some dough. I'll f nd
h m.'
Reacher nodded.
'You st ll want me to ask around?'
Costello shook h s head. Already plann ng h s next move.
'Don't you worry about t,' he sa d.
He eased h s bulk up out of the cha r and pulled a crumpled
roll from h s pants pocket. Dropped a f ve on the table and
moved away.
'N ce meet ng you,' he called, w thout look ng back.
He walked out through the m ss ng wall nto the glare of the
afternoon. Reacher dra ned the last of h s water and watched
h m go. Ten after four n the afternoon.
An hour later Reacher was dr ft ng down Duval Street,
th nk ng about new bank ng arrangements, choos ng a place to
eat an early d nner, and wonder ng why he had l ed to Costello.
H s f rst conclus on was he would cash up and st ck w th a roll
of b lls n h s pants pocket. H s second conclus on was he
would follow h s Belg an fr end's adv ce and eat a b g steak and
ce cream w th another two bottles of water. H s th rd
conclus on was that he had l ed because there had been no
reason not to.
There was no reason why a pr vate nvest gator from New
York should have been look ng for h m. He had never l ved n
New York. Or any b g northern c ty. He had never really l ved
anywhere. That was the def n ng feature of h s l fe. It made h m
what he was. He had been born the son of a serv ng Mar ne
Corps off cer, and he had been dragged all over the world from
the very day h s mother carr ed h m out of the matern ty ward of
a Berl n nf rmary. He had l ved nowhere except n an endless
blur of d fferent m l tary bases, most of them n d stant and
nhosp table parts of the globe. Then he had jo ned the Army
h mself, m l tary pol ce nvest gator, and l ved and served n
those same bases all over aga n unt l the peace d v dend had
closed h s un t down and cut h m loose. Then he had come
home to the Un ted States and dr fted around l ke a cheap
tour st unt l he had washed up on the extreme t p of the nat on
w th h s sav ngs runn ng out. He had taken a couple of days'
work d gg ng holes n the ground, and the couple of days had
stretched nto a couple of weeks, and the weeks had stretched
nto months, and he was st ll there.
He had no l v ng relat ves anywhere capable of leav ng h m a
fortune n a w ll. He owed no money. He had never stolen
anyth ng, never cheated anybody. Never fathered any ch ldren.
He was on as few p eces of paper as t was poss ble for a
human be ng to be. He was just about nv s ble. And he had
never known anybody called Jacob. He was sure of that. So
whatever Costello wanted, he wasn't nterested n t. Certa nly
not nterested enough to come out from under and get nvolved
w th anyth ng.
Because be ng nv s ble had become a hab t. In the front part
of h s bra n, he knew t was some k nd of a complex, al enated
response to h s s tuat on. Two years ago, everyth ng had turned
ups de down. He had gone from be ng a b g f sh n a small pond
to be ng nobody. From be ng a sen or and valued member of a
h ghly structured commun ty to be ng just one of 270 m ll on
anonymous c v l ans. From be ng necessary and wanted to
be ng one person too many. From be ng where someone told
h m to be every m nute of every day to be ng confronted w th
three m ll on square m les and maybe forty more years and no
map and no schedule. The front part of h s bra n told h m h s
response was understandable, but defens ve, the response of a
man who l ked sol tude but was worr ed by lonel ness. It told
h m t was an extrem st response, and he should take care w th
t.
But the l zard part of h s bra n bur ed beh nd the frontal lobes
told h m he l ked t. He l ked the anonym ty. He l ked h s secrecy.
It felt warm and comfortable and reassur ng. He guarded t. He
was fr endly and gregar ous on the surface, w thout ever say ng
much about h mself. He l ked to pay cash and travel by road. He
was never on any passenger man fests or cred t card carbons.
He told nobody h s name. In Key West, he had checked nto a
cheap motel under
the name Harry S Truman. Scann ng back through the
reg ster, he had seen he wasn't un que. Most of the forty-one
pres dents had stayed there, even the ones nobody had heard
of, l ke John Tyler and Frankl n P erce. He had found names d d
not mean much n the Keys. People just waved and sm led and
sa d hello. They all assumed everybody had someth ng to be
pr vate about. He was comfortable there. Too comfortable to be
n any hurry to leave.
He strolled for an hour n the no sy warmth and then ducked
off Duval towards a h dden courtyard restaurant where they
knew h m by s ght and had h s favour te brand of water and
would g ve h m a steak that hung off both s des of the plate at
once.
The steak came w th an egg and fr es and a compl cated m x
of some sort of warm-weather vegetables, and the ce cream
came w th hot chocolate sauce and nuts. He drank another
quart of water and followed t w th two cups of strong black
coffee. Pushed back from the table and sat there, sat sf ed.
'OK now?' The wa tress sm led.
Reacher gr nned back at her and nodded.
'It h t the spot,' he sa d.
'And t looks good on you.'
'It feels good on me.'
It was true. H s next b rthday was go ng to be h s th rty-n nth,
but he felt better than ever. He had always been f t and strong,
but the last three months had brought h m to a new peak. He
was s x foot f ve, and he had we ghed 220 when he left the
Army. A month after jo n ng the sw mm ng pool gang, the work
and the heat had burned h m down to 210. Then the next two
months, he had bu lt back all the way to about 250, all of t pure
hard muscle. H s workload was prod g ous. He f gured to sh ft
about four tons of earth and rock and sand every day. He had
developed a techn que of d gg ng and scoop ng and tw st ng
and throw ng the d rt w th h s shovel so that every part of h s
body was work ng out all day long. The result was spectacular.
He was burned a deep brown by the sun and he was n the best
shape of h s l fe. L ke a condom crammed w th walnuts, s what
some g rl had sa d. He f gured he needed to eat about ten
thousand calor es a day just to stay level, as well as the two
gallons of water he needed to dr nk.
'So you work ng ton ght?' the wa tress asked.
Reacher laughed. He was earn ng money for do ng a f tness
reg me most people would pay a fortune for at any sh ny c ty
gymnas um, and now he was headed for h s even ng job, wh ch
was someth ng else he got pa d for that most men would gladly
do for free. He was the bouncer n the nude bar Costello had
ment oned. On Duval. He sat n there all n ght w th no sh rt on,
look ng tough, dr nk ng free dr nks and mak ng sure the naked
women d dn't get hassled. Then somebody gave h m f fty bucks
for t.
'It's a chore,' he sa d. 'But somebody's got to do t, I guess.'
The g rl laughed w th h m, and he pa d h s check and headed
back to the street.
F fteen hundred m les to the north, just below Wall Street n
New York C ty, the ch ef execut ve off cer took the elevator
down two floors to the f nance d rector's su te. The two men
went nto the nner off ce together and sat s de by s de beh nd
the desk. It was the k nd of expens ve off ce and expens ve desk
that get spec f ed and pa d for when t mes are good and then s t
there l ke a sullen reproach when t mes turn bad. It was a h ghfloor off ce, dark rosewood all over the place, cream l nen
w ndow bl nds, brass accents, a huge slab of a desk, an Ital an
table l ght, a b g computer that had cost more than t needed to.
The computer was glow ng and wa t ng for a password. The
CEO typed t n and h t enter and the screen redrew nto a
spreadsheet. It was the only spreadsheet that told the truth
about the company. Wh ch was why t was protected by a
password.
'Are we go ng to make t?' the CEO asked.
That day had been D-Day. D stood for downs z ng. The r
human resources manager out at the manufactur ng plant on
Long Island had been busy s nce e ght o'clock that morn ng.
H s secretary had rustled up a long l ne of cha rs n the corr dor
outs de h s off ce, and the cha rs had been f lled w th a long l ne
of people. The people had wa ted most of the day, shuffl ng up
one place every f ve m nutes, then shuffl ng off the end of the
l ne nto the human resources manager's off ce for a f ve-m nute
nterv ew that term nated the r l vel hoods, thank you and
goodbye.
'Are we go ng to make t?' the CEO asked aga n.
The f nance d rector was copy ng large numbers on to a sheet
of paper. He subtracted one from another and looked at a
calendar. He shrugged.
'In theory, yes,' he sa d. 'In pract ce, no.'
'No?' the CEO repeated.
'It's the t me factor,' the f nance d rector sa d. 'We d d the r ght
th ng out at the plant, no doubt about that. E ghty per cent of
the people gone, saves us n nety-one per cent of the payroll,
because we only kept the cheap ones. But we pa d them all up
to the end
of next month. So the cash-flow enhancement doesn't h t us
for s x weeks. And n fact r ght now the cash flow gets much
worse, because the l ttle bastards are all out there cash ng a
s x-week pay check.'
The CEO s ghed and nodded.
'So how much do we need?'
The f nance d rector used the mouse and expanded a w ndow.
'One-po nt-one m ll on dollars,' he sa d. 'For s x weeks.'
'Bank?'
'Forget t,' the f nance d rector sa d. 'I'm over there every day
k ss ng ass just to keep what we already owe them. I ask for
more, they'll laugh n my face.'
'Worse th ngs could happen to you,' the CEO sa d.
'That's not the po nt,' the f nance d rector sa d. 'The po nt s
they get a sn ff we're st ll not healthy, they'll call those loans. In
a heartbeat.'
The CEO drummed h s f ngers on the rosewood and
shrugged.
'I'll sell some stock,' he sa d.
The f nance d rector shook h s head.
'You can't,' he sa d, pat ently. 'You put stock n the market, the
pr ce w ll go through the floor. Our ex st ng borrow ng s
secured on stock, and f t gets any more worthless, they'll
close us down tomorrow.'
'Sh t,' the CEO sa d. 'We're s x weeks away. I'm not go ng to
lose all th s for s x lousy weeks. Not for a lousy m ll on bucks.
It's a tr v al amount.'
'A tr v al amount we haven't got.'
'Got to be somewhere we can get t.'
The f nance d rector made no reply to that. But he was s tt ng
there l ke he had someth ng more to say.
'What?' the CEO asked h m.
'I heard some talk,' he sa d. 'Guys I know, goss p ng. There's
maybe somewhere we can go. For s x weeks, t m ght be worth
t. There's an outf t I heard about. A lender-of-last-resort type of
th ng.'
'On the level?'
'Apparently,' the f nance d rector sa d. 'Looks very
respectable. B g off ce over n the World Trade Center. He
spec al zes n cases l ke th s.'
The CEO glared at the screen.
'Cases l ke what?'
'L ke th s,' the f nance d rector repeated. 'Where you're almost
home and dry, but the banks are too t ght-assed to see t.'
The CEO nodded and gazed around the off ce. It was a
beaut ful place. And h s own off ce was two floors h gher, on a
corner, and even more beaut ful.
'OK,' he sa d. 'Do t.'
'I can't do t,' the f nance d rector sa d. 'Th s guy won't deal
below CEO level. You'll have to do t.'
It started out a qu et n ght n the nude bar. A m dweek even ng
n June, way too late for the snowb rds and the spr ng breakers,
too early for the summer vacat oners who came down to roast.
Not more than maybe forty people n all n ght, two g rls beh nd
the bar, three g rls out there danc ng. Reacher was watch ng a
woman called Crystal. He assumed that was not her real name,
but he had never asked. She was the best. She earned a lot
more than Reacher had ever earned as a major n the m l tary
pol ce. She spent a percentage of her ncome runn ng an old
black Porsche. Reacher somet mes heard t n the early
afternoons, rumbl ng and blatt ng around the blocks where he
was work ng. The bar was a long narrow upsta rs room w th a
runway and a small c rcular stage w th a sh ny chrome pole.
Snak ng around the runway and the stage was a l ne of cha rs.
There were m rrors everywhere, and where there weren't, the
walls were pa nted flat black. The whole place pulsed and
pounded to loud mus c com ng out of half-a-dozen speakers
ser ous enough to drown out the roar of the a r-cond t on ng.
Reacher was at the bar, h s back to t, a th rd of the way nto
the room. Near enough the door to be seen stra ght away, far
enough nto the room that people wouldn't forget he was there.
The woman called Crystal had f n shed her th rd spot and was
haul ng a harmless guy backstage for a twenty-buck pr vate
show when Reacher saw two men emerge at the top of the
sta rs. Strangers from the north. Maybe th rty years old, bulky,
pale. Menac ng. Northern tough guys, n thousand-dollar su ts
and sh ned shoes. Down here n some k nd of a b g hurry, st ll
dressed for the r c ty off ce. They were stand ng at the desk,
argu ng about the three-buck cover charge. The g rl at the desk
glanced anx ously at Reacher. He sl d off h s stool. Walked over.
'Problem, guys?' he asked.
He had used what he called h s college-k d walk. He had
not ced that college boys walk w th a cur ous tensed-up,
l mp ng mot on. Espec ally on the beach, n the r shorts. As f
they were so tremendously muscle-bound they couldn't qu te
make the r l mbs operate n the normal way. He thought t made
130-pound teenagers look pretty com cal. But he had learned t
made a 250-pound s x-foot-f ve guy look pretty scary. The
college-k d walk was a tool of h s new trade. A tool that worked.
Certa nly the two guys n the r thousand-dollar su ts looked
reasonably mpressed by t.
'Problem?' he asked aga n.
That one word was usually enough. Most guys backed off at
that po nt. But these two d dn't. Up close, he felt someth ng
com ng off them. Some k nd of a blend of menace and
conf dence. Some arrogance n there, maybe. A suggest on they
normally got the r own way. But they were far from home. Far
enough south of the r own turf to act a l ttle c rcumspect.
'No problem, Tarzan,' the left-hand guy sa d.
Reacher sm led. He had been called a lot of th ngs, but that
was a new one.
'Three bucks to come n,' he sa d. 'Or t's free to go back
downsta rs.'
'We just want to speak w th somebody,' the r ght-hand guy
sa d.
Accents, from both of them. From somewhere n New York.
Reacher shrugged.
'We don't do too much speak ng n here,' he sa d. 'Mus c's too
loud.'
'What's your name?' the left-hand guy asked.
Reacher sm led aga n.
'Tarzan,' he sa d.
'We're look ng for a guy called Reacher,' the guy sa d back.
'Jack Reacher. You know h m?'
Reacher shook h s head.
'Never heard of h m,' he sa d.
'So we need to talk to the g rls,' the guy sa d. 'We were told
they m ght know h m.'
Reacher shook h s head aga n.
'They don't,' he sa d.
The r ght-hand guy was look ng past Reacher's shoulder nto
the long narrow room. He was glanc ng at the g rls beh nd the
bar. He was f gur ng Reacher for the only secur ty on duty.
'OK, Tarzan, step as de,' he sa d. 'We're com ng n now.'
'Can you read?' Reacher asked h m. 'B g words and all?'
He po nted up at a s gn hang ng above the desk. B g Day-Glo
letters on a black background. It sa d Management Reserves the
R ght to Refuse Adm ss on.
'I'm management,' Reacher sa d. 'I'm refus ng you adm ss on.'
The guy glanced between the s gn and Reacher's face.
'You want a translat on?' Reacher asked h m. 'Words of one
syllable? It means I'm the boss and you can't come n.'
'Save t, Tarzan,' the guy sa d.
Reacher let h m get level, shoulder to shoulder on h s way
past. Then he ra sed h s left hand and caught the guy's elbow.
He stra ghtened the jo nt w th h s palm and dug h s f ngers nto
the soft nerves at the bottom of the guy's tr cep. It's l ke gett ng
a cont nuous pound ng on the funny bone. The guy was
jump ng around l ke he was gett ng flooded w th electr c ty.
'Downsta rs,' Reacher sa d softly.
The other guy was busy calculat ng the odds. Reacher saw
h m do ng t and f gured full and fa r d sclosure was called for.
He held h s r ght hand up, eye level, to conf rm t was free and
ready for act v ty. It was a huge hand, brown, callused from the
shovel handle, and the guy got the message. He shrugged and
started down the sta rs. Reacher stra ght-armed h s pal after
h m. 'We'll see you aga n,' the guy sa d.
'Br ng all your fr ends,' Reacher called down. 'Three bucks
each to get n.'
He started back nto the room. The dancer called Crystal was
stand ng r ght there beh nd h m.
'What d d they want?' she asked.
He shrugged.
'Look ng for somebody.'
'Somebody called Reacher?'
He nodded.
'Second t me today,' she sa d. 'There was an old guy n here
before. He pa d the three bucks. You want to go after them?
Check them out?'
He hes tated. She swept h s sh rt off the barstool and handed
t to h m.
'Go for t,' she sa d. 'We're OK n here for a spell. Qu et n ght.'
He took the sh rt. Pulled the sleeves r ght s de out.
'Thanks, Crystal,' he sa d.
He put the sh rt on and buttoned t. Headed for the sta rs.
'You're welcome, Reacher,' she called after h m.
He spun around, but she was already walk ng back towards
the stage. He looked blankly at the desk g rl and headed down
to the street.
Key West at eleven n the even ng s about as l vely as t gets.
Some people are halfway through the r n ght, others are just
start ng out. Duval s the ma n street, runn ng the length of the
sland east to west, bathed n l ght and no se. Reacher wasn't
worr ed about the guys wa t ng for h m on Duval. Too crowded.
If they had revenge on the r m nds, they'd p ck a qu eter
locat on. Of wh ch there was a fa r cho ce. Off Duval, espec ally
to the north, t gets qu et qu ckly. The town s m n ature. The
blocks are t ny. A short stroll takes you twenty blocks up nto
what Reacher thought of as the suburbs, where he dug pools
nto the t ny yards beh nd the small houses. The street l ght ng
gets haphazard and the bar no se fades nto the heavy buzz of
n ght-t me nsects. The smell of beer and smoke s replaced by
the heavy st nk of trop cal plants bloom ng and rott ng n the
gardens.
He walked a sort of sp ral through the darkness. Turn ng
random corners and quarter ng the qu et areas. Nobody around.
He walked n the m ddle of the road. Anybody h d ng n a
doorway, he wanted to g ve them ten or f fteen feet of open
space to cover. He wasn't worr ed about gett ng shot at. The
guys had no guns. The r su ts proved t. Too t ght to conceal
weapons. And the su ts meant they'd come south n a hurry.
Flown down. No easy way to get on a plane w th a gun n your
pocket.
He gave t up after a m le or so. A t ny town, but st ll b g
enough for a couple of guys to lose themselves n. He turned
left along the edge of the graveyard and headed back towards
the no se. There was a guy on the s dewalk aga nst the cha nl nk fence. Sprawled out and nert. Not an unusual s ght n Key
West, but there was someth ng wrong. And someth ng fam l ar.
The wrong th ng was the guy's arm. It was trapped under h s
body. The shoulder nerves would be shr ek ng hard enough to
cut through however drunk or stoned the guy was. The fam l ar
th ng was the pale gleam of an old be ge jacket. The top half of
the guy was l ght, the bottom half was dark. Be ge jacket, grey
pants. Reacher paused and glanced around. Stepped near.
Crouched down.
It was Costello. H s face was pounded to pulp.
Masked n blood. There were crusty brown r vulets all over
the tr angle of blue-wh te c ty sk n show ng through at the neck
of h s sh rt. Reacher felt for the pulse beh nd the ear. Noth ng.
He touched the sk n w th the back of h s hand. Cool. No r gor,
but then t was a hot n ght. The guy was dead maybe an hour.
He checked ns de the jacket. The overloaded wallet was
gone. Then he saw the hands. The f ngert ps had been sl ced
off. All ten of them. Qu ck eff c ent angled cuts, w th someth ng
neat and sharp. Not a scalpel. A broader blade. Maybe a
l noleum kn fe.
TWO
'It's my fault,' Reacher sa d.
Crystal shook her head.
'You d dn't k ll the guy,' she sa d.
Then she looked up at h m sharply. 'D d you?'
'I got h m k lled,' Reacher sa d. 'Is there a d fference?'
The bar had closed at one o'clock and they were s de by s de
on two cha rs next to the empty stage. The l ghts were off and
there was no mus c. No sound at all, except the hum of the a rcond t on ng runn ng at quarter speed, suck ng the stale smoke
and sweat out nto the st ll n ght a r of the Keys.
'I should have told h m,' Reacher sa d. 'I should have just told
h m, sure, I'm Jack Reacher. Then he'd have told me whatever
he had to tell me, and he'd be back home by now, and I could
have just gnored t all anyway. I'd be no worse off, and he'd st ll
be al ve.'
Crystal was dressed n a wh te T-sh rt. Noth ng else. It was a
long T-sh rt, but not qu te long enough. Reacher was not
look ng at her.
'Why do you care?' she asked.
It was a Keys quest on. Not callous, just myst f ed at h s
concern about a stranger down from another country. He
looked at her.
'I feel respons ble,' he sa d.
'No, you feel gu lty,' she sa d.
He nodded.
'Well, you shouldn't,' she sa d. 'You d dn't k ll h m.'
'Is there a d fference?' he asked aga n.
'Of course there s,' she sa d. 'Who was he?'
'A pr vate detect ve,' he sa d. 'Look ng for me.'
'Why?'
He shook h s head.
'No dea,' he sa d.
'Were those other guys w th h m?'
He shook h s head aga n.
'No,' he sa d. 'Those other guys k lled h m.'
She looked at h m, startled. 'They d d?'
'That's my guess,' he sa d. 'They weren't w th h m, that's for
sure. They were younger and r cher than he was. Dressed l ke
that? Those su ts? D dn't look l ke h s subord nates. Anyway, he
struck me as a loner. So the two of them were work ng for
somebody else. Probably told to follow h m down here, f nd out
what the hell he was do ng. He must have stepped on some
toes up north, g ven somebody a problem. So he was ta led
down here. They caught up w th h m, beat out of h m who he
was look ng for. So then they came look ng, too.'
'They k lled h m to get your name?'
'Looks that way,' he sa d.
'Are you go ng to tell the cops?'
Another Keys quest on. Involv ng the cops w th anyth ng was
a matter for long and ser ous debate. He shook h s head for the
th rd t me.
'No,' he sa d.
'They'll trace h m, then they'll be look ng for you, too.'
'Not r ght away,' he sa d. 'There's no ID on the body. And no
f ngerpr nts, e ther. Could be weeks before they even f nd out
who he was.'
'So what are you go ng to do?'
'I'm go ng to f nd Mrs Jacob,' he sa d. 'The cl ent. She's
look ng for me.'
'You know her?'
'No, but I want to f nd her.'
'Why?'
He shrugged.
'I need to know what's go ng on,' he sa d.
'Why?' she asked aga n.
He stood up and looked at her n a m rror on the wall. He was
suddenly very restless. Suddenly more than ready to get r ght
back to real ty.
'You know why,' he sa d to her. "The guy was k lled because
of someth ng to do w th me, so that makes me nvolved, OK?'
She stretched a long bare leg on to the cha r he had just
vacated. Pondered h s feel ng of nvolvement l ke t was some
k nd of an obscure hobby. Leg t mate, but strange, l ke folk
danc ng.
'OK, so how?' she asked.
'I'll go to h s off ce,' he sa d. 'Maybe he had a secretary. At
least there'll be records there. Phone numbers, addresses,
cl ent agreements. Th s Mrs Jacob was probably h s latest case.
She'll probably be top of the p le.'
'So where's h s off ce?'
'I don't know,' he sa d. 'New York somewhere, accord ng to
the way he sounded. I know h s name, I know he was an ex-cop.
An ex-cop called Costello, about s xty years old. Can't be too
hard to f nd.' 'He was an ex-cop?' she asked. 'Why?'
'Most pr vate d cks are, r ght?' he sa d. 'They ret re early and
poor, they hang out a sh ngle, they set up as one-man bands,
d vorce and m ss ng persons. And that th ng about my bank?
He knew all the deta ls. No way to do that, except through a
favour from an old buddy st ll n the job.'
She sm led, sl ghtly nterested. Stepped over and jo ned h m
near the bar. Stood next to h m, close, her h p aga nst h s th gh.
'How do you know all th s compl cated stuff?'
He l stened to the rush of the a r through the extractors.
'I was an nvest gator myself,' he sa d. 'M l tary pol ce.
Th rteen years. I was pretty good at t. I'm not just a pretty face.'
'You're not even a pretty face,' she sa d back. 'Don't flatter
yourself. When do you start?'
He looked around n the darkness.
'R ght now, I guess. Certa n to be an early fl ght out of M am .'
She sm led aga n. Th s t me, war ly.
'And how are you go ng to get to M am ?' she asked. 'Th s
t me of n ght?'
He sm led back at her. Conf dently.
'You're go ng to dr ve me,' he sa d.
'Do I have t me to get dressed?'
'Just shoes,' he sa d.
He walked her around to the garage where her old Porsche
was h dden. He rolled the door open and she sl d nto the car
and f red t up. She drove h m the half-m le north to h s motel,
tak ng t slowly, wa t ng unt l the o l warmed through. The b g
tyres banged on broken pavement and thumped nto potholes.
She eased to a stop oppos te h s neon lobby and wa ted, the
motor runn ng fast aga nst the choke. He opened h s door, and
then he closed t aga n, gently.
'Let's just go,' he sa d. 'Noth ng n there I want to take w th
me.'
She nodded n the glow from the dash.
'OK, buckle up,' she sa d.
She sn cked t nto f rst and took off through the town.
Cru sed up North Roosevelt Dr ve. Checked the gauges and
hung a left on to the causeway. Sw tched on the radar
detectors. Mashed the pedal nto the carpet and the rear end
dug n hard. Reacher was pressed backward nto the leather l ke
he was leav ng Key West on board a f ghter plane.
She kept the Porsche above three f gures all the way north to
Key Largo. Reacher was enjoy ng the r de. She was a great
dr ver. Smooth, econom cal n her movements, fl ck ng up and
down the box, keep ng the motor wa l ng, keep ng the t ny car n
the centre of her lane, us ng the corner ng forces to catapult
herself out nto the stra ghtaways. She was sm l ng, her
flawless face llum nated by the red d als. Not an easy car to
dr ve fast. The heavy motor s slung out way beh nd the rear
axle, ready to sw ng l ke a v c ous pendulum, ready to trap the
dr ver who gets t wrong for longer than a spl t second. But she
was gett ng t r ght. M le for m le, she was cover ng the ground
as fast as a l ght plane.
Then the radar detectors started scream ng and the l ghts of
Key Largo appeared a m le ahead. She braked hard and
rumbled through the town, and floored t aga n and blasted
north towards the dark hor zon. A t ght curv ng left, over the
br dge, on to the ma nland of Amer ca, and north towards the
town called Homestead on a flat stra ght road cut through
the swamp. Then a t ght r ght on to the h ghway, h gh speed
all the way, radar detectors on max mum, and they were at
M am departures just before f ve o'clock n the morn ng. She
eased to a stop n the drop off lane and wa ted, motor runn ng.
'Well, thanks for the r de,' Reacher sa d to her.
She sm led.
'Pleasure,' she sa d. 'Bel eve me.'
He opened the door and sat there, star ng forward.
'OK,' he sa d. 'See you later, I guess.'
She shook her head.
'No you won't,' she sa d. 'Guys l ke you never come back. You
leave, and you don't come back.'
He sat n the warmth of her car. The motor popped and
burbled. The mufflers t cked as they cooled. She leaned
towards h m. D pped the clutch and shoved the gearsh ft nto
f rst so that she had room to get close. Threaded an arm beh nd
h s head and k ssed h m hard on the l ps.
'Goodbye, Reacher,' she sa d. 'I'm glad I got to know your
name, at least.'
He k ssed her back, hard and long.
'So what's your name?' he asked.
'Crystal,' she sa d, and laughed.
He laughed w th her and l fted h mself up and out of the car.
She leaned across and pulled the door beh nd h m. Gunned the
motor and drove away. He stood by h mself on the kerb and
watched her go. She turned n front of a hotel bus and was lost
to s ght. Three months of h s l fe d sappeared w th her l ke the
haze of her exhaust.
F ve o'clock n the morn ng, f fty m les north of New York C ty,
the CEO was ly ng n bed, w de awake,
star ng at the ce l ng. It had just been pa nted. The whole
house had just been pa nted. He had pa d the decorators more
than most of h s employees earned n a year. Actually, he hadn't
pa d them. He had fudged the r nvo ce through h s off ce and
h s company had pa d them. The expense was h dden
somewhere n the secret spreadsheet, part of a seven-f gure
total for bu ld ngs ma ntenance. A seven-f gure total on the
deb t s de of the accounts, pull ng h s bus ness down l ke heavy
cargo s nks a l st ng sh p. L ke a straw breaks a camel's back.
H s name was Chester Stone. H s father's name had been
Chester Stone, and h s grandfather's. H s grandfather had
establ shed the bus ness, back when a spreadsheet was called
a ledger and wr tten by hand w th a pen. H s grandfather's
ledger had been heavy on the cred t s de. He had been a clock
maker who spotted the com ng appeal of the c nema very early.
He had used h s expert se w th gearwheels and ntr cate l ttle
mechan sms to bu ld a projector. He had taken on board a
partner who could get b g lenses ground n Germany. Together
they had dom nated the market and made a fortune. The partner
had d ed young w th no he rs. C nema had boomed from coast
to coast. Hundreds of mov e theatres. Hundreds of projectors.
Then thousands. Then tens of thousands. Then sound. Then
C nemaScope. B g, b g entr es on the cred t s de of the ledger.
Then telev s on. Mov e houses clos ng down, and the ones
that stayed open hang ng on to the r old equ pment unt l t fell
apart. H s father, Chester Stone II, tak ng control. D vers fy ng.
Look ng at the appeal of home mov es. E ght-m ll metre
projectors. Clockwork cameras. The v v d era of Kodachrome.
Zapruder. The new manufactur ng plant. B g prof ts t ck ng up
on the slow w de tape of an early IBM ma nframe.
Then the mov es com ng back. H s father dy ng, the young
Chester Stone III at the helm, mult plexes everywhere. Four
projectors, s x, twelve, s xteen, where there had been just one
before. Then stereo. F ve-channel, Dolby, Dolby D g tal. Wealth
and success. Marr age. The move to the mans on. The cars.
Then v deo. E ght-m ll metre home mov es deader than the
deadest th ng that ever d ed. Then compet t on. Cutthroat
b dd ng from new outf ts n Germany and Japan and Korea and
Ta wan, tak ng the mult plex bus ness out from underneath h m.
The desperate search for anyth ng to make out of small p eces
of sheet metal and prec s on-cut gears. Anyth ng at all. The
ghastly real zat on that mechan cal th ngs were yesterday's
th ngs. The explos on of sol d-state m croch ps, RAM, games
consoles. Huge prof ts be ng made from th ngs he had no dea
how to manufacture. B g def c ts p l ng up ns de the s lent
software on h s desktop mach ne.
H s w fe st rred at h s s de. She bl nked open her eyes and
turned her head left and r ght, f rst to check the clock and then
to look at her husband. She saw h s stare, f xed on the ce l ng.
'Not sleep ng?' she asked qu etly.
He made no reply. She looked away. Her name was Mar lyn.
Mar lyn Stone. She had been marr ed to Chester for a long t me.
Long enough to know. She knew t all. She had no real deta ls,
no real proof, no nclus on, but she knew t all anyway. How
could she not know? She had eyes and a bra n. It was a long
t me s nce she had seen her husband's products proudly
d splayed n any store. It was a long t me s nce any mult plex
owner had d ned them n celebrat on of a b g new order. And t
was a long t me s nce Chester had slept a whole n ght through.
So she knew.
But she d dn't care. For r cher, for poorer was what she had
sa d, and t was what she had meant. R ch had been good, but
poor could be good, too. Not that they would ever be poor, l ke
some people are poor. Sell the damn house, l qu date the whole
sorry mess, and they would st ll be way more comfortable than
she had ever expected to be. They were st ll young. Well, not
young, but not old, e ther. Healthy. They had nterests. They had
each other. Chester was worth hav ng. Grey, but st ll tr m and
f rm and v gorous. She loved h m. He loved her. And she was
st ll worth hav ng, she knew that. Forty-someth ng, but twentyn ne n her head. St ll sl m, st ll blonde, st ll exc t ng.
Adventurous. St ll worth hav ng, n any old sense of the phrase.
It was all go ng to be OK. Mar lyn Stone breathed deeply and
rolled over. Pressed herself nto the mattress. Fell back to
sleep, f ve th rty n the morn ng, wh le her husband lay qu etly
bes de her and stared at the ce l ng.
Reacher stood ns de the departures term nal, breath ng the
canned a r, h s tan turn ng yellow n the fluorescence, l sten ng
to a dozen conversat ons n Span sh, check ng a telev s on
mon tor. New York was at the top of the l st, as he had thought t
would be. F rst fl ght of the day was Delta to LaGuard a, v a
Atlanta, n half an hour. Second was Mex cana head ng south,
th rd was Un ted, also to LaGuard a, but d rect, leav ng n an
hour. He headed to the Un ted t cket desk. Asked about the
pr ce of a one-way t cket. Nodded and walked away.
He walked to the bathroom, and stood n front of the m rror.
Pulled h s cash roll from h s pocket and assembled the pr ce he
had just been quoted from the smallest b lls he had. Then he
buttoned h s sh rt all the way up and smoothed h s ha r down
w th h s palm. Walked back out and over to the Delta counter.
The t cket pr ce was the same as Un ted's. He knew t would
be. It always s, somehow. He counted the money out, ones and
tens and f ves, and the counter g rl took t all and stra ghtened
the b lls and shuffled them nto denom nat ons.
'Your name, s r?' she asked.
'Truman,' Reacher sa d. 'L ke the pres dent.'
The g rl looked blank. She was probably born overseas
dur ng N xon's f nal days. Maybe dur ng Carter's f rst year.
Reacher d dn't care. He had been born overseas at the start of
Kennedy's term. He wasn't about to say anyth ng. Truman was
anc ent h story to h m, too. The g rl typed the name nto her
console and the t cket pr nted out. She put t n a folder w th a
red-and-blue world on t, then she tore t stra ght back out.
'I can check you n r ght now,' she sa d.
Reacher nodded. The problem w th pay ng cash for an a rl ne
t cket, espec ally at M am Internat onal, s the war on drugs. If
he had swaggered up to the desk and pulled h s roll of
hundreds, the g rl would have been obl ged to tread on a small
secret button on the floor under her counter. Then she would
have f ddled w th her keyboard unt l the pol ce came n, left and
r ght. The pol ce would have seen a b g rough guy w th a tan
and a b g wad of cash and f gured h m for a cour er, stra ght off
the bat. The r strategy s to chase the drugs, for sure, but to
chase the money, too. They won't let you put t n the bank, they
won't let you spend t w thout gett ng all concerned about t.
They assume normal c t zens use plast c cards for b g
purchases. Espec ally for travel. Espec ally at the a rport desk
twenty m nutes before takeoff. And that assumpt on would lead
to delay and hassle and paperwork, wh ch were three th ngs
Reacher was always keen to avo d. So he had evolved a careful
act. He made h mself look l ke a guy who couldn't even get a
cred t card f he wanted one, l ke a down-on-h s-luck nsolvent
roughneck. Button ng the sh rt and carefully f nger ng the small
b lls were what d d t. It gave h m a shy, embarrassed look. It put
the counter clerks on h s s de. They were all underpa d and
struggl ng w th the r own maxed-out plast c. So they looked up
and saw a guy just a l ttle farther down the road than they were,
and sympathy was the r nst nct ve react on, not susp c on.
'Gate B S x, s r,' the g rl sa d. 'I've g ven you a w ndow.'
'Thanks,' Reacher sa d.
He walked to the gate and f fteen m nutes later was
accelerat ng down the runway w th pretty much the same
feel ng as be ng back n Crystal's Porsche, except he had a lot
less leg room and the seat next to h m was empty.
Chester Stone gave t up at s x o'clock. He shut off the alarm
half an hour before t was due to sound and sl d out of bed,
qu etly, so as not to wake Mar lyn. He took h s robe from the
hook and padded out of the bedroom and downsta rs to the
k tchen. H s stomach was too ac d to contemplate breakfast, so
he made do w th coffee and headed for the shower n the guest
su te where t d dn't matter f he made a no se. He wanted to let
Mar lyn sleep, and he d dn't want her to know that he couldn't.
Every n ght she woke and made some comment about h m ly ng
there, but she never followed up on t, so he f gured she d dn't
remember t by the morn ng, or else she put t down to some
k nd of a dream. He was pretty sure she d dn't know anyth ng.
And he was happy to keep t that way, because t was bad
enough deal ng w th the problems, w thout worry ng about her
worry ng about them as well.
He shaved and spent h s shower t me th nk ng about what to
wear and how to act. Truth was he would be approach ng th s
guy pract cally on h s knees. A lender of last resort. H s last
hope, h s last chance. Somebody who held the whole of h s
future n the palm of h s hand. So how to approach such a guy?
Not on h s knees. That was not how the game of bus ness s
played. If you look l ke you really need a loan, you don't get t.
You only get t f you look l ke you don't really need t. L ke t's a
matter of very l ttle consequence to you. L ke t's a f fty-f fty
dec s on whether you even allow the guy to cl mb on board w th
you and share a l ttle wedge of the b g exc t ng prof ts just
around the next corner. L ke your b ggest problem s dec d ng
exactly whose loan offer you're even go ng to cons der.
A wh te sh rt, for sure, and a qu et t e. But wh ch su t? The
Ital ans were maybe too flashy. Not the Arman . He had to look
l ke a ser ous man. R ch enough to buy a dozen Arman s, for
sure, but somehow too ser ous to cons der do ng that. Too
ser ous and too preoccup ed w th we ghty affa rs to spend t me
shopp ng on Mad son Avenue. He dec ded her tage was the
feature to promote. An unbroken three-generat on her tage of
bus ness success, maybe reflected n a dynast c approach to
dress ng. L ke h s grandfather had taken h s father to h s ta lor
and ntroduced h m, then h s father had taken h m n turn. Then
he thought about h s Brooks Brothers su t. Old, but n ce, a qu et
check, vented, sl ghtly warm for June. Would Brooks Brothers
be a clever double bluff? L ke say ng, I'm so r ch and successful
t really doesn't matter to me what I wear? Or would he look l ke
a loser?
He pulled t off the rack and held t aga nst h s body. Class c,
but dowdy. He looked l ke a loser. He put t back. Tr ed the grey
Sav le Row from London. Perfect. It made h m look l ke a
gentleman of substance. W se, tasteful, nf n tely trustworthy.
He selected a t e w th just a h nt of pattern and a pa r of sol d
black shoes. Put t all on and tw sted left and r ght n front of the
m rror. Couldn't be better. Look ng l ke that, he m ght almost
trust h mself. He f n shed h s coffee, dabbed h s l ps, and
sl pped through to the garage. F red up the Benz and was on an
uncongested Merr tt Parkway by s x forty-f ve.
Reacher spent f fty m nutes on the ground n Atlanta, then
took off aga n and swung east and north towards New York. The
sun was up out over the Atlant c and was com ng n through the
r ght-hand w ndows w th the freez ng br ghtness of h gh-alt tude
dawn. He was dr nk ng coffee. The stewardess had offered h m
water, but he'd taken the coffee nstead. It was th ck and strong,
and he was dr nk ng t black. He was us ng t to fuel h s bra n.
Try ng to f gure out who the hell Mrs Jacob could be. And why
she had pa d Costello to scour the country for h m.
They stacked up over LaGuard a. Reacher loved that. Low
lazy c rcles over Manhattan n the br ght morn ng sun. L ke a
m ll on mov es, w thout the soundtrack. The plane rock ng and
t lt ng. The tall bu ld ngs sl d ng by under them, t nted gold by
the sun. The Tw n Towers. The Emp re State Bu ld ng. The
Chrysler, h s favour te. C t corp. Then they were loop ng around
and d v ng for the north shore of Queens, and land ng. The
bu ld ngs of M dtown across the r ver raked past the t ny
w ndows as they turned to tax n to the term nal.
H s appo ntment was for n ne o'clock. He hated that. Not
because of the t me. N ne o'clock was halfway through the
morn ng for most of the Manhattan bus ness commun ty. The
hour was not upsett ng h m. It was the fact that he had an
appo ntment at all. It was a very long t me ndeed s nce Chester
Stone had made an appo ntment to see anybody. In fact he
couldn't accurately recall ever mak ng an appo ntment to see
anybody. Maybe h s grandfather had, n the very early days.
S nce then t had always worked the other way around. All three
Chester Stones, be t f rst, second or th rd, had secretar es who
grac ously tr ed to f t suppl cants nto a busy schedule. Many
t mes people had wa ted days for a prov s onal w ndow, and
then hours n an anteroom. But now t was d fferent. And t was
burn ng h m up.
He was early, because he was anx ous. He had spent forty
m nutes n h s off ce rev ew ng h s opt ons. He had none.
Wh chever way he cut t, he was one-po nt-one m ll on dollars
and s x weeks short of success. And that was chok ng h m, too.
Because t wasn't a spectacular crash and burn. Not a total
d saster. It was a measured and real st c response to the market
that was almost all the way there, but not qu te. L ke a hero c
dr ve off the tee that lands an nch short of the green. Very, very
close, but not close enough.
N ne o'clock n the morn ng, the World Trade Center on ts
own s the s xth largest c ty n New York State. B gger than
Albany. Only s xteen acres of land, but a dayt me populat on of
130,000 people. Chester Stone felt l ke most of them were
sw rl ng around h m as he stood n the plaza. H s grandfather
would have been stand ng n the Hudson R ver. Chester h mself
had watched from h s own off ce w ndow as the landf ll nched
out nto the water and the g ant towers had r sen from the dry
r verbed. He checked h s watch and went ns de. Took an
elevator to the e ghty-e ghth floor and stepped out nto a qu et
deserted corr dor. The ce l ng was low and the space was
narrow. There were locked doors lead ng nto off ces. They had
small rectangular w red-glass portholes set off-centre. He found
the r ght door and glanced through the glass and pressed the
buzzer. The lock cl cked back and he went ns de to a recept on
area. It looked l ke a normal off ce su te. Surpr s ngly ord nary.
There was a brass-and-oak counter, an attempt at opulence, and
a male recept on st s tt ng beh nd t. He paused and
stra ghtened h s back and stepped over towards h m.
'Chester Stone,' he sa d f rmly. 'I've got a n ne o'clock w th Mr
Hob e.'
The male recept on st was the f rst surpr se. He had expected
a woman. The second surpr se was that he was shown stra ght
n. He was not kept wa t ng. He had expected to s t for a spell,
out there n recept on n an uncomfortable cha r. That's how he
would have done t. If some desperate person was com ng to
h m for a last-d tch loan, he'd have let h m sweat for twenty
m nutes. Surely that was an elementary psycholog cal move?
The nner off ce was very large. Walls had been removed. It
was dark. One wall was all w ndows, but they were covered w th
vert cal bl nds, open no more than narrow sl ts. There was a b g
desk. Fac ng t were three sofas complet ng a square. There
were lamp tables at each end of each sofa. A huge square
coffee table n the m ddle, brass and glass, stand ng on a rug.
The whole th ng looked l ke a l v ng-room d splay n a store
w ndow.
There was a man beh nd the desk. Stone started the long walk
n towards h m. He dodged between the sofas and crabbed
around the coffee table. Approached the desk. Stuck out h s
r ght hand.
'Mr Hob e?' he sa d. 'I'm Chester Stone.'
The man beh nd the desk was burned. He had scar t ssue all
"the way down one s de of h s face. It was scaly, l ke a rept le's
sk n. Stone stared away from t n horror, but he was st ll see ng
t n the corner of h s eye. It was textured l ke an overcooked
ch cken's foot, but t was unnaturally p nk. There was no ha r
grow ng where t ran up over the scalp. Then there were crude
tufts, shad ng nto proper ha r on the other s de. The ha r was
grey. The scars were hard and lumpy, but the sk n on the
unburned s de was soft and l ned. The guy was maybe f fty or
f fty-f ve. He was s tt ng there, h s cha r pushed n close to the
desk, h s hands down n h s lap. Stone was stand ng, forc ng
h mself not to look away, h s r ght hand stuck out over the desk.
It was a very awkward moment. There s noth ng more
awkward than stand ng there ready to shake hands wh le the
gesture s gnored. Fool sh to keep stand ng there l ke that, but
somehow worse to pull your hand back. So he kept t extended,
wa t ng. Then the man moved. He used h s left hand to push
back from the desk. Brought h s r ght hand up to meet Stone's.
But t wasn't a hand. It was a gl tter ng metal hook. It started
way up under h s cuff. Not an art f c al hand, not a clever
prosthet c dev ce, just a s mple hook, the shape of a cap tal
letter J, forged from sh ny sta nless steel and pol shed l ke a
sculpture. Stone nearly went to grasp t anyway, but then he
pulled back and froze. The man sm led a br ef generous sm le
w th the mob le half of h s face. L ke t meant noth ng to h m at
all.
'They call me Hook Hob e,' he sa d.
He sat there w th h s face r g d and the hook held up l ke an
object for exam nat on. Stone swallowed and tr ed to recover
h s composure. Wondered f he should offer h s left hand
nstead. He knew some people d d that. H s great-uncle had had
a stroke. The last ten years of h s l fe, he always shook lefthanded.
'Take a seat,' Hook Hob e sa d.
Stone nodded gratefully and backed away. Sat on the end of
the sofa. It put h m s deways on, but he was happy just to be
do ng someth ng. Hob e looked at h m and la d h s arm on the
desktop. The hook h t the wood w th a qu et metall c sound.
'You want to borrow money,' he sa d.
The burned s de of h s face d d not move at all. It was th ck
and hard l ke a crocod le's back. Stone felt h s stomach go ng
ac d and he looked stra ght down at the coffee table. Then he
nodded and ran h s palms over the knees of h s trousers.
Nodded aga n, and tr ed to remember h s scr pt.
'I need to br dge a gap,' he sa d. 'S x weeks, one-po nt-one
m ll on.'
'Bank?' Hob e asked.
Stone stared at the floor. The tabletop was glass, and there
was a patterned rug under t. He shrugged w sely, as f he was
nclud ng a hundred f ne po nts of arcane bus ness strategy n a
s ngle gesture, commun cat ng w th a man he wouldn't dream of
nsult ng by suggest ng he was n any way gnorant of any of
them.
'I prefer not to,' he sa d. 'We have an ex st ng loan package, of
course, but I beat them down to a hell of a favourable rate
based on the prem se that t was all f xed-amount, f xed-term
stuff, w th no roll ng component. You'll apprec ate that I don't
want to upset those arrangements for such a tr v al amount.'
Hob e moved h s r ght arm. The hook dragged over the wood.
'Bullsh t, Mr Stone,' he sa d qu etly.
Stone made no reply. He was l sten ng to the hook.
'Were you n the serv ce?' Hob e asked h m.
'Excuse me?'
'Were you drafted? V etnam?'
Stone swallowed. The burns, and the hook.
'I m ssed out,' he sa d. 'Deferred, for college. I was very keen
to go, of course, but the war was over by the t me I graduated.'
Hob e nodded, slowly.
'I went,' he sa d. 'And one of the th ngs I learned over there
was the value of ntell gence gather ng. It's a lesson I apply n
my bus ness.'
There was s lence n the dark off ce. Stone nodded. Moved h s
head and stared at the edge of the desk. Changed the scr pt.
'OK,' he sa d. 'Can't blame me for try ng to put a brave face on
t, r ght?'
'You're n relat vely deep sh t,' Hob e sa d. 'You're actually
pay ng your bank top po nts, and they'll say no to any further
funds. But you're do ng a reasonably good job of d gg ng
yourself out from under. You're nearly out of the woods.'
'Nearly,' Stone agreed. 'S x weeks and one-po nt-one m ll on
away, s all.'
'I spec al ze,' Hob e sa d. 'Everybody spec al zes. My arena s
cases exactly l ke yours. Fundamentally sound enterpr ses, w th
temporary and l m ted exposure problems. Problems that can't
be solved by the banks, because they spec al ze too, n other
arenas, such as be ng dumb and un mag nat ve as sh t.'
He moved the hook aga n, scrap ng t across the oak.
'My charges are reasonable,' he sa d. 'I'm not a loan shark.
We're not talk ng about hundreds of per cent nterest here. I
could see my way to advanc ng you one-po nt-one, say s x per
cent to cover the s x weeks.'
Stone ran h s palms over h s th ghs aga n. S x per cent for s x
weeks? Equ valent to an annual rate of what? Nearly 52 per
cent. Borrow one-po nt-one m ll on now, pay t all back plus
s xty-s x thousand dollars n nterest s x weeks from now.
Eleven thousand dollars a week. Not qu te a loan shark's terms.
Not too far away, e ther. But at least the guy was say ng yes.
'What about secur ty?' Stone asked.
'I'll take an equ ty pos t on,' Hob e sa d.
Stone forced h mself to ra se h s head and look at h m. He
f gured th s was some k nd of a test. He swallowed hard.
F gured he was so close, honesty was the best pol cy.
'The stock's worth noth ng,' he sa d qu etly.
Hob e nodded h s terr ble head, l ke he was pleased w th the
reply.
'R ght now t sn't,' he sa d. 'But t w ll be worth someth ng
soon, r ght?'
'Only after your exposure s term nated,' Stone sa d. 'Catch22, r ght? The stock only goes back up after I repay you. When
I'm out of the woods.'
'So I'll benef t then,' Hob e sa d. 'I'm not talk ng about a
temporary transfer. I'm go ng to take an equ ty pos t on, and I'm
go ng to keep t.'
'Keep t?' Stone sa d. He couldn't keep the surpr se out of h s
vo ce. F fty-two per cent nterest and a g ft of stock?
'I always do,' Hob e sa d. 'It's a sent mental th ng. I l ke to
have a l ttle part of all the bus nesses I help. Most people are
glad to make the arrangement.'
Stone swallowed. Looked away. Exam ned h s opt ons.
Shrugged.
'Sure,' he sa d. 'I guess that's OK.'
Hob e reached to h s left and rolled open a drawer. Pulled out
a pr nted form. Sl d t across to the front of the desk.
'I prepared th s,' he sa d.
Stone crouched forward off the sofa and p cked t up. It was a
loan agreement, one-po nt-one m ll on, s x weeks, 6 per cent,
and a standard stock-transfer protocol. For a chunk that was
worth a m ll on dollars not long ago, and m ght be aga n, very
soon. He bl nked.
'Can't do t any other way,' Hob e sa d. 'L ke I told you, I
spec al ze. I know th s corner of the market. You won't get better
anyplace else. Fact s, you won't get a damn th ng anyplace
else.'
Hob e was s x feet away beh nd the desk, but Stone felt he
was r ght next to h m on the sofa w th h s awful face jammed n
h s and the gl tter ng hook r pp ng through h s guts. He nodded,
just a fa nt s lent movement of h s head, and went nto h s coat
for h s fat Mont Blanc founta n pen. Stretched forward and
s gned n both places aga nst the cold hard glass of the coffee
table. Hob e watched h m, and nodded n turn.
'I assume you want the money n your operat ng account?' he
asked. 'Where the other banks won't see t?'
Stone nodded aga n, n a daze.
'That would be good,' he sa d.
Hob e made a note. 'It'll be there n an hour.'
'Thank you,' Stone sa d. It seemed appropr ate.
'So now I'm the one who's exposed,' Hob e sa d. 'S x weeks,
no real secur ty. Not a n ce feel ng at all.'
"There won't be a problem,' Stone sa d, look ng down.
Hob e nodded.
'I'm sure there won't,' he sa d. He leaned forward and pressed
the ntercom n front of h m. Stone heard a buzzer sound ng
fa ntly outs de n the anteroom.
'The Stone doss er, please,' Hob e sa d nto the m crophone.
There was s lence for a moment, and then the door opened.
The male recept on st walked over to the desk. He was carry ng
a th n green f le. He bent and placed t n front of Hob e. Walked
back out and closed the door qu etly. Hob e used h s hook to
push the f le over to the front edge of the desk.
'Take a look,' he sa d.
Stone crouched forward and took the f le. Opened t up. There
were photographs n t. Several b g e ght-by-tens, n glossy
black and wh te. The f rst photograph was of h s house. Clearly
taken from ns de a car stopped at the end of h s dr veway. The
second was of h s w fe. Mar lyn. Shot w th a long lens as she
walked n the flower garden. The th rd was of Mar lyn com ng
out of her beauty parlour n town. A gra ny, long-lens mage.
Covert, l ke a surve llance photograph. The fourth p cture was a
close-up of the l cence plate of her BMW.
The f fth photograph was also of Mar lyn. Taken at n ght
through the r bedroom w ndow. She was dressed n a bathrobe.
Her ha r was down, and t looked damp. Stone stared at t. To
get that p cture, the photographer had been stand ng on the r
back lawn. H s v s on blurred and h s ears hummed w th
s lence. Then he shuffled the p ctures together and closed the
f le. Put t back on the desk, slowly. Hob e leaned forward and
pressed the t p of h s hook nto the th ck green paper. He used t
to pull the f le back towards h m. The hook rasped across the
wood, loudly n the s lence.
'Tha 's my secur ty, Mr Stone,' he sa d. 'But l ke you just told
me, I'm sure there won't be a problem.'
Chester Stone sa d noth ng. Just stood up and threaded h s
way through all the furn ture and over to the door. Through the
recept on area and nto the corr dor and nto the elevator. Down
e ghty-e ght floors and back outs de, where the br ght morn ng
sun h t h m n the face l ke a blow.
THREE
That same sun was on the back of Reacher's neck as he made
h s way nto Manhattan n the rear seat of a gypsy cab. He
preferred to use unl censed operators, g ven the cho ce. It
su ted h s covert hab t. No reason at all why anyone should ever
want to trace h s movements by check ng w th cab dr vers, but
a cab dr ver who couldn't adm t to be ng one was the safest
k nd there was. And t gave the opportun ty for a l ttle
negot at on about the fare. Not much negot at ng to be done
w th the meter n a yellow tax .
They came n over the Tr borough Br dge and entered
Manhattan on 125th Street. Drove west through traff c as far as
Roosevelt Square. Reacher had the guy pull over there wh le he
scanned around and thought for a moment. He was th nk ng
about a cheap hotel, but he wanted one w th work ng phones.
And ntact phone books. H s judgement was he couldn't meet
all three requ rements n that ne ghbourhood. But he got out
anyway, and pa d the guy off. Wherever he was go ng, he'd walk
the last part. A cut-out per od, on h s own. It su ted h s hab t.
The two young men n the crumpled thousand-dollar su ts
wa ted unt l Chester Stone was well clear. Then they went nto
the nner off ce and threaded through the furn ture and stood
qu etly n front of the desk. Hob e looked up at them and rolled
open a drawer. Put the s gned agreements away w th the
photographs and took out a new pad of yellow paper. Then he
la d h s hook on the desktop and turned n h s cha r so the d m
l ght from the w ndow caught the good s de of h s face.
'Well?'
'We just got back,' the f rst guy sa d.
'You get the nformat on I asked for?'
The second guy nodded. Sat down on the sofa.
'He was look ng for a guy called Jack Reacher.'
Hob e made a note of the name on the yellow pad. 'Who's he?'
There was a short s lence.
'We don't know,' the f rst guy sa d.
Hob e nodded, slowly. 'Who was Costello's cl ent?'
Another short s lence.
'We don't know that e ther,' the guy sa d.
'Those are fa rly bas c quest ons,' Hob e sa d.
The guy just looked at h m through the s lence, uneasy.
'You d dn't th nk to ask those fa rly bas c quest ons?'
The second guy nodded. 'We asked them. We were ask ng
them l ke crazy.'
'But Costello wouldn't answer?'
'He was go ng to,' the f rst guy sa d.
'But?'
'He d ed on us,' the second guy sa d. 'He just upped and d ed.
He was old, overwe ght. It was maybe a heart attack, I th nk. I'm
very sorry, s r. We both are.'
Hob e nodded aga n, slowly. 'Exposure?'
'N l,' the f rst guy sa d. 'He's un dent f able.'
Hob e glanced down at the f ngert ps of h s left hand. 'Where's
the kn fe?'
'In the sea,' the second guy sa d.
Hob e moved h s arm and tapped a l ttle rhythm on the
desktop w th the po nt of h s hook. Thought hard, and nodded
aga n, dec s vely.
'OK, not your fault, I guess. Weak heart, what can you do?'
The f rst guy relaxed and jo ned h s partner on the sofa. They
were off the hook, and that had a spec al mean ng n th s off ce.
'We need to f nd the cl ent,' Hob e sa d nto the s lence.
The two guys nodded and wa ted.
'Costello must have had a secretary, r ght?' Hob e sa d. 'She'll
know who the cl ent was. Br ng her to me.'
The two guys stayed on the sofa.
'What?'
'Th s Jack Reacher,' the f rst guy sa d. 'Supposed to be a b g
guy, three months n the Keys. Costello told us people were
talk ng about a b g guy, been there three months, worked n ghts
n a bar. We went to see h m. B g tough guy, but he sa d he
wasn't Jack Reacher.'
'So?'
'M am a rport,' the second guy sa d. 'We took Un ted because
t was d rect. But there was an earl er fl ght just leav ng, Delta to
Atlanta and New York.'
'And?'
"The b g guy from the bar? We saw h m, head ng down to the
gate.'
'You sure?'
The f rst guy nodded. 'N nety-n ne per cent certa n. He was a
long way ahead, but he's a real b g guy. D ff cult to m ss.'
Hob e started tapp ng h s hook on the desk aga n. Lost n
thought.
'OK, he's Reacher,' he sa d. 'Has to be, r ght? Costello ask ng
around, then you guys ask ng on the same day, t spooks h m
and he runs. But where? Here?'
The second guy nodded. 'If he stayed on the plane n Atlanta,
he's here.'
'But why?' Hob e asked. 'Who the hell s he?'
He thought for a moment and answered h s own quest on.
The secretary w ll tell me who the cl ent s, r ght?'
Then he sm led.
'And the cl ent w ll tell me who th s Reacher guy s.'
The two guys n the smart su ts nodded qu etly and stood up.
Threaded the r way around the furn ture and walked out of the
off ce.
Reacher was walk ng south through Central Park. Try ng to
get a gr p on the s ze of the task he had set h mself. He was
conf dent he was n the r ght c ty. The three accents had been
def n t ve. But there was a huge populat on to wade through.
Seven and a half m ll on people spread out over the f ve
boroughs, maybe altogether e ghteen m ll on n the
metropol tan area. E ghteen m ll on people close enough to
focus nward when they want a spec al zed urban serv ce l ke a
fast and eff c ent pr vate detect ve. H s gut assumpt on was
Costello may have been located n Manhattan, but t was
ent rely poss ble that Mrs Jacob was suburban. If you're a
woman l v ng somewhere n the suburbs and
you want a pr vate detect ve, where do you look for one? Not
next to the supermarket or the v deo rental. Not n the mall next
to the dress shops. You p ck up the Yellow Pages for the
nearest major c ty and you start call ng. You have an n t al
conversat on and maybe the guy dr ves out to you, or you get
on the tra n and come n to h m. From anywhere n a b g dense
area that stretches hundreds of square m les.
He had g ven up on hotels. He d dn't necessar ly need to
nvest a lot of t me. Could be he'd be n and out w th n an hour.
And he could use more nformat on than hotels had to offer. He
needed phone books for all f ve boroughs and the suburbs.
Hotels wouldn't have all of those. And he d dn't need to pay the
k nd of rates hotels l ke to charge for phone calls. D gg ng
sw mm ng pools had not made h m r ch.
So he was head ng for the publ c l brary. Forty-second Street
and F fth. The b ggest n the world? He couldn't remember.
Maybe, maybe not. But certa nly b g enough to have all the
phone books he needed, and b g w de tables and comfortable
cha rs. Four m les from Roosevelt Square, an hour's br sk walk,
nterrupted only by traff c on the cross streets and a qu ck
d vers on nto an off ce-supply store to buy a notebook and a
penc l.
The next guy nto Hob e's nner off ce was the recept on st. He
stepped ns de and locked the door beh nd h m. Walked over
and sat down on the end of the sofa nearest the desk. Looked at
Hob e, long and hard, and s lently.
'What?' Hob e asked h m, although he knew what.
'You should get out,' the recept on st sa d. 'It's r sky now.'
Hob e made no reply. Just held h s hook n h s left hand and
traced ts w cked metal curve w th h s rema n ng f ngers.
'You planned,' the recept on st sa d. 'You prom sed. No po nt
plann ng and prom s ng f you don't do what you're supposed to
do.'
Hob e shrugged. Sa d noth ng.
'We heard from Hawa , r ght?' the recept on st sa d. 'You
planned to run as soon as we heard from Hawa .'
'Costello never went to Hawa ,' Hob e sa d. 'We checked.'
'So that just makes t worse. Somebody else went to Hawa .
Somebody we don't know.'
'Rout ne,' Hob e sa d. 'Had to be. Th nk about t. No reason for
anybody to go to Hawa unt l we've heard from the other end.
It's a sequence, you know that. We hear from the other end, we
hear from Hawa , step one, step two, and then t's t me to go.
Not before.'
'You prom sed,' the guy sa d aga n.
'Too early,' Hob e sa d. 'It's not log cal. Th nk about t. You see
somebody buy a gun and a box of bullets, they po nt the gun at
you, are you scared?'
'Sure I am.'
'I'm not,' Hob e sa d. 'Because they d dn't load t. Step one s
buy the gun and the bullets, step two s load t. Unt l we hear
from the other end, Hawa s an empty gun.'
The recept on st la d h s head back and stared up at the
ce l ng.
'Why are you do ng th s?'
Hob e rolled open h s drawer and pulled out the Stone
doss er. Took out the s gned agreement.
T lted the paper unt l the d m l ght from the w ndow caught
the br ght blue nk of h s tw n s gnatures.
'S x weeks,' he sa d. 'Maybe less. That's all I need.'
The recept on st craned h s head up aga n and squ nted over.
'Need for what?'
'The b ggest score of my l fe,' Hob e sa d.
He squared the paper on the desk and trapped t under h s
hook.
'Stone just handed me h s whole company. Three generat ons
of sweat and to l, and the stup d asshole just handed me the
whole th ng on a plate.'
'No, he handed you sh t on a plate. You're out one-po nt-one
m ll on dollars n exchange for some worthless paper.'
Hob e sm led.
'Relax, let me do the th nk ng, OK? I'm the one who's good at
t, r ght?'
'OK, so how?' the guy asked.
'You know what he owns? B g factory out on Long Island and
a b g mans on up n Pound R dge. F ve hundred houses all
clustered around the factory. Must be three thousand acres all
told, pr me Long Island real estate, near the shore, cry ng out
for development.'
'The houses aren't h s,' the guy objected.
Hob e nodded. 'No, they're mostly mortgaged to some l ttle
bank n Brooklyn.'
'OK, so how?' the guy asked aga n.
'Just th nk about t,' Hob e sa d. 'Suppose I put th s stock n
the market?'
'You'll get sh t for t,' the guy sa d back. 'It's totally worthless.'
'Exactly, t's totally worthless. But h s bankers don't really
know that yet. He's l ed to them. He's kept
h s problems away from them. Why else would he come to
me? So h s bankers w ll have t rammed under the r noses
exactly how worthless the r secur ty s. A valuat on, stra ght
from the Exchange. They'll be told: th s stock s worth exactly
less than sh t. Then what?'
'They pan c,' the guy sa d.
'Correct,' Hob e sa d. 'They pan c. They're exposed, w th
worthless secur ty. They sh t themselves unt l Hook Hob e
comes along and offers them twenty cents on the dollar for
Stone's debt.'
'They'd take that? Twenty cents on the dollar?'
Hob e sm led. H s scar t ssue wr nkled.
'They'll take t,' he sa d. 'They'll b te my other hand off to get
t. And they'll nclude all the stock they hold, part of the deal.'
'OK, then what? What about the houses?'
'Same th ng,' Hob e sa d. 'I own the stock, I own the factory
out there, I close t down. No jobs, f ve hundred defaulted
mortgages. The Brooklyn bank w ll get real shaky over that. I'll
buy those mortgages for ten cents on the dollar, foreclose
everybody and sl ng them out. H re a couple of bulldozers, and
I've got three thousand acres of pr me Long Island real estate,
r ght near the shore. Plus a b g mans on up n Pound R dge.
Total cost to me, somewhere around e ght-po nt-one m ll on
dollars. The mans on alone s worth two. That leaves me down
s x-po nt-one for a package I can market for a hundred m ll on, f
I p tch t r ght.'
The recept on st was star ng at h m.
'That's why I need s x weeks,' Hob e sa d.
Then the recept on st was shak ng h s head.
'It won't work,' he sa d. 'It's an old fam ly bus ness. Stone st ll
holds most of the stock h mself. It's not all
traded. H s bank's only got some of t. You'd only be a
m nor ty partner. He wouldn't let you do all that stuff.'
Hob e shook h s head n turn.
'He'll sell out to me. All of t. The whole n ne yards.'
'He won't.'
'He w ll.'
There was good news and bad news at the publ c l brary.
Plenty of people called Jacob l sted n the phone books for
Manhattan, the Bronx, Brooklyn, Queens, Staten Island, Long
Island, Westchester, the Jersey shore, Connect cut. Reacher
gave t an hour's rad us from the c ty. People an hour away turn
nst nct vely to the c ty when they need someth ng. Farther out
than that, maybe they don't. He made marks w th h s penc l n
h s notebook and counted 129 potent al cand dates for the
anx ous Mrs Jacob.
But the Yellow Pages showed no pr vate nvest gators called
Costello. Plenty of pr vate Costellos n the wh te pages, but no
profess onal l st ngs under that name. Reacher s ghed. He was
d sappo nted, but not surpr sed. It would have been too good to
be true to open up the book and see Costello Invest gat ons –
We Spec al ze n F nd ng Ex-MPs Down n the Keys.
Plenty of the agenc es had gener c names, a lot of them
compet ng for the head of the alphabet cal l st ngs w th a cap tal
A as the r f rst letter. Ace, Acme, A-One, AA Invest gators.
Others had pla n geograph cal connotat ons, l ke Manhattan or
Bronx. Some were head ng upmarket by us ng the words
'paralegal serv ces'. One was cla m ng the her tage trade by
call ng tself Gumshoe. Two were staffed only by women,
work ng only for women.
He pulled the wh te pages back and turned the page n h s
notebook and cop ed f fteen numbers for the NYPD. Sat for a
wh le, we gh ng h s opt ons. Then he walked outs de, past the
g ant crouch ng l ons and over to a pay phone on the s dewalk.
He propped h s notebook on top of the phone w th all the
quarters he had n h s pocket and started down h s l st of
prec nct houses. Each one, he asked for adm n strat on. He
f gured he would get some gr zzled old desk sergeant who
would know everyth ng worth know ng.
He got the h t on h s fourth call. The f rst three prec ncts were
unable to help, w thout sound ng any too regretful about t. The
fourth call started the same way, a r ng tone, a qu ck transfer, a
long pause, then a wheez ng acknowledgement as the phone
was answered deep n the bowels of some gr my f le room.
'I'm look ng for a guy called Costello,' he sa d. 'Ret red from
the job and set up pr vate, maybe on h s own, maybe for
somebody else. Probably about s xty.'
'Yeah, who are you?' a vo ce repl ed. Ident cal accent. Could
have been Costello h mself on the l ne.
'Name's Carter,' Reacher sa d. 'L ke the pres dent.'
'So what you want w th Costello, Mr Carter?'
'I got someth ng for h m, but I lost h s card,' Reacher sa d.
'Can't f nd h s number n the book.'
"That's because Costello a n't n the book. He only works for
lawyers. He don't work for the general publ c'
'So you know h m?'
'Know h m? Of course I know h m. He worked detect ve out of
th s bu ld ng f fteen years. Not surpr s ng I would know h m.'
'You know where h s off ce s?'
'Down n the V llage someplace,' the vo ce sa d, and stopped.
Reacher s ghed away from the phone. L ke pull ng teeth.
'You know where n the V llage?'
'Greenw ch Avenue, f I recall.'
'You got a street number?'
'No.'
'Phone number?'
'No.'
'You know a woman called Jacob?'
'No, should I?'
'Just a long shot,' Reacher sa d. 'She was h s cl ent.'
'Never heard of her.'
'OK, thanks for your help,' Reacher sa d.
'Yeah,' the vo ce sa d.
Reacher hung up and walked back up the steps and ns de.
Checked the Manhattan wh te pages aga n for a Costello on
Greenw ch Avenue. No l st ng. He put the books back on the
shelf and went back out nto the sun, and started walk ng.
Greenw ch Avenue s a long stra ght street runn ng d agonally
south-east from Fourteenth Street and E ghth to E ghth Street
and S xth. It s l ned on both s des w th pleasant low-r se V llage
bu ld ngs, some of them w th scooped-out sem -basement
floors n use as small stores and galler es. Reacher walked the
northern s de f rst, and found noth ng. Dodged the traff c at the
bottom and came back on the other s de and found a small
brass plaque exactly halfway up the street, f xed to the stone
frame of a doorway. The plaque was a well-pol shed rectangle,
one of a cluster, and t sa d Costello. The door was black, and t
was open. Ins de was a small lobby w th a not ce board of
r dged felt and press- n wh te plast c letters, nd cat ng the
bu ld ng was subd v ded nto ten small off ce su tes. Su te f ve
was marked Costello. Beyond the lobby was a glass door,
locked. Reacher pressed the buzzer for f ve. No reply. He used
h s knuckle and leaned on t, but t got h m nowhere. So he
pressed s x. A vo ce came back, d storted.
'Yes?'
'UPS,' he sa d, and the glass door buzzed and cl cked open.
It was a three-floor bu ld ng, four f you counted the separate
basement. Su tes one, two and three were on the f rst floor. He
went up the sta rs and found su te four on h s left, s x on h s
r ght, and f ve r ght at the back of the bu ld ng w th ts door
tucked under the angle of the sta rcase as t wound up to the
th rd storey.
The door was a pol shed mahogany affa r, and t was stand ng
open. Not w de open, but open enough to be obv ous. Reacher
pushed t w th h s toe, and t swung on ts h nges to reveal a
small, qu et recept on area the s ze of a motel room. It was
decorated n a pastel colour somewhere between l ght grey and
l ght blue. Th ck carpet on the floor. A secretary's desk n the
shape of a letter L, w th a compl cated telephone and a sleek
computer. A f l ng cab net and a sofa. There was a w ndow w th
pebbled glass and another door lead ng stra ght ahead to an
nner off ce.
The recept on area was empty, and t was qu et. Reacher
stepped ns de and closed the door beh nd h m w th h s heel.
The lock was latched back, l ke the off ce had been opened up
for bus ness. He padded across the carpet to the nner door.
Wrapped h s hand n h s sh rt-ta l and turned the knob. Stepped
through nto a second room of equal s ze. Costello's room.
There were framed black-and-wh te photographs of younger
vers ons of the man he had met n the Keys stand ng w th pol ce
comm ss oners and capta ns and local pol t c ans Reacher d d
not recogn ze. Costello had been a th n man, many years ago.
The p ctures showed h m gett ng fatter as he got older, l ke a
d et advert sement n reverse. The photographs were grouped
on a wall to the r ght of a desk. The desk held a blotter and an
old-fash oned nkwell and a telephone, and beh nd t was a
leather cha r, crushed nto the shape of a heavy man. The lefthand wall held a w ndow w th more obscure glass and a l ne of
locked cab nets. In front of the desk was a pa r of cl ent cha rs,
neatly arranged at a comfortable and symmetr cal angle.
Reacher stepped back to the outer off ce. There was a smell
of perfume n the a r. He threaded around the secretary's desk
and found a woman's bag, open, neatly stowed aga nst the
van ty panel to the left of the cha r. The flap was folded back,
reveal ng a soft leather wallet and a plast c pack of t ssues. He
took out h s penc l and used the eraser end to poke the t ssues
as de. Underneath them was a clutter of cosmet cs and a bunch
of keys and the soft aroma of expens ve cologne.
The computer mon tor was sw rl ng w th a watery
screensaver. He used the penc l to nudge the mouse. The
screen crackled and cleared and revealed a half-f n shed letter.
The cursor was bl nk ng pat ently n the m ddle of an
uncompleted word. That morn ng's date sat underneath a
letterhead. Reacher thought about Costello's body, sprawled
out on the s dewalk next to the Key West graveyard, and he
glanced between the t dy placement of the absent woman's bag,
the open door, the uncompleted word, and he sh vered.
Then he used the penc l to ex t the word processor. A w ndow
opened and asked h m f he wanted to save the changes to the
letter. He paused and h t no. Opened the f le manager screen
and checked the d rector es. He was look ng for an nvo ce. It
was clear from look ng around that Costello ran a neat
operat on. Neat enough to nvo ce for a reta ner before he went
look ng for Jack Reacher. But when d d that search start? It
must have followed a clear sequence. Mrs Jacob's nstruct ons
com ng at the outset, noth ng except a name, a vague
descr pt on about h s s ze, h s Army serv ce. Costello must then
have called the m l tary's central storage fac l ty, a carefully
guarded complex n St Lou s that holds every p ece of paper
relat ng to every man and woman who has ever served n
un form. Carefully guarded n two ways, phys cally w th gates
and w re, and bureaucrat cally w th a th ck layer of obstruct on
des gned to d scourage fr volous access. After pat ent nqu r es
he would have d scovered the honourable d scharge. Then a
puzzled pause, star ng at a dead end. Then the long shot w th
the bank account. A call to an old buddy, favours called n,
str ngs pulled. Maybe a blurry faxed pr ntout from V rg n a,
maybe a blow-by-blow narrat ve of cred ts and deb ts over the
telephone. Then the hurr ed fl ght south, the quest ons up and
down Duval, the two guys, the f sts, the l noleum kn fe.
A reasonably short sequence, but St Lou s and V rg n a would
have been major delays. Reacher's guess was gett ng good
nformat on out of the records
off ce would take three days, maybe four, for a c t zen l ke
Costello. The V rg n a bank m ght not have been any qu cker.
Favours aren't necessar ly granted mmed ately. The t m ng has
got to be r ght. Call t a total of seven days' bureaucrat c fudge,
separated by a day's th nk ng t me, plus a day at the start and a
day at the end. Maybe altogether ten days s nce Mrs Jacob set
the whole th ng n mot on.
He cl cked on a subd rectory labelled nvo ces. The r ght-hand
s de of the screen came up w th a long f eld of f le names,
stacked alphabet cally. He ran the cursor down the l st and
spooled them up from the bottom. No Jacob n the Js. Mostly
they were just n t als, long acronyms maybe stand ng for law
f rm names. He checked the dates. Noth ng from exactly ten
days ago. But there was one n ne days old. Maybe Costello was
faster than he thought, or maybe h s secretary was slower. It
was labelled sgr&t-09. He cl cked on t and the hard dr ve
chattered and the screen came up w th a thousand-dollar
reta ner aga nst a m ss ng persons nqu ry, b lled to a Wall
Street f rm called Spencer Gutman R cker and Talbot. There was
a b ll ng address, but no phone number.
He qu t f le manager and entered the database. Searched for
sgr&t aga n and came up w th a page show ng the same
address, but th s t me w th numbers for phone, fax, telex and ema l. He leaned down and used h s f ngers and thumb to pull a
couple of t ssues from the secretary's pack. Wrapped one
around the telephone rece ver and opened the other flat and
la d t across the keypad. D alled the number by press ng
through t. There was r ng tone for a second, and then the
connect on was made.
'Spencer Gutman,' a br ght vo ce sa d. 'How may we help
you?'
'Mrs Jacob, please,' Reacher sa d, bus ly.
'One moment,' the vo ce sa d.
There was t nny mus c and then a man's vo ce. He sounded
qu ck, but deferent al. Maybe an ass stant.
'Mrs Jacob, please,' Reacher sa d aga n.
The guy sounded busy and harassed. 'She already left for
Garr son, and I really don't know when she'll be n the off ce
aga n, I'm afra d.'
'Do you have her address n Garr son?'
'Hers?' the guy sa d, surpr sed. 'Or h s?'
Reacher paused and l stened to the surpr se and took a
chance.
'H s, I mean. I seem to have lost t.'
'Just as well you d d,' the vo ce sa d back. 'It was m spr nted,
I'm afra d. I must have red rected at least f fty people th s
morn ng.'
He rec ted an address, apparently from memory. Garr son,
New York, a town about s xty m les up the Hudson R ver, more
or less exactly oppos te West Po nt, where Reacher had spent
four long years.
'I th nk you'll have to hurry,' the guy sa d.
'Yes, I w ll,' Reacher sa d, and hung up, confused.
He closed the database and left the screen blank. Took one
more glance at the m ss ng secretary's abandoned bag and
caught one more breath of her perfume as he left the room.
The secretary d ed f ve m nutes after she gave up Mrs Jacob's
dent ty, wh ch was about f ve m nutes after Hob e started n on
her w th h s hook. They were n the execut ve bathroom ns de
the off ce su te on the e ghty-e ghth floor. It was an deal
locat on. Spac ous, s xteen feet square, way too b g for a
bathroom. Some expens ve decorator had put sh ny grey
gran te t l ng over all s x surfaces, walls and floor and ce l ng.
There was a b g shower stall, w th a clear plast c curta n on a
sta nless-steel ra l. The ra l was Ital an, grossly over-spec f ed
for the task of hold ng up a clear plast c curta n. Hob e had
d scovered t could take the we ght of an unconsc ous human,
handcuffed to t by the wr sts. T me to t me, heav er people than
the secretary had hung there, wh le he asked them urgent
quest ons or persuaded them as to the w sdom of some
part cular course of act on.
The only problem was soundproof ng. He was pretty sure t
was OK. It was a sol d bu ld ng. Each of the Tw n Towers we ghs
more than half a m ll on tons. Plenty of steel and concrete, good
th ck walls. And he had no nqu s t ve ne ghbours. Most of the
su tes on e ghty-e ght were leased by trade m ss ons from small
obscure fore gn nat ons, and the r skeleton staffs spent most of
the r t me up at the UN. Same s tuat on on e ghty-seven and
e ghty-n ne. That was why he was where he was. But Hob e was
a man who never took an extra r sk f he could avo d t. Hence
the duct tape. Before start ng, he always l ned up some s x- nch
str ps, stuck temporar ly to the t l ng. One of them would go
over the mouth. When whoever t was started nodd ng w ldly,
eyes bulg ng, he would tear off the str p and wa t for the answer.
Any scream ng, he would slam the next str p on and go to work
aga n. Normally he got the answer he wanted after the second
str p came off.
Then the t led floor allowed a s mple slu c ng operat on. Set
the shower runn ng hard, throw a few bucketfuls of water
around, get busy w th a mop, and
the place was safe aga n as fast as water dra ns down e ghtye ght floors and away nto the sewers. Not that Hob e ever d d
the mopp ng h mself. A mop needs two hands. The second
young guy was do ng the mopp ng, w th h s expens ve pants
rolled up and h s socks and shoes off. Hob e was outs de at h s
desk, talk ng to the f rst young guy.
'I'll get Mrs Jacob's address, you'll br ng her to me, OK?'
'Sure,' the guy sa d. 'What about th s one?'
He nodded towards the bathroom door. Hob e followed h s
glance.
'Wa t unt l ton ght,' he sa d. 'Put some of her clothes back on,
take her down to the boat. Dump her a couple of m les out n the
bay.'
'She's l kely to wash back n,' the guy sa d. 'Couple of days.'
Hob e shrugged.
'I don't care,' he sa d. 'Couple of days, she'll be all bloated up.
They'll f gure she fell off a motorboat. Injur es l ke that, they'll
put t down to propeller damage.'
The covert hab t had advantages, but t also had problems.
Best way to get up to Garr son n a hurry would be to grab a
rental car and head stra ght out. But a guy who chooses not to
use cred t cards and won't carry a dr ver's l cence loses that
opt on. So Reacher was back n a cab, head ng for Grand
Central. He was pretty sure the Hudson L ne ran a tra n up
there. He guessed commuters somet mes l ved as far north as
that. If not, the b g Amtraks that ran up to Albany and Canada
m ght stop there. He pa d off the cab and pushed through the
crowd
to the doors. Down the long ramp and out nto the g ant
concourse. He glanced around and craned h s head to read the
departures screen. Tr ed to recall the geography. CrotonHarmon tra ns were no good. They term nated way too far
south. He needed Poughkeeps e at the m n mum. He scanned
down the l st. Noth ng do ng. No tra ns out of there ns de the
next hour and a half that would get h m to Garr son.
They d d t the usual way. One of them rode n nety floors
down to the underground load ng bay and found an empty
carton n the trash p le. Refr gerator cartons were best, or soda
mach nes, but once he'd done t w th the box from a th rty-f vench colour telev s on. Th s t me, he found a f l ng cab net
carton. He used a jan tor's trolley from the load ng ramp and
wheeled t nto the fre ght elevator. Rode w th t back up to the
e ghty-e ghth floor.
The other guy was z pp ng her nto a body bag n the
bathroom. They folded t nto the carton and used the rema n ng
duct tape to secure the carton shut. Then they hefted t back on
the trolley and headed for the elevator once more. Th s t me,
they rode down to the park ng garage. Wheeled the box over to
the black Suburban. Counted to three and heaved t nto the
back. Slammed the ta lgate shut and cl cked the lock. Walked
away and glanced back. Deep t nts on the w ndows, dark
garage, no problem.
'You know what?' the f rst guy sa d. 'We fold the seat down,
we'll get Mrs Jacob n there along w th her. Do t all n one tr p,
ton ght. I don't l ke go ng on that boat any more t mes than I
have to.'
'OK,' the second guy sa d. 'Were there more boxes?'
'That was the best one. Depends f Mrs Jacob s b g or small, I
guess.'
'Depends f she's f n shed by ton ght.'
'You got any doubts on that score? The mood he's n today?'
They strolled together to a d fferent slot and unlocked a black
Chevy Tahoe. L ttle brother to the Suburban, but st ll a g ant
veh cle.
'So where s she?' the second guy asked.
'A town called Garr son,' the f rst guy sa d. 'Stra ght up the
Hudson, a ways past S ng S ng. An hour, hour and a half.'
The Tahoe backed out of the slot and squealed ts tyres on ts
way around the garage. Bumped up the ramp nto the sunsh ne
and headed out to West Street, where t made a r ght and
accelerated north.
FOUR
West Street becomes Eleventh Avenue r ght oppos te P er 56,
where the westbound traff c sp lls out of Fourteenth Street and
turns north. The b g black Tahoe was caught n the congest on
and added ts horn to the frustrated blasts cannon ng off the
h gh bu ld ngs and echo ng out over the r ver. It crawled n ne
blocks and made a left at Twenty-th rd Street, then swung north
aga n on Twelfth. It got above walk ng speed unt l t passed the
back of the Jav ts Convent on Center, and then t got jammed
up aga n n the traff c pour ng out of West Forty-second. Twelfth
became the M ller H ghway and t was st ll sol d, all the way over
the top of the huge messy acreage of the old ra l yards. Then
the M ller became the Henry Hudson Parkway. St ll a slow road,
but the Henry Hudson was techn cally Route 9A, wh ch would
become Route 9 up n Crotonv lle and take them all the way
north to Garr son. A stra ght l ne, no turns anywhere, but they
were st ll n Manhattan, stuck n R vers de Park, a whole halfhour after sett ng out.
It was the word processor that meant the most. The cursor,
pat ently bl nk ng n the m ddle of a word.
The open door and the abandoned bag were persuas ve, but
not cr t cal. Off ce workers usually take the r stuff and close
the r doors, but not always. The secretary m ght have just
stepped across the hall and got nvolved n someth ng, a quest
for bond paper or a plea for help w th somebody's copy ng
mach ne, lead ng to a cup of coffee and a ju cy story about last
n ght's date. A person expect ng to be absent two m nutes
m ght leave her bag beh nd and her door open and end up
be ng gone a half-hour. But nobody leaves computer work
unsaved. Not even for a m nute. And th s woman had. The
mach ne had asked h m do you want to save the changes?
Wh ch meant she had got up from her desk w thout cl ck ng on
the save con, wh ch s a hab t just about as regular as
breath ng for people who spend the r days f ght ng w th
software.
Wh ch put a very bad complex on on the whole th ng. Reacher
was through n Grand Central's other b g hall, w th a twentyounce cup of black coffee he had bought from a vendor. He
jammed the l d down t ght and squeezed the cash roll n h s
pocket. It was th ck enough for what he was go ng to have to
do. He ran back and around to the track where the next Croton
tra n was wa t ng to leave.
The Henry Hudson Parkway spl ts nto a tangle of curl ng
ramps around 170th Street and the north lanes come out aga n
labelled R vers de Dr ve. Same road, same d rect on, no turn,
but the complex dynam c of heavy traff c means that f one
dr ver slows down more than the average, then the h ghway can
back up dramat cally, w th hundreds of people stalled way
beh nd, all because some out-of-towner a m le ahead became
momentar ly confused. The b g black Tahoe was brought to a
complete halt oppos te Fort Wash ngton and was reduced to a
lurch ng stop-start crawl all the way under the George
Wash ngton Br dge. Then R vers de Dr ve broadens out and t
got tself up nto th rd gear before the label changed back to the
Henry Hudson and the traff c n the toll plaza stopped t aga n. It
wa ted n l ne to pay the money that let t off the sland of
Manhattan and away north through the Bronx.
There are two types of tra n runn ng up and down the Hudson
R ver between Grand Central and Croton-Harmon: locals and
expresses. The expresses do not run any faster n terms of
speed, but they stop less often. They make the journey last
somewhere between forty-n ne and f fty-two m nutes. The locals
stop everywhere, and the repeated brak ng and wa t ng and
accelerat ng sp n the tr p out to anywhere between s xty-f ve
and seventy-three m nutes. A max mum advantage for the
express of up to twenty-four m nutes.
Reacher was on a local. He had g ven the tra nman f ve and a
half bucks for an off-peak one-way and was s tt ng s deways on
an empty three-person bench, w red from too much coffee, h s
head rest ng on the w ndow, wonder ng exactly where the hell
he was go ng, and why, and what he was go ng to do when he
got there. And whether he would get there n t me to do t,
anyway, whatever t was.
Route 9A became 9 and curved gracefully away from the r ver
to run beh nd Camp Sm th. Up n Westchester, t was a fast
enough road. Not exactly a
racetrack, because t curved and bounced around too much
for susta ned h gh speed, but t was clear and empty, a
patchwork of old sect ons and new stretches carved through
the woods. There were hous ng developments here and there,
w th h gh t mber fenc ng and neat pa nted s d ng and opt m st c
names carved nto mpos ng boulders flank ng the entrance
gates. The Tahoe hustled along, one guy dr v ng and the other
w th a map across h s knees.
They passed Peeksk ll and started hunt ng a left turn. They
found t and swung head-on towards the r ver, wh ch they
sensed ahead of them, an empty break n the landscape. They
entered the townsh p of Garr son, and started hunt ng the
address. Not easy to f nd. The res dent al areas were scattered.
You could have a Garr son z p code and l ve way n the back of
beyond. That was clear. But they found the r ght road and made
all the correct turns and found the r ght street. Slowed and
cru sed through the th nn ng woods above the r ver, watch ng
the ma lboxes. The road curved and opened out. They cru sed
on. Then they spotted the r ght house up ahead and slowed
abruptly and pulled n at the kerb.
Reacher got out of the tra n at Croton, seventy-one m nutes
after gett ng n. He ran up the sta rs and across and down to the
tax rank. There were four operators l ned up, all nose- n to the
stat on entrance, all of them us ng old-model Capr ce wagons
w th fake wood on the s des. F rst dr ver to react was a stout
woman who t lted her head up l ke she was ready to pay
attent on.
'You know Garr son?' Reacher asked her.
'Garr son?' she sa d. 'That's a long way, m ster, twenty m les.'
'I know where t s,' he sa d.
'Could be forty bucks.'
'I'll g ve you f fty,' he sa d. 'But I need to be there r ght now.'
He sat n front, next to her. The car stank l ke old tax s do,
sweet cloy ng a r-freshener and upholstery cleaner. There were
a m ll on m les on the clock and t rode l ke a boat on a swell as
the woman hustled through the park ng lot and up on to Route 9
and headed north.
'You got an address for me?' she asked, watch ng the road.
Reacher repeated what the ass stant n the law f rm had told
h m. The woman nodded and settled to a fast cru se.
'Overlooks the r ver,' she sa d.
She cru sed for a quarter of an hour, passed by Peeksk ll and
then slowed, look ng for a part cular left. Hauled the huge boat
around and headed west. Reacher could feel the r ver up ahead,
a m le-w de trench n the forest. The woman knew where she
was go ng. She went all the way to the r ver and turned north on
a country road. The ra l tracks ran parallel between them and
the water. No tra ns on them. The land fell away and Reacher
could see West Po nt ahead and on h s left, a m le away across
the blue water.
'Should be along here someplace,' she sa d.
It was a narrow country road, domest cated w th ranch
fenc ng n rough t mber and tamed w th mowed shoulders and
spec men plant ngs. There were ma lboxes a hundred yards
apart and poles that hung cables through the treetops.
'Whoa,' the woman sa d, surpr sed. 'I guess th s s t.'
The road was already narrow, and now t became just about
mpassable. There was a long l ne of cars parked up on the
shoulder. Maybe forty automob les, many of them black or dark
blue. All neat late-model sedans or b g sport-ut l t es. The
woman eased the tax nto the dr veway. The l ne of parked cars
stretched nose-to-ta l all the way to the house. Another ten or
twelve cars were parked together on the apron n front of the
garage. Two of them were pla n Detro t sedans, n flat green.
Army veh cles. Reacher could spot Defense Department ssue a
m le away.
'OK?' the woman asked h m.
'I guess,' he sa d, caut ously.
He peeled a f fty off h s roll and handed t to her. Got out and
stood n the dr veway, unsure. He heard the tax wh ne away n
reverse. He walked back up to the road. Looked at the long l ne
of cars. Looked at the ma lbox. There was a name spelled out n
l ttle alum n um letters along the top of t. The name was Garber.
A name he knew as well as h s own.
The house was set n a large lot, casually landscaped, placed
somewhere comfortable n the reg on between natural and
neglected. The house tself was low and sprawl ng, dark cedar
s d ng, dark screens at the w ndows, b g stone ch mney,
somewhere between suburban modest and cosy cottage. It was
very qu et. The a r smelled hot and damp and fecund. He could
hear nsects mass ng n the undergrowth. He could sense the
r ver beyond the house, a m le-w de vo d dragg ng stray sounds
away to the south.
He walked closer and heard muted conversat on beh nd the
house. People talk ng low, maybe a lot of people. He walked
down towards the sound and came out around the s de of the
garage. He was at the top of a fl ght of cement steps, look ng
west across the backyard to the r ver, blue and bl nd ng n the
sun. A m le away n the haze, sl ghtly north-west to h s r ght,
was West Po nt, low and grey n the d stance.
The backyard was a flat area cleared out of the woods on the
top of the bluff. It was covered n coarse grass, mowed short,
and there was a solemn crowd of a hundred people stand ng n
t. They were all dressed n black, men and women al ke, black
su ts and t es and blouses and shoes, except for half a dozen
Army off cers n full dress un form. They were all talk ng qu etly,
soberly, juggl ng paper buffet plates and glasses of w ne,
sadness n the slope of the r shoulders.
A funeral. He was gate-crash ng a funeral. He stood there
awkwardly, loom ng aga nst the skyl ne n the gear he had
thrown on yesterday n the Keys, faded ch nos, creased pale
yellow sh rt, no socks, scuffed shoes, sun-bleached ha r
st ck ng out all over the place, a day's beard on h s face. He
gazed down at the group of mourners and as f he had suddenly
clapped h s hands they all fell s lent and turned to look up at
h m. He froze. They all stared at h m, qu etly, nqu r ngly, and he
looked back at them, blankly. There was s lence. St llness. Then
a woman moved. She handed her paper plate and her glass to
the nearest bystander and stepped forward.
She was a young woman, maybe th rty, dressed l ke the
others n a severe black su t. She was pale and stra ned, but
very beaut ful. Ach ngly beaut ful. Very sl m, tall n her heels,
long legs n sheer dark nylon. F ne blond ha r, long and
unstyled, blue eyes, f ne bones. She moved del cately across
the lawn and stopped at the bottom of the cement steps, l ke
she was wa t ng for h m to come down to her.
'Hello, Reacher,' she sa d, softly.
He looked down at her. She knew who he was. And he knew
who she was. It came to h m suddenly l ke a stop-mot on f lm
blast ng through f fteen years n a s ngle glance. A teenage g rl
grew up and blossomed nto a beaut ful woman r ght n front of
h s eyes, all n a spl t second. Garber, the name on the ma lbox.
Leon Garber, for many years h s command ng off cer. He
recalled the r early acqua ntance, gett ng to know each other at
backyard barbecues on hot wet even ngs n the Ph l pp nes. A
slender g rl gl d ng n and out of the shadows around the bleak
base house, enough of a woman at f fteen to be utterly
capt vat ng but enough of a g rl to be totally forb dden. Jod e,
Garber's daughter. H s only ch ld. The l ght of h s l fe. Th s was
Jod e Garber, f fteen years later, all grown up and beaut ful and
wa t ng for h m at the bottom of a set of cement steps.
He glanced at the crowd and went down the steps to the lawn.
'Hello, Reacher,' she sa d aga n.
Her vo ce was low and stra ned. Sad, l ke the scene around
her.
'Hello, Jod e,' he sa d.
Then he wanted to ask who d ed? But he couldn't frame t n
any way that wasn't go ng to sound callous, or stup d. She saw
h m struggl ng, and nodded.
'Dad,' she sa d s mply.
'When?' he asked.
'F ve days ago,' she sa d. 'He was s ck the last few months,
but t was sudden at the end. A surpr se, I guess.'
He nodded slowly.
'I'm very sorry,' he sa d.
He glanced at the r ver and the hundred faces n front of h m
became a hundred faces of Leon Garber. A short, squat, tough
man. A w de sm le he always used whether he was happy or
annoyed or n danger. A brave man, phys cally and mentally. A
great leader. Honest as the day s long, fa r, percept ve.
Reacher's role model dur ng h s v tal format ve years. H s
mentor and h s sponsor. H s protector. He had gone way out on
a l mb and promoted h m tw ce n an e ghteen-month span
wh ch made Reacher the youngest peacet me major anybody
could remember. Then he had spread h s blunt hands w de and
sm led and d scla med any cred t for h s ensu ng successes.
'I'm very sorry, Jod e,' he sa d aga n.
She nodded s lently.
'I can't bel eve t,' he sa d. 'I can't take t n. I saw h m less than
a year ago. He was n good shape then. He got s ck?'
She nodded aga n, st ll s lent.
'But he was always so tough,' he sa d.
She nodded, sadly. 'He was, wasn't he? Always so tough.'
'And not old,' he sa d.
'S xty-four,'
'So what happened?'
'H s heart,' she sa d. 'It got h m n the end. Remember how he
always l ked to pretend he d dn't have one?'
Reacher shook h s head. 'B ggest heart you ever saw.'
'I found that out,' she sa d. 'When Mom d ed, we were best
fr ends for ten years. I loved h m.'
'I loved h m too,' Reacher sa d. 'L ke he was my dad, not
yours.'
She nodded aga n. 'He st ll talked about you all the t me.'
Reacher looked away. Stared out at the unfocused shape of
the West Po nt bu ld ngs, grey n the haze. He was numb. He
was n that age zone where people he knew d ed. H s father was
dead, h s mother was dead, h s brother was dead. Now the
nearest th ng to a subst tute relat ve was dead, too.
'He had a heart attack s x months ago,' Jod e sa d. Her eyes
clouded and she hooked her long stra ght ha r beh nd her ear.
'He sort of recovered for a spell, looked pretty good, but really
he was fa l ng fast. They were cons der ng a bypass, but he took
a turn for the worse and went down too qu ckly. He wouldn't
have surv ved the surgery.'
'I'm very sorry,' he sa d, for the th rd t me.
She turned alongs de h m and threaded her arm through h s.
'Don't be,' she sa d. 'He was always a very contented guy.
Better for h m to go fast. I couldn't see h m be ng happy
l nger ng on.'
Reacher had a flash n h s m nd of the old Garber, bustl ng
and rag ng, a f reball of energy, and he understood how
desperate t would have made h m to become an nval d.
Understood too how that overloaded old heart had f nally g ven
up the struggle. He nodded, unhapp ly.
'Come and meet some people,' Jod e sa d. 'Maybe you know
some of them.'
'I'm not dressed for th s,' he sa d. 'I feel bad. I should go.'
'Doesn't matter,' she sa d. 'You th nk Dad would care?'
He saw Garber n h s old creased khak and h s battered hat.
He was the worst-dressed off cer n the US Army, all th rteen
years Reacher had served under h m. He sm led, br efly.
'I guess he wouldn't m nd,' he sa d.
She walked h m on to the lawn. There were maybe s x people
out of the hundred he recogn zed. A couple of the guys n
un form were fam l ar. A handful n su ts were men he'd worked
w th here and there n another l fet me. He shook hands w th
dozens of people and tr ed to l sten to the names, but they went
n one ear and out the other. Then the qu et chatter and the
eat ng and the dr nk ng started up aga n, the crowd closed
around h m, and the sensat on of h s unt dy arr val was
smoothed over and forgotten. Jod e st ll had hold of h s arm.
Her hand was cool on h s sk n.
'I'm look ng for somebody,' he sa d. 'That's why I'm here,
really.'
'I know,' she sa d. 'Mrs Jacob, r ght?'
He nodded.
'Is she here?' he asked.
I'm Mrs Jacob,' she sa d.
The two guys n the black Tahoe backed t out of the l ne of
cars, out from under the power l nes so the car phone would
work w thout nterference. The dr ver d alled a number and the
r ng tone f lled the qu et veh cle. Then the call was answered
s xty m les south and e ghty-e ght floors up.
'Problems, boss,' the dr ver sa d. 'There's some sort of a wake
go ng on here, a funeral or someth ng. Must be a hundred
people m ll ng around. We got no chance of grabb ng th s Mrs
Jacob. We can't even tell wh ch one she s. There are dozens of
women here, she could be any one of them.'
The speaker relayed a grunt from Hob e. 'And?'
'The guy from the bar down n the Keys? He just showed up
here n a damn tax . Got here about ten m nutes after we d d,
strolled r ght n.'
The speaker crackled. No d scern ble reply.
'So what do we do?' the dr ver asked.
'St ck w th t,' Hob e's vo ce sa d. 'Maybe h de the veh cle and
lay up someplace. Wa t unt l everybody leaves. It's her house,
as far as I can tell. Maybe the fam ly home or a weekend place.
So everybody else w ll leave, and she'll be the one who stays.
Don't you come back here w thout her, OK?'
'What about the b g guy?'
'If he leaves, let h m go. If he doesn't, waste h m. But br ng me
th s Jacob woman.'
'You're Mrs Jacob?' Reacher asked.
Jod e Garber nodded.
'Am, was,' she sa d. 'I'm d vorced, but I keep the name for
work.'
'Who was he?'
She shrugged.
'A lawyer, l ke me. It seemed l ke a good dea at the t me.'
'How long?'
'Three years, beg nn ng to end. We met at law school, got
marr ed when we got jobs. I stayed on Wall Street, but he went
to a f rm n DC, couple of years ago. The marr age d dn't go w th
h m, just k nd of petered out. The papers came through last fall.
I could hardly remember who he was. Just a name, Alan Jacob.'
Reacher stood n the sunny yard and looked at her. He
real zed he was upset that she had been marr ed.
She had been a sk nny k d but totally gorgeous at f fteen, selfconf dent and nnocent and a l ttle shy about t all at the same
t me. He had watched the battle between her shyness and her
cur os ty as she sat and worked up the courage to talk to h m
about death and l fe and good and ev l. Then she would f dget
and tuck her bony knees up under her and work the
conversat on around to love and sex and men and women. Then
she would blush and d sappear. He would be left alone, cy
ns de, capt vated by her and angry at h mself for t. Days later
he would see her somewhere around the base, st ll blush ng
fur ously. And now f fteen years later she was a grown woman,
college and law school, marr ed and d vorced, beaut ful and
composed and elegant, stand ng there n her dead father's yard
w th her arm l nked through h s.
'Are you marr ed?' she asked h m.
He shook h s head. 'No.'
'But are you happy?'
'I'm always happy,' he sa d. 'Always was, always w ll be.'
'Do ng what?'
He shrugged.
'Noth ng much,' he sa d.
He glanced over the top of her head and scanned the faces n
the crowd. Subdued busy people, substant al l ves, b g careers,
all of them mov ng stead ly from A to Z. He looked at them and
wondered f they were the fools, or f he was. He recalled the
express on on Costello's face.
'I was just n the Keys,' he sa d. 'D gg ng sw mm ng pools w th
a shovel.'
Her face d dn't change. She tr ed to squeeze h s forearm w th
her hand, but her hand was too small and h s arm was too b g. It
came out as a gentle pressure from her palm.
'Costello f nd you down there?' she asked.
He d dn't f nd me to nv te me to a funeral, he thought.
'We need to talk about Costello,' he sa d.
'He's good, sn't he?'
Not good enough, he thought. She moved away to c rculate
through the crowd. People were wa t ng to offer the r secondlayer condolences. They were gett ng loose from the w ne, and
the buzz of talk was gett ng louder and more sent mental.
Reacher dr fted over to a pat o, where a long table w th a wh te
cloth held food. He loaded a paper plate w th cold ch cken and
r ce and took a glass of water. There was an anc ent pat o
furn ture set, gnored by the others because t was all spotted
w th l ttle grey-green botan cal dropp ngs from the trees. The
sun umbrella was st ff and faded wh te. Reacher ducked under
t and sat qu etly n a d rty cha r on h s own.
He watched the crowd as he ate. People were reluctant to
leave. The affect on for old Leon Garber was palpable. A guy
l ke that generates affect on n others, maybe too much to
express to h s face, so t has to all come out later. Jod e was
mov ng through the crowd, nodd ng, clasp ng hands, sm l ng
sadly. Everybody had a tale to tell her, an anecdote about
w tness ng Garber's heart of gold peep ng out from under h s
gruff and rasc ble exter or. He could add a few stor es. But he
wouldn't, because Jod e d dn't need t expla ned to her that her
father had been one of the good guys. She knew. She was
mov ng w th the seren ty of a person who had loved the old guy
all her l fe, and had been loved back. There was noth ng she
had neglected to tell h m, noth ng he had neglected to tell her.
People l ve, and then they d e, and as long as they do both
th ngs properly, there's noth ng much to regret.
They found a place on the same road that was obv ously a
weekend cottage, closed up t ght and unoccup ed. They backed
the Tahoe around beh nd the garage where t was h dden from
the street, but ready for pursu t. They took the n ne-m ll metres
out of the glove box and stowed them n the r jacket pockets.
Walked back down to the road and ducked nto the
undergrowth.
It was hard go ng. They were just s xty m les north of
Manhattan, but they m ght as well have been n the jungles of
Borneo. There were ragged v nes tangled everywhere, grabb ng
at them, tr pp ng them, wh pp ng the r faces and hands. The
trees were second-growth nat ve broadleafs, grow ng w ld,
bas cally weeds, and the r branches came out of them at crazy
low angles. They took to walk ng backwards, forc ng the r way
through. When they got level w th the Garber dr veway, they
were pant ng and gasp ng and smeared w th moss and green
pollen dust. They pushed through on to the property and found
a depress on n the ground where they were concealed. They
ducked left and r ght to get a v ew of the pathway lead ng up
from the backyard. People were head ng out, gett ng ready to
leave.
It was becom ng obv ous wh ch one was Mrs Jacob. If Hob e
was r ght and th s was her place, then she was the th n blonde
shak ng hands and say ng goodbye l ke all these depart ng
people had been her guests. They were leav ng, she was
stay ng. She was Mrs Jacob. They watched her, the centre of
attent on, sm l ng bravely, embrac ng, wav ng. People f led up
the dr veway, ones and twos, then larger groups. Cars were
start ng. Blue exhaust haze was dr ft ng. They could hear the
h ss and groan of power steer ng as people eased out of the
t ght l ne. The rub of tyres on pavement. The burble of motors
accelerat ng away down the road. Th s was go ng to be easy.
Pretty soon she was go ng to be stand ng there all by herself,
all choked up and sad. Then she was go ng to get a couple of
extra v s tors. Maybe she would see them com ng and take them
for a couple of mourners arr v ng late. After all, they were
dressed n dark su ts and t es. What f ts n down n Manhattan's
f nanc al d str ct looks just about r ght for a funeral.
Reacher followed the last two guests up the cement steps
and out of the yard. One was a colonel and the other was a twostar general, both n mmaculate dress un form. It was what he
had expected. A place w th free food and dr nk, the sold ers w ll
always be the last to leave. He d dn't know the colonel, but he
thought he vaguely recogn zed the general. He thought the
general recogn zed h m, too, but ne ther of them pursued t. No
des re on e ther part to get nto long and compl cated so-whatare-you-do ng-now explanat ons.
The brass shook hands qu te formally w th Jod e and then
they snapped to attent on and saluted. Cr sp parade-ground
moves, gleam ng boots smash ng nto the blacktop, eyes r g dly
to the front, thousand-yard stares, all qu te b zarre n the green
st llness of a suburban dr veway. They got nto the last car left
on the garage apron, one of the flat green sedans parked
nearest to the house. F rst to arr ve, last to leave. Peacet me,
no Cold War, noth ng to do all day. It was why Reacher had been
happy when they cut h m loose, and as he watched the green
car turn and head out, he knew he was r ght to be happy.
Jod e stepped s deways to h m and l nked her arm through
h s aga n.
'So,' she sa d qu etly. 'That's that.'
Then there was just bu ld ng s lence as the no se from the
green car faded and d ed along the road.
'Where's he bur ed?' Reacher asked.
'The town cemetery,' she sa d. 'He could have chosen
Arl ngton, of course, but he d dn't want that. You want to go up
there?'
He shook h s head.
'No, I don't do stuff l ke that. Makes no d fference to h m now,
does t? He knew I'd m ss h m, because I told h m so, a long
t me ago.'
She nodded. Held h s arm.
'We need to talk about Costello,' he sa d aga n.
'Why?' she asked. 'He gave you the message, r ght?'
He shook h s head.
'No, he found me, but I was wary. I sa d I wasn't Jack
Reacher.'
She looked up at h m, aston shed. 'But why?'
He shrugged.
'Hab t, I guess. I don't go around look ng for nvolvement. I
d dn't recogn ze the name Jacob, so I just gnored h m. I was
happy, l v ng qu et down there.'
She was st ll look ng at h m.
'I guess I should have used Garber,' she sa d. 'It was Dad's
bus ness anyway, not m ne. But I d d t through the f rm, and I
never even thought about t. You'd have l stened to h m f he'd
sa d Garber, r ght?'
'Of course,' he sa d.
'And you needn't have worr ed, because t was no k nd of a
b g deal.'
'Can we go ns de?' he asked.
She was surpr sed aga n. 'Why?'
'Because t was some k nd of a very b g deal.'
They saw her lead h m n through the front door. She pulled
the screen and he held t wh le she turned the knob and opened
up. Some k nd of a b g front door, dull brown wood. They went
ns de and the door closed beh nd them. Ten seconds later a
d m l ght came on n a w ndow, way off to the left. Some k nd of
a s tt ng room or den, they guessed, so shaded by the runaway
plant ngs outs de that t needed l ghts on even n the m ddle of
the day. They crouched n the r damp hollow and wa ted.
Insects were dr ft ng through the sunbeams all around them.
They glanced at each other and l stened hard. No sound.
They eased off the ground and pushed through to the
dr veway. Ran crouched to the corner of the garage. Pressed up
aga nst the s d ng and sl d around to the front. Across the front
towards the house. They went nto the r jackets for the p stols.
Held them po nted at the ground and went one at a t me for the
front porch. They regrouped and eased slowly over the old
t mbers. Ended up squatt ng on the floor, backs pressed aga nst
the house, one on e ther s de of the front door, p stols out and
ready. She'd gone n th s way. She'd come back out. Just a
matter of t me.
'Somebody k lled h m?' Jod e repeated. 'And h s secretary,
probably,' Reacher sa d.
'I don't bel eve t,' she sa d. 'Why?'
She had led h m through a dark hallway to a small den n the
far corner of the house. A t ny w ndow and dark wood panell ng
and heavy brown leather furn ture made t gloomy, so she
sw tched on a desk lamp, wh ch changed t nto a cosy man's
space l ke the prewar bars Reacher had seen n Europe. There
were shelves of books, cheap ed t ons bought by subscr pt on
decades ago, and curled faded photographs thumbtacked to the
front edges of the shelves. There was a pla n desk, the sort of
place where an old underemployed man does h s b lls and taxes
n m tat on of how he used to work when he had a job.
'I don't know why,' Reacher sa d. 'I don't know anyth ng. I
don't even know why you sent h m look ng for me.'
'Dad wanted you,' she sa d. 'He never really told me why. I
was busy, I had a tr al, complex th ng, lasted months. I was
preoccup ed. All I know s, after he got s ck he was go ng to the
card olog st, r ght? He met somebody there and got nvolved
w th someth ng. He was worr ed about t. Seemed to me he felt
he was under some k nd of a b g obl gat on. Then later when he
got worse, he knew he would have to drop t, and he started
say ng he should f nd you and let you take a look at t, because
you were a person who could maybe do someth ng about t. He
was gett ng all ag tated, wh ch was really not a good dea, so I
sa d I'd get Costello to locate you. We use h m all the t me at the
f rm, and t felt l ke the least I should do.'
It made some k nd of sense, but Reacher's f rst thought was
why me? He could see Garber's problem. In the m ddle of
someth ng, health fa l ng, unw ll ng to abandon an obl gat on,
need ng help. But a guy l ke Garber could get help anywhere.
The Manhattan Yellow Pages were full of nvest gators. And f t
was someth ng too arcane or too personal for a c ty
nvest gator, then all he had to do was p ck up the phone and a
dozen of h s fr ends from the m l tary pol ce would come
runn ng. Two dozen. A hundred. All of them w ll ng and anx ous
to repay h s many k ndnesses and favours wh ch stretched
r ght back through the r whole careers. So Reacher was s tt ng
there ask ng h mself why me n part cular?
'Who was the person he met at the card olog st's?'
She shrugged, unhapp ly.
'I don't know. I was preoccup ed. We never really went nto t.'
'D d Costello come up here? D scuss t d rectly w th h m?'
She nodded. 'I called h m and told h m we'd pay h m through
the f rm, but he was to come here and get the deta ls. He called
me back a day or two later, sa d he'd d scussed t w th Dad and
t all bo led down to f nd ng you. He wanted me to reta n h m
off c ally, on paper, because t could get expens ve. So naturally
I d d that, because I d dn't want Dad worry ng about the cost or
anyth ng.'
'Wh ch s why he told me h s cl ent was Mrs Jacob,' Reacher
sa d. 'Not Leon Garber. Wh ch s why I gnored h m. Wh ch s
how I got h m k lled.'
She shook her head and looked at h m sharply, l ke he was
some k nd of a new assoc ate who had just done a p ece of
sloppy draft ng. It took h m by surpr se. He was st ll th nk ng of
her as a f fteen-year-old g rl, not a th rty-year-old lawyer who
spent her t me gett ng preoccup ed w th long and complex
tr als.
'Non sequ tur,' she sa d. 'It's clear what happened,
r ght? Dad told Costello the story, Costello tr ed some k nd of
a shortcut before he went look ng for you, whereby he turned
over the wrong stone and got somebody alerted. That
somebody k lled h m to f nd out who was look ng, and why.
Makes no d fference f you'd played ball r ght away. They'd st ll
have got to Costello to ask h m exactly who put h m on the tra l.
So t's me who got h m k lled, ult mately.'
Reacher shook h s head. 'It was Leon. Through you.'
She shook her head n turn. 'It was the person at the
card ology cl n c. H m, through Dad, through me.'
'I need to f nd that person,' he sa d.
'Does t matter now?'
'I th nk t does,' he sa d. 'If Leon was worr ed about
someth ng, then I'm worr ed about t, too. That's how t worked
for us.'
Jod e nodded qu etly. Stood up qu ckly and stepped over to
the bookshelves. P ncered her f ngerna ls and levered the
thumbtack out of one of the photographs. Looked hard at the
photograph and then passed t across to h m.
'Remember that?' she asked.
The photograph must have been f fteen years old, the colours
fad ng to pale pastels the way old Kodak does w th age and
sunl ght. It had the harsh br ght sky of Man la above a d rt yard.
Leon Garber was on the left, about f fty, dressed n creased
ol ve fat gues. Reacher h mself was on the r ght, twenty-four
years old, a l eutenant, a foot taller than Garber, sm l ng w th all
the blaz ng v gour of youth. Between the two of them was Jod e,
f fteen, n a sundress, one bare arm around her father's
shoulders, the other around Reacher's wa st. She was squ nt ng
n the sun, sm l ng,
lean ng towards Reacher l ke she was hugg ng h s wa st w th
all the strength n her sk nny brown frame.
'Remember? He'd just bought the N kon n the PX? W th the
self-t mer? Borrowed a tr pod and couldn't wa t to try t out?'
Reacher nodded. He remembered. He remembered the smell
of her ha r that day, n the hot Pac f c sun. Clean, young ha r. He
remembered the feel of her body aga nst h s. He remembered
the feel of her long th n arm around h s wa st. He remembered
scream ng at h mself hold on, pal, she's only f fteen and she's
your CO's daughter.
'He called that h s fam ly p cture,' she sa d. 'Always d d.'
He nodded aga n. 'That's why. That's how t worked for us.'
She gazed at the photograph for a long moment, someth ng n
her face.
'And there's the secretary,' he sa d to her. 'They'll have asked
her who the cl ent was. She'll have told them. And even f she
d dn't, they'll f nd out anyway. Took me th rty seconds and one
phone call. So now they're go ng to come look ng for you, to
ask you who's beh nd all of th s.'
She looked blank and put the old photograph on the desk.
'But I don't know who.'
'You th nk they're go ng to bel eve that?'
She nodded vaguely and glanced towards the w ndow.
'OK, so what do I do?'
'You get out of here,' he sa d. 'That's for damn sure. Too
lonely, too solated. You got a place n the c ty?'
'Sure,' she sa d. 'A loft on lower Broadway.'
'You got a car here?'
She nodded. 'Sure, n the garage. But I was go ng to stay here
ton ght. I've got to f nd h s w ll, do the paperwork, close th ngs
down. I was go ng to leave tomorrow morn ng, early.'
'Do all that stuff now,' he sa d. 'As fast as you can, and get
out. I mean t, Jod e. Whoever these people are, they're not
play ng games.'
The look on h s face told her more than the words. She
nodded qu ckly and stood up.
'OK, the desk. You can g ve me a hand.'
From h s h gh school ROTC unt l h s ll-health demob l zat on
Leon Garber had done almost f fty years of m l tary serv ce of
one sort or another. It showed r ght there n h s desk. The upper
drawers conta ned pens and penc ls and rulers, all n neat rows.
The lower drawers were double he ght, w th concert na f les
hang ng on neat rods. Each was labelled n careful handwr t ng.
Taxes, phone, electr c ty, heat ng o l, yard work, appl ance
warrant es. There was a label w th newer handwr t ng n a
d fferent colour: last w ll and testament. Jod e fl cked through
the f les and ended up l ft ng the whole concert na put of each
drawer. Reacher found a battered leather su tcase n the den
closet and they loaded the concert nas stra ght nto t. Forced
the l d down t ght and snapped t shut. Reacher p cked up the
old photograph from the desk and looked at t aga n.
'D d you resent t?' he asked. 'The way he thought about me?
Fam ly?'
She paused n the doorway and nodded.
'I resented t l ke crazy,' she sa d. 'And one day I'll tell you
exactly why.'
He just looked at her and she turned and d sappeared down
the hallway.
I'll get my th ngs,' she called. 'F ve m nutes, OK?'
He stepped over to the bookshelf and tacked the old p cture
back n ts or g nal pos t on. Then he snapped the l ght off and
carr ed the su tcase out of the room. Stood n the qu et hallway
and looked around. It was a pleasant house. It had been
expanded n s ze at some stage n ts h story. That was clear.
There was a central core of rooms that made some k nd of
sense n terms of layout, and then there were more rooms off
the dog-legged hallway he was stand ng n. They branched out
from arb trary l ttle nner lobb es. Too small to be called a
warren, too b g to be pred ctable. He wandered through to the
l v ng room. The w ndows overlooked the yard and the r ver,
w th the West Po nt bu ld ngs v s ble at an angle from the
f replace end. The a r was st ll and smelled of old pol sh. The
decor was faded, and had been pla n to start w th. Neutral wood
floors, cream walls, heavy furn ture. An anc ent TV, no v deo.
Books, p ctures, more photographs. Noth ng matched. It was an
undes gned place, evolved, comfortable. It had been l ved n.
Garber must have bought t th rty years ago. Probably when
Jod e's mother got pregnant. It was a common move. Marr ed
off cers w th a fam ly often bought a place, generally near the r
f rst serv ce base or near some other locat on they mag ned
was go ng to be central to the r l ves, l ke West Po nt. They
bought the place and usually left t empty wh le they l ved
overseas. The po nt was to have an anchor, somewhere
dent f able they knew they would come back to when t was all
over. Or somewhere the r fam l es could l ve f the overseas
post ng was unsu table, or f the r ch ldren's educat on
demanded cons stency.
Reacher's parents had not taken that route. They had never
bought a place. Reacher had never l ved n a house. Gr m
serv ce bungalows and army bunkhouses were where he had
l ved, and s nce then, cheap motels. And he was pretty sure he
never wanted anyth ng d fferent. He was pretty sure he d dn't
want to l ve n a house. The des re just passed h m by. The
necessary nvolvement nt m dated h m. It was a phys cal
we ght, exactly l ke the su tcase n h s hand. The b lls, the
property taxes, the nsurance, the warrant es, the repa rs, the
ma ntenance, the dec s ons, new roof or new stove, carpet ng or
rugs, the budgets. The yard work. He stepped over and looked
out of the w ndow at the lawn. Yard work summed up the whole
fut le procedure. F rst you spend a lot of t me and money
mak ng the grass grow, just so you can spend a lot of t me and
money cutt ng t down aga n a l ttle wh le later. You curse about
t gett ng too long, and then you worry about t stay ng too short
and you spr nkle expens ve water on t all summer, and
expens ve chem cals all fall.
Crazy. But f any house could change h s m nd, maybe
Garber's house m ght do t. It was so casual, so undemand ng.
It looked l ke t had prospered on ben gn neglect. He could just
about mag ne l v ng n t. And the v ew was powerful. The w de
Hudson roll ng by, reassur ng and phys cal. That old r ver was
go ng to keep on roll ng by, whatever anybody d d about the
houses and the yards that dotted ts banks.
'OK, I'm ready, I guess,' Jod e called.
She appeared n the l v ng-room doorway. She was carry ng a
leather garment bag and she had changed out of her black
funeral su t. Now she was n a pa r of faded Lev 's and a
powder-blue sweatsh rt w th a small logo Reacher couldn't
dec pher. She had brushed her ha r, and the stat c had k cked a
couple of strands outward. She was smooth ng them back w th
her hand, hook ng them beh nd her ear. The powder-blue sh rt
p cked up her eyes and emphas zed the pale honey of her sk n.
The last f fteen years had done her no harm at all.
They walked through to the k tchen and bolted the door to the
yard. Turned off all the appl ances they could see and screwed
the faucets t ght shut. Came back out nto the hallway and
opened the front door.
FIVE
Reacher was f rst out through the door, for a number of
reasons. Normally he m ght have let Jod e go out ahead of h m,
because h s generat on st ll carr ed w th t the last vest ges of
Amer can good manners, but he had learned to be wary about
d splay ng ch valry unt l he knew exactly how the woman he
was w th was go ng to react. And t was her house, not h s,
wh ch altered the dynam c anyway, and she would need to use
the key to lock the door beh nd them. So for all those reasons
he was the f rst person to step out to the porch, and so he was
the f rst person the two guys saw.
Waste the b g guy and br ng me Mrs Jacob, Hob e had told
them. The guy on the left went for a snapshot from a s tt ng
pos t on. He was tensed up and ready, so t took h s bra n a lot
less than a second to process what h s opt c nerve was feed ng
t. He felt the front door open, he saw the screen sw ng out, he
saw somebody stepp ng onto the porch, he saw t was the b g
guy com ng f rst, and he f red.
The guy on the r ght was n a dumb pos t on. The screen
creaked open r ght n h s face. In tself t was no k nd of an
obstacle, because t ght nylon gauze des gned to stop nsects s
not go ng to do a lot about stopp ng bullets, but he was a r ghthanded guy and the frame of the screen was mov ng on a d rect
coll s on course w th h s gun hand as t swung around nto
pos t on. That made h m hes tate fract onally and then scramble
up and forward around the arc of the frame. He grabbed t
backhanded w th h s left and pulled t nto h s body and folded
h mself around t w th h s r ght hand sw ng ng up and nto
pos t on.
By then Reacher was operat ng unconsc ously and
nst nct vely. He was nearly th rty-n ne years old, and h s
memory stretched back through maybe th rty-f ve of those
years to the d mmest early fragments of h s ch ldhood, and that
memory was f lled w th absolutely noth ng except m l tary
serv ce, h s father's, h s fr ends' fathers', h s own, h s fr ends'.
He had never known stab l ty, he had never completed a year n
the same school, he had never worked n ne to f ve Monday to
Fr day, he had never counted on anyth ng at all except surpr se
and unpred ctab l ty. There was a port on of h s bra n developed
way out of all proport on, l ke a grotesquely overtra ned muscle,
wh ch made t seem to h m ent rely reasonable that he should
step out of a door n a qu et New York suburban town and
glance down at two men he had last seen two thousand m les
away n the Keys crouch ng and sw ng ng n ne-m ll metre
p stols up n h s d rect on. No shock, no surpr se, no gasp ng
freez ng fear or pan c. No paus ng, no hes tat on, no nh b t ons.
Just nstant react on to a purely mechan cal problem la d out n
front of h m l ke a geometr c d agram nvolv ng t me and space
and angles and hard bullets and soft flesh.
The heavy su tcase was n h s left hand, sw ng ng forward as
he laboured w th t over the threshold. He d d two th ngs at
once. F rst he kept the sw ng go ng,
us ng all the new strength n h s left shoulder to k ck the case
onward and outward. Second he w ndm lled h s r ght arm
backward and shoved Jod e n the chest, smash ng her back
ns de the hallway. She staggered back a step and the mov ng
su tcase caught the f rst bullet. Reacher felt t k ck n h s hand.
He jerked t r ght to the end of ts sw ng, lean ng out nto the
porch l ke a hes tant d ver over a cold pool, and t h t the lefthand guy a glanc ng blow n the face. He was half up and half
down, crouch ng, unstable, and the blow from the case rolled
h m over and backward and out of the p cture.
But Reacher d dn't see h m go down, because h s eyes were
already on the other guy loop ng around the screen w th h s
gun about f fteen degrees away from ready. Reacher used the
momentum of the sw ng ng su tcase to hurl h mself forward. He
let the handle pull out through h s hooked f ngert ps and fl p
h m nto a d ve w th h s r ght arm accelerat ng back past h m
stra ght out across the porch. The gun swung around and
smacked h m flat on h s chest. He heard t f re and felt the
muzzle blast sear h s sk n. The bullet launched s deways under
h s ra sed left arm and h t the d stant garage about the same
t me h s r ght elbow h t the guy n the face.
An elbow mov ng fast ahead of 250 pounds of d v ng body
we ght does a lot of damage. It glanced off the frame of the
screen and caught the guy n the ch n. The shock wave went
back and up through the h nge of the jaw, wh ch s a sturdy
enough jo nt that the force was carr ed und m n shed up nto
the guy's bra n. Reacher could tell from the rubbery way he fell
across h s back that he was out for a spell. Then the screen
door was creak ng shut aga nst ts spr ng and
the left-hand guy was scrabbl ng s deways across the porch
floorboards for h s gun, wh ch was sk tter ng away from h m.
Jod e was framed n the doorway, bent double, hands clasped
to her chest, gasp ng for breath. The old su tcase was toppl ng
end over end out on to the front lawn.
Jod e was the problem. He was separated from" her by about
e ght feet, and the left-hand guy was between the two of them. If
he grabbed the sk tter ng gun and l ned t up to h s r ght, he
would be l ned up on her. Reacher heaved the unconsc ous guy
out of the way and threw h mself at the door. Batted the screen
back and fell ns de. Dragged Jod e a yard nto the hallway and
slammed the door shut. It k cked and banged three t mes as the
guy f red after h m and dust and wood spl nters blasted out nto
the a r. He cl cked the lock and pulled Jod e across the floor to
the k tchen.
'Can we get to the garage?'
'Through the breezeway,' she gasped.
It was June, so the storm w ndows were down and the
breezeway was noth ng but a w de passage w th floor-to-ce l ng
screens on both s des. The left-hand guy was us ng an M9
Beretta, wh ch would have started the day w th f fteen rounds n
the box. He'd f red four, one nto the su tcase and three nto the
door. Eleven left, wh ch was not a comfort ng thought when all
that stood between you and h m was a few square yards of
nylon mesh.
'Car keys?'
She fumbled them out of her bag. He took them and closed
them nto h s f st. The k tchen door had a glass panel w th a
v ew stra ght through the breezeway to an dent cal door exactly
oppos te, wh ch led nto the garage.
'Is that door locked?'
She nodded breathlessly. 'The green one. Green for garage.'
He looked at the bunch of keys. There was an old Yale, dotted
w th a smear of green pa nt. He eased the k tchen door open
and knelt and eased h s head out, lower than would be
expected. He craned around, both ways. No s gn of the guy
wa t ng outs de. Then he selected the green key and held t
po nted out n front of h m l ke a t ny lance. Pushed to h s feet
and spr nted. Checked and slammed the key nto the hole and
turned t and yanked t back out. Pushed the door open and
waved Jod e across after h m. She fell nto the garage and he
slammed the door beh nd her. Locked t and l stened. No sound.
The garage was a large dark space, open rafters, open
fram ng, smell ng of old motor o l and creosote. It was full of
garage th ngs, mowers and hoses and lawn cha rs, but they
were all old th ngs, the belong ngs of a man who stopped
buy ng new g zmos twenty years ago. So the ma n doors were
just manual rollers that ran upward n curv ng metal tracks. No
mechan sm. No electr c opener. The floor was smooth poured
concrete, aged and swept to a sh ne. Jod e's car was a new
Oldsmob le Bravada, dark green, gold accents. It was crouched
there n the dark, nose- n to the back wall. Badges on the
ta lgate, boast ng about four-wheel dr ve and a V-6 eng ne. The
four-wheel dr ve would be useful, but how fast that V-6 started
would be cruc al.
'Get n the back,' he wh spered. 'Down on the floor, OK?'
She crawled n head f rst, and lay down across the
transm ss on hump. He crossed the garage and found
the key to the door out to the yard. Opened t up and peered
out and l stened. No movement, no sound. Then he came back
to the car and sl d the key n and sw tched on the gn t on so he
could rack the electr c seat all the way back to the end of ts
runners.
'I'll be there n a m nute,' he wh spered.
Garber's tool area was as t dy as h s desk had been. There
was an e ght-by-four pegboard w th a full set of household tools
neatly arranged on t. Reacher selected a heavy carpenter's
hammer and l fted t down. Stepped out of the door to the yard
and threw the hammer overarm, d agonally r ght over the
house, to send t crash ng nto the undergrowth he had seen at
the front. He counted to f ve to g ve the guy t me to hear t and
react to t and run towards t from wherever he was currently
h d ng. Then he ducked back ns de to the car. Stood alongs de
the open door and turned the key, arm's length. F red t up. The
eng ne started nstantly. He dodged backward and flung the
roller door up. It crashed along ts metal track. He threw h mself
nto the dr ver's seat and smashed the selector nto reverse and
stamped on the pedal. All four tyres howled and then b t on the
smooth concrete and the veh cle shot backward out of the
garage. Reacher gl mpsed the guy w th the Beretta, way off to
h s left on the front lawn, sp nn ng to look at them. He
accelerated all the way up the dr veway and lurched backward
nto the road. Braked f ercely and spun the wheel and found
dr ve and took off n a haze of blue tyre smoke.
He accelerated hard for f fty yards and then l fted off the gas.
Coasted to a gentle stop just beyond the ne ghbour's dr veway.
Selected reverse aga n and dled backward nto t and down nto
the plant ngs.
Stra ghtened up and k lled the motor. Beh nd h m, Jod e
struggled up off the floor and stared.
'Hell are we do ng here?' she sa d.
'Wa t ng.'
'For what?'
'For them to get out of there.'
She gasped, halfway between outrage and aston shment.
'We're not wa t ng, Reacher, we're go ng stra ght to the pol ce
w th th s.'
He turned the key aga n to g ve h m power to operate the
w ndow. Buzzed t all the way down, so he could l sten to the
sounds outs de.
'I can't go to the pol ce w th th s,' he sa d, not look ng at her.
'Why the hell can't you?'
'Because they'll start look ng at me for Costello.'
'You d dn't k ll Costello.'
'You th nk they'll be ready and w ll ng to bel eve that?'
'They'll have to bel eve t, because t wasn't you, s mple as
that.'
'Could take them t me to f nd somebody looks better for t.'
She paused. 'So what are you say ng?'
'I'm say ng t's all-around advantageous I stay away from the
pol ce.'
She shook her head. He saw t n the m rror.
'No, Reacher, we need the pol ce for th s.'
He kept h s eyes on hers, n the m rror.
'Remember what Leon used to say? He used to say hell, I am
the pol ce.'
'Well, he was, and you were. But that was a long t me ago.'
'Not so long ago, for e ther of us.'
She went qu et. Sat forward. Leaned towards h m. 'You don't
want to go to the pol ce, r ght? That's t, sn't t? Not that you
can't, you just damn well don't want to.'
He half turned n the dr ver's seat so he could look stra ght at
her. He saw her eyes drop to the burn on h s sh rt. There was a
long teardrop shape there, a black sooty sta n, gunpowder
part cles tattooed nto the cotton. He und d the buttons and
pulled the sh rt open. Squ nted down. The same teardrop shape
was burned nto h s sk n, the ha rs fr zzed and curled, a bl ster
already puff ng up, gett ng red and angry. He l cked h s thumb
and pressed t on the bl ster and gr maced.
'They mess w th me, they answer to me.'
She stared at h m. 'You're totally unbel evable, you know
that? You're just as bad as my father was. We should go to the
pol ce, Reacher.'
'Can't do t,' he sa d. 'They'll throw me n ja l.'
'We should,' she sa d aga n.
But she sa d t weakly. He shook h s head and sa d noth ng
back. Watched her closely. She was a lawyer, but she was also
Leon's daughter, and she knew how th ngs worked outs de n
the real world. She was qu et for a long spell, and then she
shrugged helplessly and put her hand on her breastbone, l ke t
was tender.
'You OK?' he asked her.
'You h t me k nd of hard,' she sa d.
I could rub t better, he thought.
'Who were those guys?' she asked.
"The two who k lled Costello,' he sa d.
She nodded. Then she s ghed. Her blue eyes glanced left and
r ght.
'So where are we go ng?'
He relaxed. Then he sm led. 'Where's the last place they'll
look for us?'
She shrugged. Took her hand off her chest and used t to
smooth her ha r.
'Manhattan?' she sa d.
'The house,' he sa d. 'They saw us run, they won't expect us
to double back.'
'You're crazy, you know that?'
'We need the su tcase. Leon m ght have made notes.'
She shook her head, dazed.
'And we need to close the place up aga n. We can't leave the
garage open. It'll end up full of raccoons. Whole fam l es of the
bastards.'
Then he held up h s hand. Put h s f nger to h s l ps. There was
the sound of a motor start ng up. Maybe a b g V-8, maybe two
hundred yards away. There was the rattle of b g tyres on a
d stant stony dr veway. The burble of accelerat on. Then a black
shape flashed across the r v ew. A b g black jeep, alum n um
wheels. A Yukon or a Tahoe, depend ng on whether t sa d GMC
on the back, or Chevrolet. Two guys n t, dark su ts, one of
them dr v ng and the other slumped back n h s seat. Reacher
stuck h s head all the way out of the w ndow and l stened to the
sound as t d ed to s lence n the d rect on of town.
Chester Stone wa ted n h s own off ce su te more than an
hour, and then he called downsta rs and had the f nance
d rector contact the bank and check on the operat ng account. It
showed a one-po nt-one-m ll on-dollar cred t, w red n f fty
m nutes ago from the Cayman off ce of a Bahamas-owned trust
company.
'It's there,' the f nance guy sa d. 'You d d the tr ck, ch ef.'
Stone gr pped the phone and wondered exactly what tr ck he
had done.
'I'm com ng down,' he sa d. 'I want to go over the f gures.'
"The f gures are good,' the f nance guy sa d. 'Don't worry
about t.'
'I'm com ng down anyway,' Stone sa d.
He rode the elevator two floors down and jo ned the f nance
guy n h s plush nner off ce. Entered the password and called
up the secret spreadsheet. Then the f nance guy took over and
typed n the new balance ava lable n the operat ng account.
The software ran the calculat on and came up exactly level, s x
weeks nto the future.
'See?' the guy sa d. 'B ngo.'
'What about the nterest payment?' Stone asked.
'Eleven grand a week, s x weeks? K nd of steep, sn't t?'
'Can we pay t?'
The guy nodded conf dently. 'Sure we can. We owe two
suppl ers seventy-three grand. We got t, ready to go. If we lose
the nvo ces, get them to re-subm t, we free that cash up for a
spell.'
He tapped the screen and nd cated a prov s on aga nst
rece ved nvo ces.
'Seventy-three grand, m nus eleven a week for s x weeks,
g ves us seven grand spare. We should go out to d nner a
couple of t mes.'
'Run t aga n, OK?' Stone sa d. 'Double check.'
The guy gave h m a look, but he ran t aga n. He took out the
one-po nt-one, ended up n the red, put t back n aga n, and
ended up balanced. He cancelled
the prov s on aga nst the nvo ces, subtracted eleven
thousand every seven days, and ended the s x-week per od w th
an operat ng surplus of seven thousand dollars.
'Close,' he sa d. 'But the r ght s de of close.'
'How do we repay the pr nc pal?' Stone asked. 'We need onepo nt-one m ll on ava lable at the end of the s x weeks.'
'No problem,' the guy sa d. 'I've got t all f gured. We'll have t
n t me.'
'Show me, OK?'
'OK, see here?' He was tapp ng the screen on a d fferent l ne,
where payments due n from customers were l sted. 'These two
wholesalers owe us exactly one-po nt-one-seven-three', wh ch
exactly matches the pr nc pal plus the lost nvo ces, and t's due
exactly s x weeks from now.'
'W ll they pay on t me?'
The guy shrugged. 'Well, they always have.'
Stone stared at the screen. H s eyes moved up and down, left
and r ght.
'Run t all aga n. Tr ple-check.'
'Don't sweat t, ch ef. It adds up.'
'Just do t, OK?'
The guy nodded. It was Stone's company, after all. He ran t
aga n, the whole calculat on, beg nn ng to end, and t came out
just the same. Hob e's one-po nt-one d sappeared as the
bl zzard of pay checks cleared, the two suppl ers went hungry,
the nterest got pa d, the payments came n from the
wholesalers, Hob e got h s one-po nt-one back, the suppl ers
got pa d late, and the sheet ended up show ng the same tr v al
seven-thousand-dollar surplus n the r favour.
'Don't sweat t,' the guy sa d aga n. 'It works out.'
Stone was star ng at the screen, wonder ng f that spare
seven grand would buy Mar lyn a tr p to Europe. Probably not.
Not a s x-week tr p, anyway. And t would alert her. It would
worry her. She'd ask h m why he was mak ng her go. And he'd
have to tell her. She was very smart. Smart enough to get t out
of h m, one way or another. And then she would refuse to go to
Europe, and she would end up ly ng awake every n ght for s x
weeks, too.
The su tcase was st ll there, ly ng on the front lawn. There
was a bullet hole punched n one end. No ex t hole. The bullet
must have gone through the leather, through the sturdy
plywood carcass, and burned to a stop aga nst the packed
paper ns de. Reacher sm led and carr ed t back to jo n Jod e
over at the garage.
They left the jeep on the blacktop apron and went n the same
way they had come out. Closed up the roller door and walked
through to the breezeway. Locked the ns de door beh nd them
w th the green key and walked through to the k tchen. Locked
that door beh nd them and stepped past Jod e's abandoned
garment bag n the hallway. Reacher carr ed the su tcase nto
the l v ng room. More space and more l ght there than n the
den.
He opened the case and l fted the concert na f les out on to
the floor. The bullet fell out w th them and bounced on the rug.
It was a standard n ne-m ll metre Parabellum, full copper jacket.
Sl ghtly flattened on the nose from the mpact w th the old
plywood, but otherw se unmarked. The paper had slowed t to a
complete stop n the space of about e ghteen nches. He could
see the hole punched all the way through half the f les. He
we ghed the bullet n h s palm, and
then he saw Jod e at the door, watch ng h m. He tossed the
bullet to her. She caught t, one-handed.
'Souven r,' he sa d.
She juggled t l ke t was hot and dropped t n the f replace.
Jo ned h m on the rug, kneel ng h p to h p bes de h m n front of
the mass of paper. He caught her perfume, someth ng he d d
not recogn ze, but someth ng subtle and ntensely fem n ne.
The sweatsh rt was too b g on her, large and shapeless, but
somehow t emphas zed her f gure. The sleeves f n shed
halfway down the backs of her hands, almost at her f ngers. Her
Lev 's were c nched n t ght around her t ny wa st w th a belt,
and her legs left them sl ghtly empty. She looked frag le, but he
could remember the strength n her arms. Th n, but w ry. She
bent to look at the f les, and her ha r fell forward, and he caught
the same soft smell he recalled from f fteen years prev ously.
'What are we look ng for?' she asked.
He shrugged. 'We'll know when we f nd t, I guess.'
They looked hard, but they found noth ng. There was noth ng
there. Noth ng current, noth ng s gn f cant. Just a mass of
household paper, look ng suddenly old and pathet c as t
charted ts way through a domest c l fe that was now over. The
most recent tem was the w ll, on ts own n a separate slot,
sealed nto an envelope w th neat wr t ng on t. Neat, but sl ghtly
slow and shaky, the wr t ng of a man just back from the hosp tal
after h s f rst heart attack. Jod e took t out to the hallway and
sl pped t nto the pocket of her garment bag.
'Any unpa d b lls?' she called.
There was a slot marked pend ng. It was empty.
'Can't see any,' he called back. 'There'll be a few com ng n, I
guess, r ght? Do they come n monthly?'
She gave h m a look from the doorway and sm led.
'Yes, they do,' she sa d. 'Monthly, every month.'
There was a slot marked med cal. It was overstuffed w th
rece pted b lls from the hosp tal and the cl n c and sheaves of
eff c ent correspondence from the nsurance prov der. Reacher
leafed through t all.
'Chr st, s that what th s stuff costs?'
Jod e came back and bent to look.
'Sure t s,' she sa d. 'Have you got nsurance?'
He looked at her, blankly.
'I th nk maybe the VA g ves t to me, at least for a per od.'
'You should check t out,' she sa d. 'Make sure.'
He shrugged. 'I feel OK.'
'So d d Dad,' she sa d. 'For s xty-three and a half stra ght
years.'
She knelt bes de h m aga n, and he saw her eyes cloud over.
He la d h s hand on her arm, gently.
'Hell of a day, r ght?' he sa d.
She nodded and bl nked. Then she came up w th a small, wry
sm le.
'Unbel evable,' she sa d. 'I bury" the old man, I get shot at by a
couple of murderers, I break the law by fa l ng to report so many
felon es I can't even count them, and then I get talked nto
hook ng up w th some w ld man a m ng to run some k nd of a
v g lante deal. You know what Dad would have sa d to me?'
'What?'
She pursed her l ps and lowered her vo ce nto a close
m tat on of Garber's good-natured growl. 'All n a day's work,
g rl, all n a day's work. That's what he would have sa d to me.'
Reacher gr nned back at her and squeezed her arm aga n.
Then he leafed through the med cal junk and p cked out a
letterhead.
'Let's go f nd th s cl n c,' he sa d.
There was a lot of debate go ng on ns de the Tahoe about
whether they should go back at all. Fa lure was not a popular
word n Hob e's vocabulary. It m ght be better just to take off
and d sappear. Just get the hell out. It was an attract ve
prospect. But they were pretty sure Hob e would f nd them.
Maybe not soon, but he would f nd them. And that was not an
attract ve prospect.
So they turned the r attent on to damage l m tat on. It was
clear what they had to do. They made the necessary stops and
wasted a plaus ble amount of t me n a d ner just off the
southbound s de of Route 9. By the t me they had battled the
traff c back down to the southern t p of Manhattan, they had
the r whole story stra ght.
'It was a no-bra ner,' the f rst guy sa d. 'We wa ted for hours,
wh ch s why we're so late back. Problem was there was a whole
bunch of sold ers there, k nd of ceremon al, but they had r fles
all over the place.'
'How many?' Hob e asked.
'Sold ers?' the second guy sa d. 'At least a dozen. Maybe
f fteen. They were all m ll ng around, so t was hard to count
them exactly. Some k nd of honour guard.'
'She left w th them,' the f rst guy sa d. 'They must have
escorted her down from the cemetery, and then she went back
somewhere w th them afterward.'
'You d dn't th nk to follow?'
'No way we could,' the second guy sa d. 'They were dr v ng
slow, a long l ne of cars. L ke a funeral
process on? They'd have made us n a second. We couldn't
just tag on the end of a funeral process on, r ght?'
'What about the b g guy from the Keys?'
'He left real early. We just let h m go. We were watch ng for
Mrs Jacob. It was pretty clear by then wh ch one she was. She
stayed around, then she left, all surrounded by th s bunch of
m l tary.'
'So what d d you do then?'
'We checked the house,' the f rst guy sa d. 'Locked up t ght.
So we went nto the town and checked the property t tle.
Everyth ng's l sted n the publ c l brary. The place was
reg stered to a guy called Leon Garber. We asked the l brar an
what she knew, and she just handed us the local newspaper.
Page three, there was a story about the guy. Just d ed, heart
trouble. W dower, only surv v ng relat ve s h s daughter Jod e,
the former Mrs Jacob, who s a young but very em nent
f nanc al attorney w th Spencer Gutman R cker and Talbot of
Wall Street, and who l ves on Lower Broadway r ght here n New
York C ty.'
Hob e nodded slowly, and tapped the sharp end of h s hook
on the desk, w th a j ttery l ttle rhythm.
'And who was th s Leon Garber, exactly? Why all the sold ers
at h s wake?'
'M l tary pol ceman,' the f rst guy sa d.
The second guy nodded. 'Mustered out w th three stars and
more medals than you can count, served forty years, Korea,
V etnam, everywhere.'
Hob e stopped tapp ng. He sat st ll and the colour dra ned out
of h s face, leav ng h s sk n dead wh te, all except for the sh ny
p nk burn scars that glowed v v d n the gloom.
'M l tary pol ceman,' he repeated qu etly.
He sat for a long t me w th those words on h s l ps. He just sat
and stared nto space, and then he l fted h s hook off the desk
and rotated t n front of h s eyes, slowly, exam n ng t, allow ng
the th n beams of l ght from the bl nds to catch ts curves and
contours. It was trembl ng, so he took t n h s left hand and
held t st ll.
'M l tary pol ceman,' he sa d aga n, star ng at the hook. Then
he transferred h s gaze to the two men on the sofas.
'Leave the room,' he sa d to the second guy.
The guy glanced once at h s partner and went out and closed
the door softly beh nd h m. Hob e pushed back n h s cha r and
stood up. Came out from beh nd the desk and stepped over and
stopped st ll, d rectly beh nd the f rst guy, who just sat there on
h s sofa, not mov ng, not dar ng to turn around and look.
He wore a s ze s xteen collar, wh ch made h s neck a fract on
over f ve nches n d ameter, assum ng a human neck s more or
less a un form cyl nder, wh ch was an approx mat on Hob e had
always been happy to make. Hob e's hook was a s mple steel
curve, l ke a cap tal letter J, generously s zed. The ns de
d ameter of the curve was four and three-quarter nches. He
moved fast, dart ng the hook out and forc ng t over the guy's
throat from beh nd. He stepped back and pulled w th all h s
strength. The guy threw h mself upward and backward, h s
f ngers scrabbl ng under the cold metal to rel eve the gagg ng
pressure. Hob e sm led and pulled harder. The hook was r veted
to a heavy leather cup and a match ng shaped corset, the cup
over the rema ns of h s forearm, the corset buckled t ght over
h s b cep above h s elbow. The forearm assembly was just a
stab l zer. It was the upper corset, smaller than the bulge of h s
elbow jo nt, that took all
the stra n and made t mposs ble for the hook to be
separated from the stump. He pulled unt l the gagg ng turned to
fractured wheez ng and the redness n the guy's face began to
turn blue. Then he eased off an nch and bent close to the guy's
ear.
'He had a b g bru se on h s face. What the hell was that
about?'
The guy was wheez ng and gestur ng w ldly. Hob e tw sted the
hook, wh ch rel eved the pressure on the guy's vo ce box, but
brought the t p up nto the soft area under h s ear.
'What the hell was that about?' he asked aga n.
The guy knew that w th the hook at that angle any extra
rearward pressure was go ng to put the t p r ght through h s
sk n nto that vulnerable tr angle beh nd the jaw. He d dn't know
much about anatomy, but he knew he was half an nch away
from dy ng.
'I'll tell you,' he wheezed. 'I'll tell you.'
Hob e kept the hook n pos t on, tw st ng t every t me the guy
hes tated, so that the whole true story took no longer than three
m nutes, beg nn ng to end.
'You fa led me,' Hob e sa d.
'Yes, we d d,' the guy gasped. 'But t was h s fault. He got all
tangled up beh nd the screen door. He was useless.'
Hob e jerked the hook.
'As opposed to what? L ke he's useless and you're useful?'
'It was h s fault,' the guy gasped aga n. 'I'm st ll useful.'
'You're go ng to have to prove that to me.'
'How?' the guy wheezed. 'Please, how? Just tell me.'
'Easy. You can do someth ng for me.'
'Yes,' the guy gasped. 'Yes, anyth ng, please.'
'Br ng me Mrs Jacob,' Hob e screamed at h m.
'Yes,' the guy screamed back.
'And don't screw up aga n,' Hob e screamed.
'No,' the guy gasped. 'No, we won't, I prom se.'
Hob e jerked the hook aga n, tw ce, n t me w th h s words.
'Not we. Just you. Because you can do someth ng else for
me.'
'What?' the guy wheezed. 'Yes, what? Anyth ng.'
'Get r d of your useless partner,' Hob e wh spered. 'Ton ght,
on the boat.'
The guy nodded as v gorously as the hook would allow h s
head to move. Hob e leaned forward and sl pped the hook away.
The guy collapsed s deways, gasp ng and retch ng nto the
fabr c on the sofa.
'And br ng me h s r ght hand,' Hob e wh spered. 'To prove t.'
They found that the cl n c Leon had been attend ng was not
really a place n ts own r ght, but just an adm n strat ve un t
w th n a g ant pr vate hosp tal fac l ty serv ng the whole of lower
Putnam County. There was a ten-storey wh te bu ld ng set n
parkland, w th med cal pract ces of every descr pt on clustered
around ts base. Small roads snaked through tasteful
landscap ng and led to l ttle culs-de-sac r nged w th low off ces
for the doctors and the dent sts. Anyth ng the profess ons
couldn't handle n the off ces got transferred to rented beds
ns de the ma n bu ld ng. Thus the card ology cl n c was a
not onal ent ty, made up of a chang ng populat on of doctors
and pat ents depend ng on who was s ck and how bad they
were. Leon's own correspondence showed he had been seen n
several d fferent phys cal locat ons, rang ng from
the ICU at the outset, to the recovery ward, then to one of the
outpat ent off ces, then back to the ICU for h s f nal v s t.
The name of the superv s ng card olog st was the only
constant feature throughout the paperwork, a Dr McBannerman,
who Reacher p ctured n h s m nd as a k ndly old guy, wh te
ha r, erud te, w se and sympathet c, maybe of anc ent Scott sh
extract on, unt l Jod e told h m she had met w th her several
t mes and she was a woman from Balt more aged about th rtyf ve. He was dr v ng Jod e's jeep around the small curv ng
roads, wh le she was scann ng left and r ght for the correct
off ce. She recogn zed t at the end of a cul-de-sac, a low br ck
structure, wh te tr m, somehow glow ng w th an ant sept c halo
l ke med cal bu ld ngs do. There were half a dozen cars parked
outs de, w th one spare slot wh ch Reacher backed nto.
The recept on st was a heavy old busybody who welcomed
Jod e w th a measure of sympathy. She nv ted them to wa t n
McBannerman's nner off ce, wh ch earned them glares from the
other pat ents n the wa t ng room. The nner off ce was an
noffens ve place, pale and ster le and s lent, w th a token
exam nat on table and a large coloured cutaway d agram of the
human heart on the wall beh nd the desk. Jod e was star ng up
at t l ke she was ask ng so wh ch part f nally fa led? Reacher
could feel h s own heart, huge and muscular and thump ng
gently n h s chest. He could feel the blood pump ng and the
pulses t ck ng n h s wr sts and h s neck.
They wa ted l ke that for ten m nutes, and then the nner door
opened and Dr McBannerman stepped n, a pla n dark-ha red
woman n a wh te coat, a
stethoscope around her neck l ke a badge of off ce, and
concern n her face.
'Jod e,' she sa d. 'I'm terr bly sorry about Leon.'
It was 99 per cent genu ne, but there was a stray edge of
worry there, too. She's worr ed about a malpract ce su t,
Reacher thought. The pat ent's daughter was a lawyer, and she
was r ght there n her off ce stra ght from the funeral ceremony.
Jod e caught t too, and she nodded, a reassur ng l ttle gesture.
'I just came to say thank you. You were absolutely wonderful,
every step of the way. He couldn't have had better care.'
McBannerman relaxed. The 1 per cent of worry washed away.
She sm led and Jod e glanced up at the b g d agram aga n.
'So wh ch part f nally fa led?' she asked.
McBannerman followed her gaze and shrugged gently.
'Well, all of t, really, I'm afra d. It's a b g complex muscle, t
beats and t beats, th rty m ll on t mes a year. If t lasts twentyseven hundred m ll on beats, wh ch s n nety years, we call t
old age. If t lasts only e ghteen hundred m ll on beats, s xty
years, we call t premature heart d sease. We call t Amer ca's
b ggest health problem, but really all we're say ng s sooner or
later t just stops go ng.'
She paused and looked d rectly at Reacher. For a second he
thought she had spotted some symptom he was d splay ng.
Then he real zed she was wa t ng for an ntroduct on.
'Jack Reacher,' he sa d. 'I was an old fr end of Leon's.'
She nodded slowly, l ke a puzzle had just been solved.
'The famous Major Reacher. He spoke about you, often.'
She sat and looked at h m, openly nterested. She scanned
h s face, and then her eyes settled on h s chest. He wasn't sure
f that was because of her profess onal spec al ty, or f she was
look ng at the scorch mark from the muzzle blast.
'D d he speak about anyth ng else?' Jod e asked. 'I got the
mpress on he was concerned about someth ng.'
McBannerman turned to her, puzzled, l ke she was th nk ng
well, all of my pat ents are concerned about someth ng, l ke l fe
and death.
'What sort of th ng?'
'I don't really know,' Jod e sa d. 'Maybe someth ng one of the
other pat ents m ght have nvolved h m w th?'
McBannerman shrugged and looked blank, l ke she was
about to d sm ss t, but then they saw her remember.
'Well, he d d ment on someth ng. He told me he had a new
task.'
'D d he say what t was?'
McBannerman shook her head.
'He ment oned no deta ls. In t ally, t seemed to bore h m. He
was reluctant about t, at f rst. L ke somebody had landed h m
w th someth ng ted ous. But then he got a lot more nterested,
later. It got to where t was overst mulat ng h m. H s ECGs were
way up, and I wasn't at all happy about t.'
'Was t connected to another pat ent?' Reacher asked her.
She shook her head aga n.
'I really don't know. It's poss ble, I guess. They
spend a lot of t me together, out there n recept on. They talk
to each other. They're old people, often bored and lonely, I'm
afra d.'
It sounded l ke a rebuke. Jod e blushed.
'When d d he f rst ment on t?' Reacher asked, qu ckly.
'March?' McBannerman sa d. 'Apr l? Soon after he became an
outpat ent, anyway. Not long before he went to Hawa .'
Jod e stared at her, surpr sed. 'He went to Hawa ? I d dn't
know that.'
McBannerman nodded. 'He m ssed an appo ntment and I
asked h m what had happened, and he sa d he'd been to Hawa ,
just a couple of days.'
'Hawa ? Why would he go to Hawa w thout tell ng me?'
'I don't know why he went,' McBannerman sa d.
'Was he well enough to travel?' Reacher asked her.
She shook her head.
'No, and I th nk he knew t was s lly. Maybe that's why he
d dn't ment on t.'
'When d d he become an outpat ent?' Reacher asked.
'Beg nn ng of March,' she sa d.
'And when d d he go to Hawa ?'
'M ddle of Apr l, I th nk.'
'OK,' he sa d. 'Can you g ve us a l st of your other pat ents
dur ng that per od? March and Apr l? People he m ght have
talked to?'
McBannerman was already shak ng her head.
'No, I'm sorry, I really can't do that. It's a conf dent al ty ssue.'
She appealed to Jod e w th her eyes, doctor to lawyer, woman
to woman, a you-know-how- t- s sort
of a look. Jod e nodded, sympathet cally.
'Maybe you could just ask your recept on st? You know, see f
she saw Dad talk ng w th one of the others out there? That
would just be conversat onal, th rd-party, no conf dent al ty
ssues nvolved. In my op n on, certa nly.'
McBannerman recogn zed an mpasse when she saw one.
She buzzed the ntercom and asked the recept on st to step
ns de. The woman was asked the quest on, and she started
nodd ng bus ly and answer ng before t was even f n shed.
'Yes, of course, Mr Garber was always talk ng to that n ce
elderly couple, you know, the man w th the dodgy valve? Upper
r ght ventr cle? Can't dr ve any more so h s w fe br ngs h m n
every t me? In that awful old car? Mr Garber was do ng
someth ng for them, I'm absolutely sure of t. They were always
show ng h m old photographs and p eces of paper.'
'The Hob es?' McBannerman asked her.
'That's r ght, they all got to be th ck as th eves together, the
three of them, Mr Garber and old Mr and Mrs Hob e.'
SIX
Hook Hob e was alone n h s nner off ce, e ghty-e ght floors
up, l sten ng to the qu et background sounds of the g ant
bu ld ng, th nk ng hard, chang ng h s m nd. He was not an
nflex ble guy. He pr ded h mself on that. He adm red the way he
could change and adapt and l sten and learn. He felt t gave h m
h s edge, made h m d st nct ve.
He had gone to V etnam more or less completely unaware of
h s capab l t es. More or less completely unaware of everyth ng,
because he had been very young. And not just very young, but
also stra ght out of a background that was repressed and
conducted n a qu et suburban vacuum that held no scope for
anyth ng much n the way of exper ence.
V etnam changed h m. It could have broken h m. It broke
plenty of other guys. All around h m, there were guys go ng to
p eces. Not just the k ds l ke h m, but the older guys too, the
long-serv ce profess onals who had been n the Army for years.
V etnam fell on people l ke a we ght, and some of them cracked,
and some of them d dn't.
He d dn't. He just looked around, and changed and adapted.
L stened and learned. K ll ng was easy. He
was a guy who had never seen anyth ng dead before apart
from roadk ll, the ch pmunks and the rabb ts and the occas onal
st nk ng skunk on the leafy lanes near h s home. F rst day ncountry n 'Nam he saw e ght Amer can corpses. It was a foot
patrol neatly tr angulated by mortar f re. E ght men, twenty-n ne
p eces, some of them large. A def n ng moment. H s budd es
were go ng qu et and throw ng up and groan ng n sheer abject
m serable d sbel ef. He was unmoved.
He started out as a trader. Everybody wanted someth ng.
Everybody was moan ng about what they d dn't have. It was
absurdly easy. All t took was a l ttle l sten ng. Here was a guy
who smoked but d dn't dr nk. There was a guy who loved beer
but d dn't smoke. Take the c garettes from the one guy and
exchange them for the other guy's beer. Broker the deal. Keep a
small percentage back for yourself. It was so easy and so
obv ous he couldn't bel eve they weren't do ng t for
themselves. He d dn't take t ser ously, because he was sure t
couldn't last. It wasn't go ng to take long for them all to catch
on, and cut h m out as m ddleman.
But they never caught on. It was h s f rst lesson. He could do
th ngs other people couldn't. He could spot th ngs they
couldn't. So he l stened harder. What else d d they want? Lots
of th ngs. G rls, food, pen c ll n, records, duty at base camp, but
not latr ne duty. Boots, bug repellent, s de arms plated w th
chrom um, dr ed ears from VC corpses for souven rs.
Mar juana, asp r n, hero n, clean needles, safe duty for the last
hundred days of a tour. He l stened and learned and searched
and sk mmed.
Then he made h s b g breakthrough. It was a
conceptual leap he always looked back on w th tremendous
pr de. It served as a pattern for the other g ant str des he made
later. It came as a response to a couple of problems he was
fac ng. F rst problem was the sheer hard work everyth ng was
caus ng h m. F nd ng spec f c phys cal th ngs was somet mes
tr cky. F nd ng und seased g rls became very d ff cult, and
f nd ng v rg ns became mposs ble. Gett ng hold of a steady
supply of drugs was r sky. Other th ngs were ted ous. Fancy
weapons, VC souven rs, even decent boots all took t me to
obta n. Fresh new off cers on rotat on were screw ng up h s
sweetheart deals n the safe non-combat zones.
The second problem was compet t on. It was com ng to h s
attent on that he wasn't un que. Rare, but not un que. Other
guys were gett ng n the game. A free market was develop ng.
H s deals were occas onally rejected. People walked away,
cla m ng a better trade was ava lable elsewhere. It shocked h m.
Change and adapt. He thought t through. He spent an
even ng on h s own, ly ng n h s narrow cot n h s hooch,
th nk ng hard. He made the breakthrough. Why chase down
spec f c phys cal th ngs that were already hard to f nd, and
could only get harder? Why trek on out to some med c and ask
what he wanted n exchange for a bo led and str pped Charl e
skull? Why then go out and barter for whatever damn th ng t
was and br ng t back n and p ck up the skull? Why deal n all
that stuff? Why not just deal n the commonest and most freely
ava lable commod ty n the whole of V etnam?
Amer can dollars. He became a moneylender. He sm led about
t later, ruefully, when he was convalesc ng and had t me to
read. It was an absolutely class c
progress on. Pr m t ve soc et es start out w th barter, and then
they progress to a cash economy. The Amer can presence n
V etnam had started out as a pr m t ve soc ety. That was for
damn sure. Pr m t ve, mprov sed, d sorgan zed, just crouch ng
there on the muddy surface of that awful country. Then as t me
passed t became b gger, more settled, more mature. It grew up,
and he was the f rst of h s k nd to grow up w th t. The f rst, and
for a very long t me the only. It was a source of huge pr de to
h m. It proved he was better than the rest. Smarter, more
mag nat ve, better able to change and adapt and prosper.
Cash money was the key to everyth ng. Somebody wanted
boots or hero n or a g rl some ly ng gook swore was twelve and
a v rg n, he could go buy t w th money borrowed from Hob e.
He could grat fy h s des re today, and pay for t next week, plus
a few per cent n nterest. Hob e could just s t there, l ke a fat
lazy sp der n the centre of a web. No legwork. No hassle. He
put a lot of thought nto t. Real zed early the psycholog cal
power of numbers. L ttle numbers l ke n ne sounded small and
fr endly. N ne per cent was h s favour te rate. It sounded l ke
noth ng at all. N ne, just a l ttle squ ggle on a p ece of paper. A
s ngle f gure. Less than ten. Really noth ng at all. That's how the
other grunts looked at t. But 9 per cent a week was 468 per cent
a year. Somebody let the debt sl p for a week, and compound
nterest k cked n. That 468 per cent ramped up to 1,000 per cent
pretty damn qu ckly. But nobody looked at that. Nobody except
Hob e. They all saw the number n ne, s ngle f gure, small and
fr endly.
The f rst defaulter was a b g guy, savage, feroc ous, pretty
much subnormal n the head. Hob e sm led.
Forgave h m h s debt and wrote t off. Suggested that he
m ght repay th s generos ty by gett ng alongs de h m and tak ng
on the role of enforcer. There were no more defaulters after that.
The exact method of deterrence was tr cky to establ sh. A
broken arm or leg just sent the guy way back beh nd the l nes to
the f eld hosp tal, where he was safe and surrounded by wh te
nurses who would probably put out f he came up w th some
k nd of hero c descr pt on about how he got the njury. A bad
break m ght even get h m nval ded out of the serv ce altogether
and returned States de. No k nd of deterrence n that. No k nd of
deterrence at all. So Hob e had h s enforcer use punj sp kes.
They were a VC nvent on, a small sharp wooden sp ke l ke a
meat skewer, coated w th buffalo dung, wh ch s po sonous. The
VC concealed them n shallow holes, so GIs would step on them
and get sept c cr ppl ng wounds n the feet. Hob e's enforcer
a med to use them through the defaulter's test cles. The feel ng
among Hob e's cl entele was the long-term med cal
consequences were not worth r sk ng, even n exchange for
escap ng the debt and gett ng out of un form.
By the t me he got burned and lost h s arm, Hob e was a
ser ously r ch man. H s next coup was to get the whole of h s
fortune home, undetected and complete. Not everybody could
have done t. Not n the part cular set of c rcumstances he
found h mself n. It was further proof of h s greatness. As was
h s subsequent h story. He arr ved n New York after a
c rcu tous journey, cr ppled and d sf gured, and mmed ately felt
at home. Manhattan was a jungle, no d fferent from the jungles
of Indoch na. So there was no reason for h m to start act ng any
d fferent. No reason to change h s l ne of bus ness. And th s
t me, he was start ng out
w th a mass ve cap tal reserve. He wasn't start ng out w th
noth ng.
He loan-sharked for years. He bu lt t up huge. He had the
cap tal, and he had the mage. The burn scars and the hook
meant a lot, v sually. He attracted a raft of helpers. He fed off
whole dent f able waves and generat ons of mm grants and
poor people. He fought off the Ital ans to stay n bus ness. He
pa d off whole squads of cops and prosecutors to stay nv s ble.
Then he made h s second great breakthrough. S m lar to the
f rst. It was a process of deep rad cal thought. A response to a
problem. The problem was the sheer nsane scale. He had
m ll ons on the street, but t was all n ckel-and-d me. Thousands
of separate deals, a hundred bucks here, a hundred and f fty
there, 9 or 10 per cent a week, 500 or 1,000 per cent a year. B g
paperwork, b g hassles, runn ng fast all the t me just to keep up.
Then he suddenly real zed less could be more. It came to h m n
a flash. F ve per cent of some corporat on's m ll on bucks was
worth more n a week than 500 per cent of street-level sh t. He
got n a fever about t. He froze all new lend ng and turned the
screws to get back everyth ng he was owed. He bought su ts
and rented off ce space. Overn ght he became a corporate
lender.
It was an act of pure gen us. He had sn ffed out that grey
marg n that l es just to the left of convent onal commerc al
pract ce. He had found a huge const tuency of borrowers who
were just sl pp ng off the edge of what the banks called
acceptable. A huge const tuency. A desperate const tuency.
Above all, a soft const tuency. Soft targets. C v l zed men n
su ts com ng to h m for a m ll on bucks, pos ng much less of a
r sk than somebody n a d rty undersh rt want ng
a hundred n a f lthy tenement block w th a rab d dog beh nd
the door. Soft targets, easy to nt m date. Unaccustomed to the
harsh real t es of l fe. He let h s enforcers go, and sat back and
watched as h s cl entele shrank to a handful, h s average loan
ncreased a m ll onfold, h s nterest rates dropped back nto the
stratosphere, and h s prof ts grew b gger than he could ever
mag ne. Less s more.
It was a wonderful new bus ness to be n. There were
occas onal problems, of course. But they were manageable. He
changed h s deterrence tact c. These c v l zed new borrowers
were vulnerable through the r fam l es. W ves, daughters, sons.
Usually, the threat was enough. Occas onally, act on had to be
taken. Often, t was fun. Soft suburban w ves and daughters
could be amus ng. An added bonus. A wonderful bus ness.
Ach eved through a constant w ll ngness to change and adapt.
Deep down, he knew h s talent for flex b l ty was h s greatest
strength. He had prom sed h mself never ever to forget that fact.
Wh ch was why he was alone n h s nner off ce, up there on the
e ghty-e ghth floor, l sten ng to the qu et background sounds of
the g ant bu ld ng, th nk ng hard, and chang ng h s m nd.
F fty m les away to the north, n Pound R dge, Mar lyn Stone
was chang ng her m nd, too. She was a smart woman. She knew
Chester was n f nanc al trouble. It couldn't be anyth ng else. He
wasn't hav ng an affa r. She knew that. There are s gns
husbands g ve out when they're hav ng affa rs, and Chester
wasn't g v ng them out. There was noth ng else he could be
worr ed about. So t was f nanc al trouble. Her or g nal ntent on
had been to wa t. Just to s t
t ght and wa t unt l the day he f nally needed to get t off h s
chest and told her all about t. She had planned to wa t for that
day and then step n. She could manage the s tuat on from there
on n, however for t went exactly, debt, nsolvency, even
bankruptcy. Women are good at manag ng s tuat ons. Better
than men. She could take the pract cal steps, she could offer
whatever consolat on was needed, she could p ck her way
through the ru ns w thout the ego-dr ven hopelessness Chester
was go ng to be feel ng.
But now she was chang ng her m nd. She couldn't wa t any
longer. Chester was k ll ng h mself w th worry. So she was
go ng to have to go ahead and do someth ng about t. No use
talk ng to h m. H s nst nct was to conceal problems. He d dn't
want to upset her. He would deny everyth ng and the s tuat on
would keep on gett ng worse. So she had to go ahead and act
alone. For h s sake, as well as hers.
The obv ous f rst step was to place the house w th a realtor.
Whatever the exact degree of trouble they were n, sell ng the
house m ght be necessary. Whether t would be enough, she
had no way of tell ng. It m ght solve the problem on ts own, or
t m ght not. But t was the obv ous place to start.
A r ch woman l v ng n Pound R dge l ke Mar lyn has many
contacts n the real estate bus ness. One step down the status
ladder, where the women are comfortable w thout be ng r ch, a
lot of them work for realtors. They keep t part-t me and try to
make t look l ke a hobby, l ke t was more connected w th an
enthus asm for nter or decorat on than mere commerce.
Mar lyn could mmed ately l st four good fr ends she could call.
Her hand was rest ng on the phone as she tr ed to choose
between them. In the end, she chose a
woman called Sheryl, who she knew the least well of the four,
but who she suspected was the most capable. She was tak ng
th s ser ously, and her realtor needed to, as well. She d alled the
number.
'Mar lyn,' Sheryl answered. 'How n ce to talk to you. Can I
help?'
Mar lyn took a deep breath.
'We m ght be sell ng the house,' she sa d.
'And you've come to me? Mar lyn, thank you. But why on
earth are you guys th nk ng of sell ng? It's so lovely where you
are. Are you mov ng out of state?'
Mar lyn took another deep breath. 'I th nk Chester's go ng
broke. I don't really want to talk about t, but I f gure we need to
start mak ng cont ngency plans.'
There was no pause. No hes tat on, no embarrassment.
'I th nk you're very w se,' Sheryl sa d. 'Most people hang on
way too long, then they have to sell n a hurry, and they lose
out.'
'Most people? Th s happens a lot?'
'Are you k dd ng? We see th s all the t me. Better to face t
early and p ck up the true value. You're do ng the r ght th ng,
bel eve me. But then women usually do, Mar lyn, because we
can handle th s stuff better than men, can't we?'
Mar lyn breathed out and sm led nto the phone. Felt l ke she
was do ng exactly the r ght th ng, and l ke th s was exactly the
r ght person to be do ng t w th.
'I'll l st t r ght away,' Sheryl sa d. 'I suggest an ask ng pr ce a
dollar short of two m ll on, and a target of one-po nt-n ne. That's
ach evable, and t should spark someth ng pretty qu ckly.'
'How qu ckly?'
'Today's market?' Sheryl sa d. 'W th your locat on? S x
weeks? Yes, I th nk we can pretty much guarantee an offer
ns de s x weeks.'
Dr McBannerman was st ll pretty upt ght about conf dent al ty
ssues, so although she gave up old Mr and Mrs Hob e's
address, she wouldn't accompany t w th a phone number.
Jod e saw no legal log c n that, but t seemed to keep the
doctor happy, so she d dn't bother argu ng about t. She just
shook hands and hustled back through the wa t ng area and
outs de to the car, w th Reacher follow ng beh nd her.
'B zarre,' she sa d to h m. 'D d you see those people? In
recept on?'
'Exactly,' Reacher repl ed. 'Old people, half dead.'
'That's what Dad looked l ke, towards the end. Just
l ke that, I'm afra d. And I guess th s old Mr Hob e
won't look any d fferent. So what were they up to
together that people are gett ng k lled over t?'
They got nto the Bravada together and she leaned over from
the passenger seat and unhooked her car phone. Reacher
started the motor to run the a r. She d alled nformat on. The
Hob es l ved north of Garr son, up past Br ghton, the next town
on the ra lroad. She wrote the r number n penc l on a scrap of
paper from her pocketbook and then d alled t mmed ately. It
rang for a long t me, and then a woman's vo ce answered.
'Yes?' the vo ce sa d, hes tantly. 'Mrs Hob e?' Jod e asked.
'Yes?' the vo ce sa d aga n, waver ng. Jod e p ctured her, an
old, nf rm woman, grey, th n, probably wear ng a flowery
housecoat, gr pp ng an anc ent
rece ver n an old dark house smell ng of stale food and
furn ture wax.
'Mrs Hob e, I'm Jod e Garber, Leon Garber's daughter.'
'Yes?' the woman sa d aga n.
'He d ed, I'm afra d, f ve days ago.'
'Yes, I know,' the old woman sa d. She sounded sad about t.
'Dr McBannerman's recept on st told us at yesterday's
appo ntment. I was very sorry to hear about t. He was a good
man. He was very n ce to us. He was help ng us. And he told us
about you. You're a lawyer. I'm very sorry for your loss.'
'Thank you,' Jod e sa d. 'But can you tell me about whatever t
was he was help ng you w th?'
'Well, t doesn't matter now, does t?'
'Doesn't t? Why not?'
'Well, because your father d ed,' the woman sa d. 'You see, I'm
afra d he was really our last hope.'
The way she sa d t, t sounded l ke she meant t. Her vo ce
was low. There was a res gned fall at the end of the sentence, a
sort of trag c cadence, l ke she'd g ven up on someth ng long
cher shed and ant c pated. Jod e p ctured her, a bony hand
hold ng the phone up to her face, a wet tear on a th n, pale
cheek.
'Maybe he wasn't,' she sa d. 'Maybe I could help you.'
There was a s lence on the l ne. Just a fa nt h ss.
'Well, I don't th nk so,' the woman sa d. 'I'm not sure t's the
k nd of th ng a lawyer would normally deal w th, you see.'
'What k nd of th ng s t?'
'I don't th nk t matters now,' the woman sa d aga n.
'Can't you g ve me some dea?' 'No, I th nk t's all over now,'
the woman sa d, l ke her old heart was break ng.
Then there was s lence aga n. Jod e glanced out through the
w ndsh eld at McBannerman's off ce. 'But how was my father
able to help you? Was t someth ng he espec ally knew about?
Was t because he was n the Army? Is that what t was?
Someth ng connected w th the Army?'
'Well, yes t was. That's why I'm afra d you wouldn't be able to
help us, as a lawyer. We've tr ed lawyers, you see. We need
somebody connected w th the Army, I th nk. But thank you very
much for offer ng. It was very generous of you.'
'There's somebody else here,' Jod e sa d. 'He's w th me, r ght
now. He used to work w th my father, n the Army. He'd be
w ll ng to help you out, f he can.'
There was s lence on the l ne aga n. Just the same fa nt h ss,
and breath ng. L ke the old woman was th nk ng. L ke she
needed t me to adjust to some new cons derat ons.
'H s name s Major Reacher,' Jod e sa d nto the s lence.
'Maybe my father ment oned h m? They served together for a
long t me. My father sent for h m, when he real zed he wouldn't
be able to carry on any longer.'
'He sent for h m?' the woman repeated.
'Yes, I th nk he thought he would be able to come and take
over for h m, you know, keep on w th help ng you out.'
'Was th s new person n the m l tary pol ce, too?' 'Yes, he was.
Is that mportant?' 'I'm really not sure,' the woman sa d.
She went qu et aga n. She was breath ng close to the phone.
'Can he come here to our house?' she asked suddenly.
'We'll both come,' Jod e sa d. 'Would you l ke us to come r ght
away?'
There was s lence aga n. Breath ng, th nk ng.
'My husband's just had h s med cat on,' the woman sa d. 'He's
sleep ng now. He's very s ck, you know.'
Jod e nodded n the car. Opened and closed her spare hand
n frustrat on.
'Mrs Hob e, can't you tell us what th s s about?'
S lence. Breath ng, th nk ng.
'I should let my husband tell you. I th nk he can expla n t
better than me. It's a long story, and I somet mes get confused.'
'OK, when w ll he wake up?' Jod e asked. 'Should we come by
a l ttle later?'
There was another pause.
'He usually sleeps r ght through, after h s med cat on,' the old
woman sa d. 'It's a bless ng, really, I th nk. Can your father's
fr end come f rst th ng n the morn ng?'
Hob e used the t p of h s hook to press the ntercom buzzer
on h s desk. Leaned forward and called through to h s
recept on st. He used the guy's name, wh ch was an unusual
nt macy for Hob e, generally caused by stress.
'Tony?' he sa d. 'We need to talk.'
Tony came n from h s brass-and-oak recept on counter n the
lobby and threaded h s way around the coffee table to the sofa.
'It was Garber who went to Hawa ,' he sa d.
'You sure?' Hob e asked h m.
Tony nodded. 'On Amer can, Wh te Pla ns to Ch cago,
Ch cago to Honolulu, Apr l f fteenth. Returned the next day,
Apr l s xteenth, same route. Pa d by Amex. It's all n the r
computer.'
'But what d d he do there?' Hob e sa d, more or less to
h mself.
'We don't know,' Tony muttered. 'But we can guess, can't we?'
There was an om nous s lence n the off ce. Tony watched the
unburned s de of Hob e's face, wa t ng for a response.
'I heard from Hano ,' Hob e sa d, nto the s lence.
'Chr st, when?'
'Ten m nutes ago.'
'Jesus, Hano ?' Tony sa d. 'Sh t, sh t, sh t.'
'Th rty years,' Hob e sa d. 'And now t's happened.'
Tony stood up and walked around beh nd the desk. Used h s
f ngers to push two slats of the w ndow bl nd apart. A bar of
afternoon sunl ght fell across the room.
'So you should get out now. Now t's way, way too
dangerous.'
Hob e sa d noth ng. He clasped h s hook n the f ngers of h s
left hand.
'You prom sed,' Tony sa d urgently. 'Step one, step two. And
they've happened. Both steps have happened now, for God's
sake.'
'It'll st ll take them some t me,' Hob e sa d. 'Won't t? R ght
now, they st ll don't know anyth ng.'
Tony shook h s head. 'Garber was no fool. He knew
someth ng. If he went to Hawa , there was a good reason for t.'
Hob e used the muscle n h s left arm to gu de the
hook up to h s face. He ran the smooth, cold steel over the
scar t ssue there. T me to t me, pressure from the hard curve
could rel eve the tch ng.
'What about th s Reacher guy?' he asked. 'Any progress on
that?'
Tony squ nted out through the gap n the bl nd, e ghty-e ght
floors up.
'I called St Lou s,' he sa d. 'He was a m l tary pol ceman too,
served w th Garber the best part of th rteen years. They'd had
another nqu ry on the same subject, ten days ago. I'm guess ng
that was Costello.'
'So why?' Hob e asked. 'The Garber fam ly pays Costello to
chase down some old Army buddy? Why? What the hell for?'
'No dea,' Tony sa d. 'The guy's a dr fter. He was d gg ng
sw mm ng pools down where Costello was.'
Hob e nodded, vaguely. He was th nk ng hard.
'A m l tary cop,' he sa d to h mself. 'Who's now a dr fter.'
'You should get out,' Tony sa d aga n.
'I don't l ke the m l tary pol ce,' Hob e sa d.
'I know you don't.'
'So what's the nterfer ng bastard do ng here?'
'You should get out,' Tony sa d for the th rd t me.
Hob e nodded.
'I'm a flex ble guy,' he sa d. 'You know that.'
Tony let the bl nd fall back nto place. The room went dark.
'I'm not ask ng you to be flex ble. I'm ask ng you to st ck to what
you planned all along.'
'I changed the plan. I want the Stone score.'
Tony came back around the desk and took h s place on the
sofa. 'Too r sky to st ck around for t. Both calls are n now.
V etnam and Hawa , for Chr st's sake.'
'I know that,' Hob e sa d. 'So I changed the plan aga n.'
'Back to what t was?'
Hob e shrugged and shook h s head. 'A comb na-t on. We get
out, for sure, but only after I na l Stone.' Tony s ghed and la d
h s hands palm-up on the upholstery. 'S x weeks s way, way too
long. Garber already went to Hawa , for Chr st's sake. He was
some k nd of a hot-shot general. And obv ously he knew stuff,
or why would he go out there?'
Hob e was nodd ng. H s head was mov ng n and out of a th n
shaft of l ght that p cked up the crude grey tufts of h s ha r. 'He
knew stuff, I accept that. But he took s ck and d ed. The stuff he
knew d ed w th h m. Otherw se why would h s daughter resort
to some half-assed pr vate d ck and some unemployed dr fter?'
'So what are you say ng?'
Hob e sl pped h s hook below the level of the desktop and
cupped h s ch n w th h s good hand. He let the f ngers spread
upward, over the scars. It was a pose he used subconsc ously,
when he was a m ng to look accommodat ng and unthreaten ng.
'I can't g ve up on the Stone score,' he sa d. 'You can see that,
r ght? It's just s tt ng there, begg ng to be eaten up. I g ve up on
that, I couldn't l ve w th myself the whole rest of my l fe. It would
be coward ce. Runn ng s smart, I agree w th you, but runn ng
too early, earl er than you really need to, that's coward ce. And
I'm not a coward, Tony, you know that, r ght?'
'So what are you say ng?' Tony asked aga n. 'We do both
th ngs together, but accelerated. Because I agree w th you, s x
weeks s way too long. We need to get out before s x weeks. But
we aren't
go ng w thout the Stone score, so we speed th ngs up.'
'OK, how?'
'I put the stock n the market today,' Hob e sa d. 'It'll h t the
floor n nety m nutes before the clos ng bell. That should be long
enough to get the message through to the banks. Tomorrow
morn ng, Stone w ll be com ng here all steamed up. I won't be
here tomorrow, so you'll tell h m what we want, and what we'll
do f we don't get t. We'll have the whole n ne yards w th n a
couple of days, tops. I'll pre-sell the Long Island assets so we
don't h t any delay out there. Meanwh le, you'll close th ngs
down here.'
'OK, how?' Tony asked aga n.
Hob e looked around the d m off ce, all four corners.
'We'll just walk away from th s place. Wastes s x months of
lease, but what the hell. Those two assholes play ng at be ng
my enforcers w ll be no problem. One of them s wast ng the
other ton ght, and you'll work w th h m unt l he gets hold of th s
Mrs Jacob for me, whereupon you'll waste her and h m together.
Sell the boat, sell the veh cles, and we're out of here, no loose
ends. Call t a week. Just a week. I th nk we can g ve ourselves a
week, r ght?'
Tony nodded. Leaned forward, rel eved at the prospect of
act on.
'What about th s Reacher guy? He's st ll a loose end.'
Hob e shrugged n h s cha r. 'I've got a separate plan for h m.'
'We won't f nd h m,' Tony sa d. 'Not just the two of us. Not
w th n a week. We don't have the t me to go out search ng
around for h m.'
'We don't need to.'
Tony stared at h m. 'We do, boss. He's a loose end, r ght?'
Hob e shook h s head. Then he dropped h s hand away from
h s face and came out from under the desktop w th h s hook. 'I'll
do th s the eff c ent way. No reason to waste my energy f nd ng
h m. I'll let h m f nd me. And he w ll. I know what m l tary cops
are l ke.'
'And then what?'
Hob e sm led.
'Then he leads a long and happy l fe,' he sa d. 'Th rty more
years at least.'
'So what now?' Reacher asked.
They were st ll n the lot outs de McBannerman's long low
off ce, eng ne dl ng, a r roar ng to combat the sun beat ng down
on the Bravada's dark green pa nt. The vents were angled all
over the place, and he was catch ng Jod e's subtle perfume
m xed n w th the Freon blast. R ght at that moment, he was a
happy guy, l v ng an old fantasy. Many t mes n the past he'd
speculated about how t would feel to be w th n touch ng
d stance of her when she was all grown up. It was someth ng he
had never expected to exper ence. He had assumed he would
lose track of her and never see her aga n. He had assumed h s
feel ngs would just d e away, over t me. But there he was, s tt ng
r ght next to her, breath ng n her fragrance, tak ng s deways
glances at her long legs sprawl ng down nto the foot well. He
had always assumed she would grow up pretty spectacular.
Now he was feel ng a l ttle gu lty for underest mat ng how
beaut ful she would become. H s fantas es had not done her
just ce. 'It's a problem,' she sa d. 'I can't go up there
tomorrow. I can't take more t me out. We're very busy r ght
now, and I've got to keep on b ll ng the hours.'
F fteen years. Was that a long t me or a short t me? Does t
change a person? It felt l ke a short t me to h m. He d dn't feel
rad cally d fferent from the person he had been f fteen years
before. He was the same person, th nk ng the same way,
capable of the same th ngs. He had acqu red a th ck gloss of
exper ence dur ng those years, he was older, more burn shed,
but he was the same person. He felt she had to be d fferent. Had
to be, surely. Her f fteen years had been a greater leap, through
b gger trans t ons. H gh school, college, law school, marr age,
d vorce, the partnersh p track, hours to b ll. So now he felt he
was n uncharted waters, unsure of how to relate to her,
because he was deal ng w th three separate th ngs, all
compet ng n h s head: the real ty of her as a k d, f fteen years
ago, and then the way he had mag ned she would turn out, and
then the way she really had turned out. He knew all about two of
those th ngs, but not the th rd. He knew the k d. He knew the
adult he'd nvented ns de h s head. But he d dn't know the
real ty, and t was mak ng h m unsure, because suddenly he
wanted to avo d mak ng any stup d m stakes w th her.
'You'll have to go by yourself,' she sa d. 'Is that OK?'
'Sure,' he sa d. 'But that's not the ssue here. You need to take
care.'
She nodded. Pulled her hands up ns de her sleeves, and
hugged herself. He d dn't know why.
'I'll be OK, I guess,' she sa d.
'Where's your off ce?'
'Wall Street and Lower Broadway.'
'That's where you l ve, r ght? Lower Broadway?'
She nodded. 'Th rteen blocks. I usually walk.' 'Not tomorrow,'
he sa d. 'I'll dr ve you.' She looked surpr sed. 'You w ll?' 'Damn
r ght I w ll,' he sa d. 'Th rteen blocks on foot? Forget about t,
Jod e. You'll be safe enough at home, but they could grab you
on the street. What about your off ce? Is t secure?'
She nodded aga n. 'Nobody gets n, not w thout an
appo ntment and ID.'
'OK,' he sa d. 'So I'll be n your apartment all n ght, and I'll
dr ve you door to door n the morn ng. Then I'll come back up
here and see these Hob e people, and you can stay r ght there
n the off ce unt l I come get you out aga n, OK?'
She was s lent. He tracked back and rev ewed what he'd sa d.
'I mean, you got a spare room, r ght?' 'Sure,' she sa d.
'There's a spare room.' 'So s that OK?' She nodded, qu etly.
'So what now?' he asked her. She turned s deways on her
seat. The blast of a r from the centre vents caught her ha r and
blew t over her face. She smoothed t back beh nd her ear and
her eyes fl cked h m up and down. Then she sm led. 'We should
go shopp ng,' she sa d. 'Shopp ng? What for? What do you
need?' 'Not what I need,' she sa d. 'What you need.' He looked at
her, worr ed. 'What do I need?' 'Clothes,' she sa d. 'You can't go
v s t ng w th those old folks look ng l ke a cross between a
beach bum and the w ld man of Borneo, can you?'
Then she leaned s deways and touched the mark on h s sh rt
w th her f ngert p.
'And we should f nd a pharmacy. You need someth ng to put
on that burn.'
'What the hell are you do ng?' the f nance d rector screamed.
He was n Chester Stone's off ce doorway, two floors above
h s own, gr pp ng the frame w th both hands, pant ng w th
exert on and fury. He hadn't wa ted for the elevator. He had
raced up the f re sta rs. Stone was star ng at h m, blankly.
'You d ot,' he screamed. 'I told you not to do th s.'
'Do what?' Stone sa d back.
'Put stock n the market,' the f nance guy yelled. 'I told you
not to do that.'
'I d dn't,' Stone sa d. 'There's no stock n the market.'
'There damn well s,' the guy sa d. 'A great b g sl ce, s tt ng
there do ng absolutely noth ng at all. You got people shy ng
away from t l ke t's rad oact ve or someth ng.'
'What?'
The f nance guy breathed n. Stared at h s employer. Saw a
small, crumpled man n a r d culous Br t sh su t s tt ng at a desk
that alone was now worth a hundred t mes the corporat on's
ent re net assets.
'You asshole, I told you not to do th s. Why not just take a
page n the Wall Street Journal and say, hey, people, my
company's worth exactly less than jack sh t?'
'What are you talk ng about?' Stone asked.
'I've got the banks on the phone,' the guy sa d. 'They're
watch ng the t cker. Stone stock popped up an hour ago, and
the pr ce s unw nd ng faster than the damn computers can
track t. It's unsaleable. You've
sent them a message, for God's sake. You've told them you're
nsolvent. You've told them you owe them s xteen m ll on
dollars aga nst secur ty that sn't worth s xteen damn cents.'
'I d dn't put stock n the market,' Stone sa d aga n.
The f nance guy nodded sarcast cally.
'So who the hell d d? The tooth fa ry?'
'Hob e,' Stone sa d. 'Has to be. Jesus, why?'
'Hob e?' the guy repeated.
Stone nodded.
'Hob e?' the guy sa d aga n, ncredulous. 'Sh t, you gave h m
stock?'
'I had to,' Stone sa d. 'No other way.'
'Sh t,' the guy sa d aga n, pant ng. 'You see what he's do ng
here?'
Stone looked blank, and then he nodded, scared. 'What can
we do?'
The f nance d rector dropped h s hands off the door frame
and turned h s back.
'Forget we. There's no we here any more. I'm res gn ng. I'm
out of here. You can f x t yourself.'
'But you recommended the guy,' Stone yelled.
'I d dn't recommend g v ng h m stock, you asshole,' the guy
yelled back. 'What are you? A moron? If I recommended you
v s t the aquar um to see the p ranha f sh, would you st ck your
damn f nger n the tank?'
'You've got to help me,' Stone sa d. The guy just shook h s
head. 'You're on your own. I'm res gn ng. R ght now my
recommendat on s you go down to what was my off ce and get
started. There's a l ne of phones on what was my desk, all
r ng ng. My recommendat on s you start w th wh chever one s
r ng ng the loudest.'
'Wa t up,' Stone yelled. 'I need your help here.'
'Aga nst Hob e?' the guy yelled back. 'Dream on, pal.'
Then he was gone. He just turned and strode out through the
secretar al pen and d sappeared. Stone came out from beh nd
h s desk and stood n the doorway, and watched h m go. The
su te was s lent. H s secretary had left. Earl er than she should
have. He walked out nto the corr dor. The sales department on
the r ght was deserted. The market ng su te on the left was
empty. The photocop ers were s lent. He called the elevator and
the mechan sm sounded very loud n the hush. He rode down
two floors, alone. The f nance d rector's su te was empty.
Drawers were stand ng open. Personal belong ngs had been
taken away. He wandered through to the nner off ce. The Ital an
desk l ght was glow ng. The computer was turned off. The
phones were off the r hooks, ly ng on the rosewood desktop. He
p cked one of them up.
'Hello?' he sa d nto t. 'Th s s Chester Stone.'
He repeated t tw ce nto the electron c s lence. Then a woman
came on and asked h m to hold. There were cl cks and buzzes.
A moment of sooth ng mus c.
'Mr Stone?' a new vo ce sa d. 'Th s s the Insolvency Un t.'
Stone closed h s eyes and gr pped the phone.
'Please hold for the d rector,' the vo ce sa d.
There was more mus c. F erce baroque v ol ns, scrap ng
away, relentlessly.
'Mr Stone?' a deep vo ce sa d. 'Th s s the d rector.'
'Hello,' Stone sa d. It was all he could th nk of to say.
'We're tak ng steps,' the vo ce sa d. 'I'm sure you understand
our pos t on.'
'OK,' Stone sa d. He was th nk ng what steps? Lawsu ts?
Pr son?
'We should be out of the woods, start of bus ness tomorrow,'
the vo ce sa d.
'Out of the woods? How?'
'We're sell ng the debt, obv ously.'
'Sell ng t?' Stone repeated. 'I don't understand.'
'We don't want t any more,' the vo ce sa d. 'I'm sure you can
understand that. It's moved tself way outs de of the parameters
that we feel happy w th. So we're sell ng t. That's what people
do, r ght? They got someth ng they don't want any more, they
sell t, best pr ce they can get.'
'Who are you sell ng t to?' Stone asked, dazed.
'A trust company n the Caymans. They made an offer.'
'So where does that leave us?'
'Us?' the vo ce repeated, puzzled. 'It leaves us nowhere. Your
obl gat on to us s term nated. There s no us. Our relat onsh p
s over. My only adv ce s that you never try to resurrect t. We
would tend to regard that as nsult added to njury.'
'So who do I owe now?'
'The trust company n the Caymans,' the vo ce sa d pat ently.
'I'm sure whoever's beh nd t w ll be contact ng you very soon,
w th the r repayment proposals.'
Jod e drove. Reacher got out and walked around the hood
and got back n on the passenger s de. She sl d over the centre
console and buzzed the seat forward. Cru sed south through
the sunny Croton reservo rs, down towards the c ty of Wh te
Pla ns. Reacher was tw st ng around, scann ng beh nd them. No
pursuers.
Noth ng susp c ous. Just a perfect lazy June afternoon n the
suburbs. He had to touch the bl ster through h s sh rt to rem nd
h mself that anyth ng had happened at all.
She headed for a b g mall. It was a ser ous bu ld ng the s ze of
a stad um, crowd ng proudly aga nst off ce towers ts own
he ght, stand ng ns de a knot of busy roads. She dr fted left
and r ght across the traff c lanes and followed a curved ramp
underground to the park ng garage. It was dark down there,
dusty o l-sta ned concrete, but there was a brass-and-glass
doorway n the d stance, lead ng d rectly nto a store and
blaz ng w th wh te l ght l ke a prom se. Jod e found a slot f fty
yards from t. She eased n and went away to do someth ng w th
a mach ne. Came back and la d a small t cket on the dash,
where t could be read through the w ndsh eld.
'OK,' she sa d. 'Where to f rst?'
Reacher shrugged. Th s was not h s area of expert se. He had
bought plenty of clothes n the last two years, because he had
developed a hab t of buy ng new stuff nstead of wash ng the
old stuff. It was a defens ve hab t. It defended h m aga nst
carry ng any k nd of a b g val se, and t defended h m aga nst
hav ng to learn the exact techn ques of launder ng. He knew
about laundromats and dry cleaners, but he was vaguely
worr ed about be ng alone n a laundromat and f nd ng h mself
unsure of the correct procedures. And g v ng stuff to a dry
cleaner mpl ed a comm tment to be back n the same phys cal
locat on at some future t me, wh ch was a comm tment he was
reluctant to make. The most stra ghtforward pract ce was to buy
new and junk the old. So he had bought clothes, but exactly
where he had bought them was hard for
h m to p n down. Generally he just saw clothes n a store
w ndow, went n and bought them, and came out aga n w thout
really be ng sure of the dent ty of the establ shment he had
v s ted.
'There was a place I went n Ch cago,' he sa d. 'I th nk t was a
cha n store, short l ttle name. Hole? Gap? Someth ng l ke that.
They had the r ght s zes.'
Jod e laughed. L nked her arm through h s.
'The Gap,' she sa d. 'There's one r ght n here.'
The brass-and-glass doorway led stra ght nto a department
store. The a r was cold and stank of soap and perfume. They
passed through the cosmet cs nto an area w th tables p led
h gh w th summer clothes n pastel cottons. Then out nto the
ma n thoroughfare of the mall. It was oval l ke a racetrack,
r nged w th small stores, the whole arrangement repeated on
two more levels above them. The walks were carpeted and
mus c was play ng and people were swarm ng everywhere.
'I th nk the Gap's upsta rs,' Jod e sa d.
Reacher smelled coffee. One of the un ts oppos te was done
out as a coffee bar, l ke a street place n Italy. The ns de walls
were pa nted l ke outs de walls, and the ce l ng was flat black,
so t would d sappear l ke the sky. An ns de place look ng l ke
an outs de place, n an ns de mall that was try ng to look l ke an
outs de shopp ng street, except t had carpets.
'You want to get coffee?' he asked.
Jod e sm led and shook her head. 'F rst we shop, then we get
coffee.'
She led h m towards an escalator. He sm led. He knew how
she was feel ng. He had felt the same, f fteen years before. She
had come w th h m, nervous and tentat ve, on a rout ne v s t to
the glass house n
Man la. Fam l ar terr tory to h m, just rout ne, really noth ng at
all. But new and strange to her. He had felt busy and happy, and
somehow educat onal. It had been fun be ng w th her, show ng
her around. Now she was feel ng the same th ng. All th s mall
stuff was noth ng to her. She had come home to Amer ca a long
t me ago and learned ts deta ls. Now he was the stranger n her
terr tory.
'What about th s place?' she called to h m.
It wasn't the Gap. It was some one-off store, heav ly des gned
w th weathered sh ngles and t mbers rescued from some old
barn. The clothes were made from heavy cottons and dyed n
subdued colours, and they were artfully d splayed n the beds
of old farm carts w th ron-banded wheels.
He shrugged. 'Looks OK to me.'
She took h s hand. Her palm felt cool and sl m aga nst h s.
She led h m ns de and put her ha r beh nd her ears and bent
and started look ng through the d splays. She d d t the way
he'd seen other women do t. She used l ttle fl cks of her wr st to
put together assemblages of d fferent tems. A pa r of pants,
st ll folded, la d over the bottom half of a sh rt. A jacket la d
s deways over both of them, w th the sh rt peep ng out at the
top, and the pants show ng at the bottom. Half-closed eyes,
pursed l ps. A shake of the head. A d fferent sh rt. A nod. Real
shopp ng.
'What do you th nk?' she asked.
She had put together a pa r of pants, khak , but a l ttle darker
than most ch nos. A sh rt n a qu et check, greens and browns.
A th n jacket n dark brown wh ch seemed to match the rest
pretty well. He nodded.
'Looks OK to me,' he sa d aga n.
The pr ces were handwr tten on small t ckets
attached to the garments w th str ng. He fl cked one over w th
h s f ngerna l. 'Chr st,' he sa d. 'Forget about t.' 'It's worth t,'
she sa d. 'Qual ty's good.' 'I can't afford t, Jod e.'
The sh rt on ts own was tw ce what he had ever pa d for a
whole outf t. To dress n that stuff was go ng to cost h m what
he had earned n a day, d gg ng pools. Ten hours, four tons of
sand and rock and earth. 'I'll buy them for you.'
He stood there w th the sh rt n h s hands, uncerta n.
'Remember the necklace?' she asked.
He nodded. He remembered. She had developed
a pass on for a part cular necklace n a Man la
jeweller's. It was a pla n gold th ng, l ke a rope,
vaguely Egypt an. Not really expens ve, but out of her
league. Leon was nto some self-d sc pl ne th ng w th
her and wouldn't spr ng for t. So Reacher had bought
t for her. Not for her b rthday or anyth ng, just
because he l ked her and she l ked t.
'I was so happy,' she sa d. 'I thought I was go ng to burst. I've
st ll got t, I st ll wear t. So let me pay you back, OK?'
He thought about t. Nodded. 'OK,' he sa d.
She could afford t. She was a lawyer. Probably made a
fortune. And t was a fa r trade, look ng at t n proport on, costversus- ncome, f fteen years of nflat on.
'OK,' he sa d aga n. 'Thanks, Jod e.' 'You need socks and
th ngs, r ght?' They p cked out a pa r of khak socks and a pa r
of wh te boxers. She went to a t ll and used a gold card. He took
the stuff nto a chang ng cub cle and tore off
the pr ce t ckets and put everyth ng on. He transferred h s
cash from h s pants pocket and left the old clothes n the trash
can. The new stuff felt st ff, but t looked pretty good n the
m rror, aga nst h s tan. He came back out.
'N ce,' Jod e sa d. 'Pharmacy next.'
'Then coffee,' he sa d.
He bought a razor and a can of foam and a toothbrush and
toothpaste. And a small tube of burn o ntment. Pa d for t all
h mself and carr ed t n a brown paper bag. The walk to the
pharmacy had taken them near a food court. He could see a r b
place that smelled good.
'Let's have d nner,' he sa d. 'Not just coffee. My treat.'
'OK,' she sa d, and l nked her arm through h s aga n.
The d nner for two cost h m the pr ce of the new sh rt, wh ch
he thought was not outrageous. They had dessert and coffee,
and then some of the smaller stores were clos ng up for the
day.
'OK, home,' he sa d. 'And we play t real caut ous from here.'
They walked through the department store, through the
d splays n reverse, f rst the pastel summer cottons and then
the f erce smell of the cosmet cs. He stopped her ns de the
brass-and-glass doors and scanned ahead out n the garage,
where the a r was warm and damp. A m ll on-to-one poss b l ty,
but worth tak ng nto account. Nobody there, just people
hustl ng back to the r cars w th bulg ng bags. They walked
together to the Bravada and she sl d nto the dr ver's seat. He
got n bes de her.
'Wh ch way would you normally go?'
'From here? FDR Dr ve, I guess.'
'OK,' he sa d. 'Head out for LaGuard a, and we'll come n
down through Brooklyn. Over the Brooklyn Br dge.'
She looked at h m. 'You sure? You want to do the tour st
th ng, there are better places to go than the Bronx and
Brooklyn.'
'F rst rule,' he sa d. 'Pred ctab l ty s unsafe. If you've got a
route you'd normally take, today we take a d fferent one.'
'You ser ous?'
'You bet your ass. I used to do VIP protect on for a l v ng.'
'I'm a VIP now?'
'You bet your ass,' he sa d aga n.
An hour later t was dark, wh ch s the best cond t on for
us ng the Brooklyn Br dge. Reacher felt l ke a tour st as they
swooped around the ramp and up over the hump of the span
and Lower Manhattan was suddenly there n front of them w th
a b ll on br ght l ghts everywhere. One of the world's great
s ghts, he thought, and he had nspected most of the
compet t on.
'Go a few blocks north,' he sa d. 'We'll come n from a
d stance. They'll be expect ng us to come stra ght home.'
She swung w de to the r ght and headed north on Lafayette.
Hung a t ght left and another and came back travell ng south on
Broadway. The l ght at Leonard was red. Reacher scanned
ahead n the neon wash.
"Three blocks,' Jod e sa d.
'Where do you park?'
'Garage under the bu ld ng.'
'OK, turn off a block short,' he sa d. 'I'll check t out. Come
around aga n and p ck me up. If I'm not wa t ng on the s dewalk,
go to the cops.'
She made the r ght on Thomas. Stopped and let h m out. He
slapped l ghtly on the roof and she took off aga n. He walked
around the corner and found her bu ld ng. It was a b g square
place, renovated lobby w th heavy glass doors, b g lock, a
vert cal row of f fteen buzzers w th names pr nted beh nd l ttle
plast c w ndows. Apartment twelve had JacoblGarber, l ke there
were two people l v ng there. There were people on the street,
some of them lo ter ng n knots, some of them walk ng, but
none of them nterest ng. The park ng garage entrance was
farther on down the s dewalk. It was an abrupt slope nto
darkness. He walked down. It was qu et and badly l t. There
were two rows of e ght spaces, f fteen altogether because the
ramp up to the street was where the s xteenth would be. Eleven
cars parked up. He checked the full length of the place. Nobody
h d ng out. He came back up the ramp and ran back to Thomas.
Dodged the traff c and crossed the street and wa ted. She was
com ng south through the l ght towards h m. She saw h m and
pulled over and he got back n alongs de her.
'All clear,' he sa d.
She made t back out nto the traff c and then pulled r ght and
bumped down the ramp. Her headl ghts bounced and swung.
She stopped n the centre a sle and backed nto her space.
K lled the motor and the l ghts.
'How do we get upsta rs?' he asked.
She po nted. 'Door to the lobby.'
There was a fl ght of metal steps up to a b g ndustr al door,
wh ch had a steel sheet r veted over t. The door had a b g lock,
same as on the glass doors to the street. They got out and
locked the car. He carr ed her garment bag. They walked to the
steps and up to the door. She worked the lock and he swung t
open. The lobby was empty. A s ngle elevator oppos te them.
'I'm on four,' she sa d.
He pressed f ve.
'We'll come down the sta rs from above,' he sa d. 'Just n
case.'
They used the f re sta rs and came back down to four. He had
her wa t on the land ng and peered out. A deserted hallway. Tall
and narrow. Apartment ten to the left, eleven to the r ght, and
twelve stra ght ahead.
'Let's go,' he sa d.
Her door was black and th ck. Spy hole at eye level, two
locks. She used the keys and they went ns de. She locked up
aga n and dropped an old h nged bar nto place, r ght across
the whole doorway. Reacher pressed t down n ts brackets. It
was ron, and as long as t was there, nobody else was go ng to
get n. He put her garment bag aga nst a wall. She fl cked
sw tches and the l ghts came on. She wa ted by the door wh le
Reacher walked ahead. Hallway, l v ng room, k tchen, bedroom,
bathroom, bedroom, bathroom, closets. B g rooms, very h gh.
Nobody n them. He came back to the l v ng room and shrugged
off h s new jacket and threw t on a cha r and turned back to her
and relaxed. But she wasn't relaxed. He could see that. She was
look ng d rectly away from h m, more tense than she'd been all
day. She was just stand ng there w th her sweatsh rt cuffs way
down over her hands, n the
doorway to her l v ng room, f dget ng. He had no dea what
was wrong w th her.
'You OK?' he asked.
She ducked her head forward and back n a f gure e ght to
drop her ha r beh nd her shoulders.
'I guess I'll take a shower,' she sa d. 'You know, h t the sack.'
'Hell of day, r ght?'
'Unbel evable.'
She crabbed r ght around h m on her way through the room,
keep ng her d stance. She gave h m a sort of shy wave, just her
f ngers peep ng out from the sweatsh rt sleeve.
'What t me tomorrow?' he asked.
'Seven-th rty w ll do t,' she sa d.
'OK,' he sa d. 'Good n ght, Jod e.'
She nodded and d sappeared down the nner hallway. He
heard her bedroom door open and close. He stared after her for
a long moment, surpr sed. Then he sat on the sofa and took off
h s shoes. Too restless to sleep r ght away. He padded around
n h s new socks, look ng at the apartment.
It wasn't really a loft, as such. It was an old bu ld ng w th very
h gh ce l ngs, was all. The shell was or g nal. It had probably
been ndustr al. The outs de walls were sandblasted br ck, and
the nner walls were smooth clean plaster. The w ndows were
huge. Probably put there to llum nate the sew ng-mach ne
operat on or whatever was there a hundred years ago.
The parts of the walls that were br ck were a warm natural
br ck colour, but everyth ng else was wh te, except for the floor,
wh ch was pale maple str ps. The decor was cool and neutral,
l ke a gallery. There was no s gn that more than one person had
ever l ved there.
No s gn of two tastes compet ng. The whole place was very
un f ed. Wh te sofas, wh te cha rs, bookshelves bu lt n s mple
cub c sect ons, pa nted w th the same wh te pa nt that had been
used on the walls. B g steam p pes and ugly rad ators, all
pa nted wh te. The only def n te colour n the l v ng room was a
l fe-s ze Mondr an copy on the wall above the largest sofa. It
was a proper copy, done by hand n o l on canvas, w th the
proper colours. Not gar sh reds and blues and yellows, but the
correct dulled tones, w th authent c l ttle cracks and craz ngs n
the wh te, wh ch was nearer a grey. He stood and looked at t for
a long t me, totally aston shed. P et Mondr an was h s favour te
pa nter of all t me, and th s exact p cture was h s favour te work
of all t me. The t tle was Compos t on w th Red, Yellow and Blue.
Mondr an had pa nted the or g nal n 1930 and Reacher had
seen t n Zur ch, Sw tzerland.
There was a tall cab net oppos te the smallest sofa, pa nted
the same wh te as everyth ng else. There was a small TV n t, a
v deo, a cable box, a CD player w th a pa r of large headphones
plugged nto the jack. A small stack of CDs, mostly f ft es jazz,
stuff he l ked w thout really be ng crazy about.
The w ndows gave out over Lower Broadway. There was a
constant wash of traff c hum, neon blaze from up and down the
street, an occas onal s ren wa l ng and boop ng and blast ng
loud as t came out through the gaps between blocks. He t lted
the bl nd w th a clear plast c wand and looked down at the
s dewalk. There were st ll the same knots of people hang ng
around. Noth ng to make h m nervous. He t lted the bl nd back
and closed t up t ght.
The k tchen was huge and tall. All the cupboards
were wood, pa nted wh te, and the appl ances were ndustr al
s zes n sta nless steel, l ke p zza ovens. He had l ved n places
smaller than the refr gerator. He pulled t open and saw a dozen
bottles of h s favour te water, the same stuff he had grown to
love n the Keys. He took the seal off one of them and carr ed t
nto the guest bedroom.
The bedroom was wh te, l ke everyth ng else. The furn ture
was wood, wh ch had started out w th a d fferent f n sh, but
wh ch was now wh te l ke the walls. He put the water on the
n ght table and used the bathroom. Wh te t les, wh te s nk, wh te
tub, all old enamel and t l ng. He closed the bl nds and str pped
and folded h s new clothes on to the closet shelf. Threw back
the cover and sl d nto bed and fell to th nk ng.
Illus on and real ty. What was n ne years, anyway? A lot, he
guessed, when she was f fteen and he was twenty-four, but
what was t now? He was th rty-e ght, and she was e ther
twenty-n ne or th rty, he wasn't exactly sure wh ch. Where was
the problem w th that? Why wasn't he do ng someth ng? Maybe
t wasn't the age th ng. Maybe t was Leon. She was h s
daughter, and always would be. It gave h m the gu lty llus on
she was somewhere between h s k d s ster and h s n ece. That
obv ously gave h m a very nh b t ng feel ng, but t was just an
llus on, r ght? She was the relat ve of an old fr end, was all. An
old fr end who was now dead. So why the hell d d he feel so bad
about look ng at her and see ng h mself peel ng off her
sweatsh rt and undo ng the belt from around her wa st? Why
wasn't he just do ng t? Why the hell was he n the guest room
nstead of on the other s de of the wall n bed w th her? L ke
he'd ached to be through countless
forgotten n ghts n the past, some of them shameful, some of
them w stful?
Because presumably her real t es were rooted n the same
k nd of llus ons. For k d s ster and n ece, call t b g brother and
uncle. Favour te uncle, for sure, because he knew she l ked h m.
There was a lot of affect on there. But that just made t worse.
Affect on for favour te uncles was a spec f c type of affect on.
Favour te uncles were there for spec f c types of th ngs. Fam ly
th ngs, l ke shopp ng and spo l ng, one way or the other.
Favour te uncles were not there to put the moves on you. That
would come out of the blue l ke some k nd of a shatter ng
betrayal. Horr fy ng, unwelcome, ncestuous, psycholog cally
damag ng.
She was on the other s de of the wall. But there was noth ng
he could do about t. Noth ng. It was never go ng to happen. He
knew t was go ng to dr ve h m crazy, so he forced h s m nd
away from her and started th nk ng about other th ngs. Th ngs
that were real t es for sure, not just llus ons. The two guys,
whoever they were. They would have her address by now. There
were a dozen ways of d scover ng where a person l ves. They
could be outs de the bu ld ng r ght at that moment. He scanned
through the apartment bu ld ng n h s head. The lobby door,
locked. The door from the park ng garage, locked. The door to
the apartment, locked and barred. The w ndows, all closed up,
the bl nds all drawn. So ton ght, they were safe. But tomorrow
morn ng was go ng to be dangerous. Maybe very dangerous. He
concentrated on f x ng the two guys n h s m nd as he fell
asleep. The r veh cle, the r su ts, the r bu ld, the r faces.
But at that exact moment, only one of the two guys had a
face. They had sa led together ten m les south of where
Reacher lay, out nto the black waters of lower New York Harbor.
They had worked together to unz p the rubber bodybag and
lower the secretary's cold corpse down nto the o ly Atlant c
swell. One guy had turned to the other w th some cheap joke on
h s l ps and was shot full n the face w th a s lenced Beretta.
Then aga n, and aga n. The slow fall of h s body put the three
bullets all n d fferent places. H s face was all one b g fatal
wound, black n the darkness. H s arm was levered up across
the mahogany ra l and h s r ght hand was severed at the wr st
w th a stolen restaurant cleaver. F ve blows were requ red. It
was messy and brutal work. The hand went nto a plast c bag
and the body sl pped nto the water w thout a sound, less than
twenty yards from the spot where the secretary was already
s nk ng.
SEVEN
Jod e woke early that morn ng, wh ch was unusual for her.
Normally she slept soundly r ght up to the po nt when her alarm
went off and she had to drag herself out of bed and nto the
bathroom, sleepy and slow. But that morn ng, she was awake
an hour before she had to be, alert, breath ng l ghtly, heart
rac ng gently n her chest.
Her bedroom was wh te, l ke all her rooms, and her bed was a
k ng w th a wh te wood frame, set w th the head aga nst the wall
oppos te her w ndow. The guest room was back to back w th
her room, la d out n exactly the same way, symmetr cally, but n
reverse, because t faced n the oppos te d rect on. Wh ch
meant that h s head was about e ghteen nches away from hers.
Just through the wall.
She knew what the walls were made of. She had bought the
apartment before t was f n shed. She had been n and out for
months, watch ng over the convers on. The wall between the
two bedrooms was an or g nal wall, a hundred years old. There
was a great baulk of t mber ly ng crossways on the floor, w th
br cks bu lt up on top of t, all the way to the ce l ng. The
bu lders had s mply patched the br cks
where they were weak, and then plastered over them the way
the Europeans do t, g v ng a sol d hard stucco f n sh. The
arch tect felt t was the r ght way to do t. It added sol d ty to the
shell, and t gave better f re-proof ng and better soundproof ng.
But t also gave a foot-th ck sandw ch of stucco and br ck and
stucco between her and Reacher.
She loved h m. She was n no doubt about that. No doubt at
all. She always had, r ght from the start. But was that OK? Was
t OK to love h m the way she d d? She had agon zed over that
quest on before. She had la n awake n ghts about t, many years
ago. She had burned w th shame about her feel ngs. The n ne-
year age gap was obscene. Shameful. She knew that. A f fteenyear-old should not feel that way about her own father's fellow
off cer. Army protocol had made t pract cally ncestuous. It was
l ke feel ng that way about an uncle. Almost l ke feel ng that way
about her father h mself. But she loved h m. There was no
doubt about t.
She was w th h m whenever she could. Talk ng w th h m
whenever she could, touch ng h m whenever she could. She
had her own pr nt of the self-t mer photograph from Man la, her
arm around h s wa st. She had kept t pressed n a book for
f fteen years. Looked at t countless t mes. For years, she had
fed off the feel ng of touch ng h m, hugg ng h m hard for the
camera. She st ll remembered the exact feel of h m, h s broad
hard frame, h s smell.
The feel ngs had never really gone away. She had wanted
them to. She had wanted t just to be an adolescent th ng, a
teenage crush. But t wasn't. She knew that from the way the
feel ngs endured. He had d sappeared, she had grown up and
moved on, but the
feel ngs were always there. They had never receded, but they
had eventually moved parallel to the ma n flow of her l fe.
Always there, always real, always strong, but not necessar ly
connected w th her day-to-day real ty any more. L ke people she
knew, lawyers or bankers, who had really wanted to be dancers
or ballplayers. A dream from the past, unconnected w th real ty,
but absolutely def n ng the dent ty of the person nvolved. A
lawyer, who had wanted to be a dancer. A banker, who had
wanted to be a ballplayer. A d vorced th rty-year-old woman,
who had wanted to be w th Jack Reacher all along.
Yesterday should have been the worst day of her l fe. She had
bur ed her father, her last relat ve on earth. She had been
attacked by men w th guns. People she knew were n therapy
for much less. She should be prostrate w th m sery and shock.
But she wasn't. Yesterday had been the best day of her l fe. He
had appeared l ke a v s on on the steps, beh nd the garage,
above the yard. The noon sun d rectly over h s head,
llum nat ng h m. Her heart had thumped and the old feel ngs
had swarmed back nto the centre of her l fe, f ercer and
stronger than ever, l ke a drug howl ng through her ve ns, l ke
claps of thunder.
But t was all a waste of t me. She knew t. She had to face t.
He looked at her l ke a n ece or a k d s ster. L ke the n ne-year
gap st ll counted for someth ng. Wh ch t no longer d d. A
couple aged f fteen and twenty-four would certa nly have been a
problem. But th rty and th rty-n ne was perfectly OK. There were
thousands of couples w th gaps b gger than that. M ll ons of
couples. There were guys aged seventy w th twenty-year-old
w ves. But t st ll counted for someth ng w th h m. Or maybe he
was just too used to
see ng her as Leon's k d. L ke a n ece. L ke the CO's daughter.
The rules of soc ety or the protocol of the Army had bl nded h m
to the poss b l ty of see ng her any other way. She had always
burned w th resentment about that. She st ll d d. Leon's
affect on for h m, h s cla m ng of h m as h s own, had taken h m
away from her. It had made t mposs ble from the start.
They had spent the day l ke brother and s ster, l ke uncle and
n ece. Then he had turned all ser ous, l ke a bodyguard, l ke she
was h s profess onal respons b l ty. They had had fun, and he
cared about her phys cal safety, but noth ng more. There never
would be anyth ng more. And there was noth ng she could do
about t. Noth ng. She had asked guys out. All women her age
had. It was perm ss ble. Accepted, even normal. But what could
she say to h m? What? What can a s ster say to a brother or a
n ece to an uncle w thout caus ng outrage and shock and
d sgust? So t wasn't go ng to happen, and there was absolutely
noth ng she could do about t.
She stretched out n her bed and brought her hands up above
her head. La d her palms gently aga nst the d v d ng wall and
held them there. At least he was n her apartment, and at least
she could dream.
The guy got less than three hours n the sack, by the t me he
sa led the boat s ngle-handed back to the sl p and closed t
down and got back across town to bed. He was up aga n at s x
and back on the street by s x-twenty, w th a qu ck shower and
no breakfast. The hand was wrapped n the plast c, parcelled up
n yesterday's Post and carr ed n a Zabar's bag he had from the
last t me he bought ngred ents and made h s own d nner at
home.
He used the black Tahoe and made qu ck t me past all the
early morn ng del very people. He parked underground and
rode up to the e ghty-e ghth floor. Tony the recept on st was
already at the brass-and-oak counter. But he could tell from the
st llness that nobody else was n. He held up the Zabar's bag,
l ke a trophy.
'I've got th s for the Hook,' he sa d.
'The Hook's not here today,' Tony sa d.
'Great,' the guy sa d, sourly.
'St ck t n the refr gerator,' Tony sa d.
There was a small off ce k tchen off the recept on lobby. It
was cramped and messy, l ke off ce k tchens are. Coffee r ngs
on the counters, mugs w th sta ns on the ns de. The
refr gerator was a m n ature tem under the counter. The guy
shoved m lk and a s x-pack as de and folded the bag nto what
space was left.
'Target for today s Mrs Jacob,' Tony sa d. He was now n the
k tchen doorway. 'We know where she l ves. Lower Broadway,
north of C ty Hall. E ght blocks from here. Ne ghbours say she
always leaves at seven-twenty, walks to work.'
'Wh ch s where exactly?' the guy asked.
'Wall Street and Broadway,' Tony sa d. 'I'll dr ve, you grab her.'
Chester Stone had dr ven home at the normal t me and sa d
noth ng to Mar lyn. There was noth ng he could say. The speed
of the collapse had left h m bew ldered. H s whole world had
turned ns de out n a s ngle twenty-four-hour per od. He just
couldn't get a handle on t. He planned to gnore t unt l the
morn ng and then go see Hob e and try to talk some sense. In
h s heart he d dn't bel eve he couldn't save h mself.
The corporat on was n nety years old, for God's sake. Three
generat ons of Chester Stones. There was too much there for t
all to d sappear overn ght. So he sa d noth ng and got through
the even ng n a daze.
Mar lyn Stone sa d noth ng to Chester, e ther. Too early for
h m to know she had taken charge. The c rcumstances had to
be r ght for that d scuss on. It was an ego th ng. She just
bustled about, do ng her normal even ng th ngs, and then tr ed
to sleep wh le he lay awake bes de her, star ng at the ce l ng.
When Jod e placed her palms flat on the d v d ng wall,
Reacher was n the shower. He had three d st nct rout nes
worked out for shower ng, and every morn ng he made a cho ce
about wh ch one to use. The f rst was a stra ght shower, noth ng
more. It took eleven m nutes. The second was a shave and a
shower, twenty-two m nutes. The th rd was a spec al procedure,
rarely used. It nvolved shower ng once, then gett ng out and
shav ng, and then shower ng all over aga n. It took more than a
half-hour, but the advantage was mo stur zat on. Some g rl had
expla ned the shave was better f the sk n was already
thoroughly mo stur zed. And she had sa d t can't hurt any to
shampoo tw ce.
He was us ng the spec al procedure. Shower, shave, shower.
It felt good. Jod e's guest bathroom was b g and tall, and the
shower head was set h gh enough for h m to stand upr ght
under t, wh ch was unusual. There were bottles of shampoo,
neatly l ned up. He suspected they were brands she had tr ed
and hadn't l ked, relegated to the guest room. But he d dn't care.
He found one wh ch cla med to be a med at dry, sun-damaged
ha r. He f gured that was exactly what he
needed. He ladled t on and lathered up. Scrubbed h s body
all over w th some k nd of yellow soap and r nsed. Dr pped all
over the floor as he shaved at the s nk. He d d t carefully, r ght
up from h s collarbones, around the bottom of h s nose,
s deways, backward, forward. Then back nto the shower all
over aga n.
He spent f ve m nutes on h s teeth w th the new toothbrush.
The br stles were hard, and t felt l ke they were do ng some
good n there. Then he dr ed off and shook the creases out of
h s new clothes. Put the pants on w thout the sh rt and
wandered through to the k tchen for someth ng to eat.
Jod e was n there. She was fresh from the shower, too. Her
ha r was dark w th water and hang ng stra ght down. She was
wear ng an overs ze wh te T-sh rt that f n shed an nch above
her knees. The mater al was th n. Her legs were long and
smooth. Her feet were bare. She was very slender, except where
she shouldn't be. He caught h s breath.
'Morn ng, Reacher,' she sa d.
'Morn ng, Jod e,' he sa d back.
She was look ng at h m. Her eyes were all over h m.
Someth ng n her face.
'That bl ster,' she sa d. 'Looks worse.'
He squ nted down. It was st ll red and angry. Spread ng
sl ghtly, and puffy.
'You put the o ntment on?' she asked.
He shook h s head.
'Forgot,' he sa d.
'Get t,' she sa d.
He went back to h s bathroom and found t n the brown bag.
Brought t back to the k tchen. She took t from h m and
unscrewed the cap. P erced the metal seal w th the plast c sp ke
and squeezed a dot of the
salve onto the pad of her ndex f nger. She was concentrat ng
on t, tongue between her teeth. She stepped n front of h m and
ra sed her hand. Touched the bl ster gently and rubbed w th her
f ngert p. He stared r g dly over her head. She was a foot away
from h m. Naked under her sh rt. Rubb ng h s bare chest w th
her f ngert p. He wanted to take her n h s arms. He wanted to
l ft her off her feet and crush her close. K ss her gently, start ng
w th her neck. He wanted to turn her face up to h s and k ss her
mouth. She was rubb ng small gentle c rcles on h s chest. He
could smell her ha r, damp and glossy. He could smell her sk n.
She was trac ng her f nger the length of the burn. A foot away
from h m, naked under her sh rt. He gasped and clenched h s
hands. She stepped away.
'Hurt ng?' she asked.
'What?'
'Was I hurt ng you?'
He saw her f ngert p, sh ny from the grease.
'A l ttle,' he sa d.
She nodded.
'I'm sorry,' she sa d. 'But you needed t.'
He nodded back.
'I guess,' he sa d.
Then the cr s s was past. She screwed the cap back on the
tube and he moved away, just to be mov ng. He pulled the
refr gerator door and took a bottle of water. Found a banana n a
bowl on the counter. She put the tube of o ntment on the table.
'I'll go get dressed,' she sa d. 'We should get mov ng.'
'OK,' he sa d. 'I'll be ready.'
She d sappeared back nto her bedroom and he drank the
water and ate the fru t. Wandered back to
h s bedroom and shrugged the sh rt on and tucked t n.
Found h s socks and shoes and jacket. Strolled through to the
l v ng room to wa t. He pulled the bl nd all the way up and
unlocked the w ndow and pushed t up. Leaned r ght out and
scanned the street four floors below.
Very d fferent n the early dayl ght. The sh ny neon wash was
gone, and the sun was com ng over the bu ld ngs oppos te and
bounc ng around n the street. The lazy n ght-t me knots of
people were gone, too, replaced by purposeful str d ng workers
head ng north and south w th paper cups of coffee and muff ns
clutched n napk ns. Cabs were gr nd ng down through the
traff c and honk ng at the l ghts to make them change. There
was a gentle breeze and he could smell the r ver.
The bu ld ng was on the west s de of Lower Broadway. Traff c
was one-way, to the south, runn ng left to r ght under the
w ndow. Jod e's normal walk to work would g ve her a r ght turn
out of her lobby, walk ng w th the traff c. She would keep to the
r ght-hand s dewalk, to stay n the sun. She would cross
Broadway at a l ght maybe s x or seven blocks down. Walk the
last couple of blocks on the left-hand s dewalk and then make
the left turn, east down Wall Street to her off ce.
So how would they a m to grab her up? Th nk l ke the enemy.
Th nk l ke the two guys. Phys cal, unsubtle, favour ng a d rect
approach, w ll ng and dangerous, but not really schooled
beyond the po nt of amateur enthus asm. It was pretty clear
what they would do. They would have a four-door veh cle
wa t ng n a s de street maybe three blocks south, parked n the
r ght lane, fac ng east, ready to swoop
out and hang the r ght on Broadway. They would be wa t ng
together n the front seats, s lent. They would be scann ng left
to r ght through the w ndsh eld, watch ng the crosswalk n front
of them. They would expect to see her hurry ng across, or
paus ng and wa t ng for the s gnal. They would wa t a beat and
ease out and make the r ght turn. Dr v ng slow. They would fall
n beh nd her. Pull level. Pull ahead. Then the guy n the
passenger seat would be out, grabb ng her, open ng the rear
door, forc ng her ns de, cramm ng h mself n after her. One
smooth brutal movement. A crude tact c, but not d ff cult. Not
d ff cult at all. More or less guaranteed to succeed, depend ng
on the target and the level of awareness. Reacher had done the
same th ng, many t mes, w th targets b gger and stronger and
more aware than Jod e. Once, he had done t w th Leon h mself
at the wheel.
He bent forward from the wa st and put h s whole upper body
out through the w ndow. Craned h s head around to the r ght
and gazed down the street. Looked hard at the corners, two and
three and four blocks south. It would be one of those.
'Ready,' Jod e called to h m.
They rode down n nety floors together to the underground
garage. Walked through to the r ght zone and over to the bays
leased along w th Hob e's off ce su te. 'We should take the
Suburban,' the enforcer sa d. 'B gger.'
'OK,' Tony sa d. He unlocked t and sl d nto the dr ver's seat.
The enforcer ho sted h mself nto the passenger seat. Glanced
back at the empty load bed. Tony f red t up and eased out
towards the ramp to the street.
'So how do we do th s?' Tony asked.
The guy sm led conf dently. 'Easy enough. She'll be walk ng
south on Broadway. We'll wa t around a corner unt l we see her.
Couple of blocks south of her bu ld ng. We see her pass by on
the crosswalk, we pull around the corner, get alongs de her, and
that's that, r ght?'
'Wrong,' Tony sa d. 'We'll do t d fferent.'
The guy looked across at h m. 'Why?'
Tony squealed the b g car up and out nto the sunl ght.
'Because you're not very smart,' he sa d. 'If that's how you'd
do t, there's got to be a better way, r ght? You screwed up n
Garr son. You'll screw up here. She's probably got th s Reacher
guy w th her. He beat you there, he'll beat you here. So whatever
you f gure s the best way to do t, that's the last th ng we're
go ng to do.'
'So how are we go ng to do t?'
'I'll expla n t to you real careful,' Tony sa d. 'I'll try to keep t
real s mple.'
Reacher sl d the w ndow back down. Cl cked the lock and
rattled the bl nd down nto pos t on. She was stand ng just
ns de the doorway, ha r st ll darkened by the shower, dressed
n a s mple sleeveless l nen dress, bare legs, pla n shoes. The
dress was the same colour as her wet ha r, but would end up
darker as her ha r dr ed. She was carry ng a purse and a large
leather br efcase, the s ze he had seen commerc al p lots us ng.
It was clearly heavy. She put t down and ducked away to her
garment bag, wh ch was on the floor aga nst a wall, where he
had dumped t the prev ous n ght. She sl d the envelope
conta n ng Leon's w ll out of
the pocket and uncl cked the l d of the br efcase and stowed t
ns de.
'Want me to carry that?' he asked.
She sm led and shook her head.
'Un on town,' she sa d. 'Bodyguard ng doesn't nclude
drayage around here.'
'It looks pretty heavy,' he sa d.
'I'm a b g g rl now,' she repl ed, look ng at h m.
He nodded. L fted the old ron bar out of ts brackets and left
t upr ght. She leaned past h m and turned the locks. The same
perfume, subtle and fem n ne. Her shoulders n the dress were
sl m, almost th n. Small muscles n her left arm were bunch ng
to balance the heavy case.
'What sort of law you got n there?' he asked.
'F nanc al,' she sa d.
He eased the door open. Glanced out. The hallway was empty.
The elevator nd cator was show ng somebody head ng down to
the street from three.
'What sort of f nanc al?'
They stepped across and called the elevator.
'Debt reschedul ng, mostly,' she sa d. 'I'm more of a
negot ator than a lawyer, really. More l ke a counsellor or a
med ator, you know?'
He d dn't know. He had never been n debt. Not out of any
nnate v rtue, but s mply because he had never had the
opportun ty. All the bas cs had been prov ded for h m by the
Army. A roof over h s head, food on h s plate. He had never
gotten nto the hab t of want ng much more. But he'd known
guys who had run nto trouble. They bought houses w th
mortgages and cars on t me payment plans. Somet mes they
got beh nd. The company clerk would sort t out. Talk to the
bank, deduct the necessary prov s on stra ght from the guy's
paycheck. But he guessed that was small-t me, compared to
what she must deal w th.
'M ll ons of dollars?' he asked.
The elevator arr ved. The doors sl d open.
'At least,' she sa d. 'Usually tens of m ll ons, somet mes
hundreds.'
The elevator was empty. They stepped ns de.
'Enjoy t?' he asked.
The elevator wh ned downward.
'Sure,' she sa d. 'A person needs a job, t's as good as she's
go ng to get.'
The elevator settled w th a bump.
'You good at t?'
She nodded.
'Yes,' she sa d s mply. 'Best there s on Wall Street, no doubt
about that.'
He sm led. She was Leon's daughter, that was for damn sure.
The elevator doors sl d open. An empty lobby, the street door
suck ng shut, a broad woman head ng slowly down the steps to
the s dewalk.
'Car keys?' he sa d.
She had them n her hand. A b g bunch of keys on a brass
r ng.
'Wa t here,' he sa d. 'I'll back t up to the sta rs. One m nute.'
The door from the lobby to the garage opened from the ns de
w th a push bar. He went through and down the metal steps and
scanned ahead nto the gloom as he walked. Nobody there. At
least, nobody v s ble. He walked conf dently to the wrong car, a
b g dark Chrysler someth ng, two spaces from Jod e's jeep. He
dropped flat to the floor and looked across, under the
nterven ng veh cles. Noth ng there.
Nobody h d ng on the floor. He got up aga n and squeezed
around the Chrysler's hood. Around the next car. He dropped to
the floor aga n, jammed up n the space between the
Oldsmob le's ta lgate and the wall. Craned h s head down and
looked for w res where there shouldn't be w res. All clear. No
booby traps.
He unlocked the door and sl d n. F red t up and eased nto
the a sle. Backed up level w th the bottom of the sta rs. Leaned
across ns de and sprang the passenger door as she came
through from the lobby beh nd h m. She sk pped down the
steps and cl mbed stra ght n the car, all one smooth flu d
movement. She slammed the door and he took off forward and
made the r ght up the ramp and the r ght on the street.
The morn ng sun n the east flashed once n h s eyes, and
then he was through t, head ng south. The f rst corner was
th rty yards ahead. Traff c was slow. Not stopped, just slow. The
l ght caught h m three cars back from the turn. He was n the
r ght lane, and he had no angle to see nto the mouth of the
cross street. Traff c poured r ght to left out of t, ahead of h m,
three cars away. He could see the far stream was slowed,
sp ll ng around some k nd of obstacle. Maybe a parked veh cle.
Maybe a parked four-door, just wa t ng there for someth ng.
Then the s deways flow stopped, and the l ght on Broadway
went green.
He drove across the ntersect on w th h s head turned, half an
eye ahead, and the rest of h s attent on focused s deways.
Noth ng there. No parked four-door. The obstruct on was a
str ped sawhorse placed aga nst an open manhole. There was a
power company truck ten yards farther down the street. A
gaggle of workmen on the s dewalk, dr nk ng soda
from cans. The traff c ground on. Stopped aga n, for the next
l ght. He was four cars back.
Th s was not the street. The traff c pattern was wrong. It was
flow ng west, left to r ght n front of h m. He had a good v ew out
to h s left. He could see f fty yards down the street. Noth ng
there. Not th s one. It was go ng to be the next one.
Ideally he would have l ked to do more than just dr ve stra ght
by the two guys. A better dea would be to track around the
block and come up beh nd them. D tch the jeep a hundred yards
away and stroll up on them from the rear. They would be
cran ng forward, watch ng the crosswalk through the
w ndsh eld. He could take a good look at them, as long as he
wanted. He could even get r ght n the r car w th them. The rear
doors would be unlocked, for sure. The guys would be star ng
stra ght ahead. He could sl p n beh nd them and plant a hand
on the s de of each head and bang them together l ke a
bandsman lett ng r p w th the cymbals. Then he could do t
aga n, and aga n, and aga n, unt l they started answer ng some
bas c quest ons.
But he wasn't go ng to do that. Concentrate on the job n
hand was h s rule. The job n hand was gett ng Jod e to her
off ce, safe and secure. Bodyguard ng was about defence. Start
m x ng offence n w th t, and ne ther th ng gets done properly.
L ke he had told her, he used to do th s for a l v ng. He was
tra ned n t. Very well tra ned, and very exper enced. So he was
go ng to stay defens ve, and he was go ng to count t a major
v ctory to see her walk ng n through her off ce door, all safe
and secure. And he was go ng to stay qu et about how much
trouble she was n. He d dn't want her worry ng about t. No
reason why whatever Leon had started should end up g v ng
her any k nd
of angu sh. Leon would not have wanted that. Leon would
have just wanted h m to handle everyth ng. So that was how he
was go ng to do t. Del ver her to the off ce door, no long
explanat ons, no gloomy warn ngs.
The l ght went green. The f rst car took off, then the second.
Then the th rd. He eased forward. Checked the gap ahead of
h m and craned h s head r ght. Were they there? The cross
street was narrow. Two lanes of stopped traff c, wa t ng at the
l ght. Noth ng parked up n the r ght lane. Noth ng wa t ng. They
weren't there. He moved slowly through the whole w dth of the
ntersect on, scann ng r ght. Nobody there. He breathed out and
relaxed and faced forward. There was a huge metall c bang. A
tremendous loud metall c punch n h s back. Tear ng sheet
metal, nstant v olent accelerat on. The jeep was hurled forward
and smashed nto the veh cle ahead and stopped dead. The
a rbags exploded. He saw Jod e bounc ng off her seat and
crash ng aga nst the tens on of her belt, her body stopp ng
abruptly, her head st ll cannon ng forward. Then t was
bounc ng backward off the a rbag and wh pp ng and smash ng
nto the headrest beh nd her. He not ced her face was f xed n
space exactly alongs de h s, w th the ns de of the car blurr ng
and wh rl ng and sp nn ng past t, because h s head was do ng
exactly the same th ngs as hers.
The tw n mpacts had torn h s hands off the wheel. The a rbag
was collaps ng n front of h m. He dragged h s eyes to the
m rror and saw a g ant black hood bur ed n the back of the
jeep. The top of a sh ny chrome gr lle, bent out of shape. Some
huge four-wheel-dr ve truck. One guy n t, v s ble beh nd the
t nted screen. Not a guy he knew. Cars were honk ng
beh nd them and traff c was pull ng left and steer ng around
the obstruct on. Faces were turn ng to stare. There was a loud
h ss ng somewhere. Steam from h s rad ator, or maybe r ng ng
from h s ears after the enormous sudden sounds. The guy
beh nd was gett ng out of the four-wheel dr ve. Hands held up n
apology, worry and fr ght n h s face. He was fold ng h mself
around h s door, out there n the slow traff c stream, walk ng up
towards Reacher's w ndow, glanc ng s deways at the tangle of
sheet metal as he passed. A woman was gett ng out of the
sedan n front, look ng dazed and angry. The traff c was
snarl ng around them. The a r was sh mmer ng from overheated
motors and loud w th horns blast ng. Jod e was upr ght n her
seat, feel ng the back of her neck w th her f ngers.
'You OK?' he asked her.
She thought about t for a long moment, and then she
nodded.
'I'm OK,' she sa d. 'You?'
'F ne,' he sa d.
She poked at the collapsed a rbag w th her f nger, fasc nated.
'These th ngs really work, you know that?'
'F rst t me I ever saw one deploy,' he sa d.
'Me too.'
Then there was rapp ng on the dr ver's s de w ndow. The guy
from beh nd was stand ng there, knock ng urgently w th h s
knuckles. Reacher stared out at h m. The guy was gestur ng for
h m to open up, urgently, l ke he was anx ous about someth ng.
'Sh t,' Reacher yelled.
He stamped on the gas. The jeep struggled forward, push ng
aga nst the woman's wrecked sedan. It made
a yard, slew ng to the left, sheet metal screech ng.
'Hell are you do ng?' Jod e screamed.
The guy had h s hand on the door handle. H s other hand n
h s pocket.
'Get down,' Reacher shouted.
He found reverse and howled back the yard he'd made and
smashed nto the four-wheel dr ve beh nd. The new mpact won
h m another foot. He shoved the selector nto dr ve and spun
the wheel and barged left. Smashed nto the rear quarter of the
sedan n a new shower of glass. Traff c beh nd was swerv ng
and slew ng all over aga n. He glanced r ght and one of the guys
he'd seen n Key West and Garr son was at the w ndow w th h s
hand on Jod e's door. He stamped on the gas and hurled the
jeep backward, sp nn ng the wheel. The guy kept a t ght hold,
jerked backward by h s arm, flung off h s feet by the v olent
mot on. Reacher smashed all the way backward nto the black
truck and bounced off aga n forward, scream ng the motor,
sp nn ng the wheel. The guy was up aga n, st ll gr pp ng the
door handle, jerk ng and haul ng, spare arm and legs fla l ng,
l ke he was a wrangler and the jeep was a w ld young steer n a
desperate f ght out of a trap. Reacher mashed the pedal and
angled out forward close to the rear corner of the woman's
wrecked sedan and scraped the guy off aga nst the trunk. The
fender took h m at the knees and he somersaulted and h s head
came down on the rear glass. In the m rror Reacher saw a blur
of fla l ng arms and legs as h s momentum carr ed h m up over
the roof. Then he was gone, sprawl ng back to the s dewalk.
'Watch out!' Jod e screamed.
The guy from the truck was st ll there at the dr ver's w ndow.
Reacher was out n the traff c stream, but the
traff c stream was slow and the guy was just runn ng fast
bes de h m, struggl ng to free someth ng from h s pocket.
Reacher swerved left and came n parallel to a panel truck n the
next lane. The guy was st ll runn ng, sk pp ng s deways, hold ng
the door handle, com ng out w th someth ng from h s pocket.
Reacher jammed left aga n and thumped h m hard aga nst the
s de of the truck. He heard a dull boom as the guy's head h t the
metal and then he was gone. The truck jammed to a pan c stop
and Reacher hauled left and got n front of t. Broadway was a
sol d mass of traff c. Ahead of h m was a sh mmer ng
patchwork of metall c colours, sedan roofs w nk ng n the sun,
dodg ng left, dodg ng r ght, crawl ng forward, fumes r s ng,
horns blast ng. He hauled left aga n, and turned and went
through a crosswalk aga nst the l ght, a crowd of jostl ng
people sk tter ng out of h s way. The jeep was judder ng and
bounc ng and pull ng hard to the r ght. The temperature gauge
was off the scale. Steam was bo l ng up through the gaps
around the buckled hood. The collapsed a rbag was hang ng
down to h s knees. He jerked forward and hauled left aga n and
jammed nto an alley full of restaurant waste. Boxes, empty
drums of cook ng o l, rough wooden trays p led w th spo led
vegetables. He bur ed the nose n a p le of cartons. They sp lled
down on the wrecked hood and bounced off the w ndsh eld. He
k lled the motor and pulled the keys.
He had put t too close to the wall for Jod e's door to open. He
grabbed her br efcase and her purse and threw them out
through h s door. Squeezed out after them and turned back for
her. She was scrambl ng across the seats beh nd h m. Her
dress was r d ng up. He grabbed her around the wa st and she
ducked her
head to h s shoulder and he l fted her through the gap. She
clung on hard, bare legs around h s wa st. He turned and ran
her s x feet away. She we ghed noth ng at all. He set her on her
feet and ducked back for her bags. She was smooth ng her
dress over her th ghs. Breath ng hard. Damp ha r all over the
place.
'How d d you know?' she gasped. 'That t wasn't an acc dent?'
He gave her the purse and carr ed the heavy br efcase
h mself. Led her by the hand back down the alley to the street,
pant ng w th adrenal ne rush.
'Talk wh le we walk,' he sa d.
They turned left and headed east for Lafayette. The morn ng
sun was n the r eyes, the r ver breeze n the r faces. Beh nd
them, they could hear the traff c snarl on Broadway. They
walked together f fty yards, breath ng hard, calm ng down.
'How d d you know?'
'Stat st cs. I guess. What were the chances we'd be n an
acc dent on the exact same morn ng we f gured there were guys
out look ng for us? M ll on to one, at best.'
She nodded. A sl ght sm le on her face. Head up, shoulders
back, recover ng fast. No trace of shock. She was Leon's
daughter, that was for damn sure.
'You were great,' she sa d. 'You reacted so fast.'
He shook h s head as he walked.
'No, I was sh t,' he sa d. 'Dumb as hell. One m stake after
another. They changed personnel. Some new guy n charge. I
never even thought about that. I was f gur ng what the or g nal
pa r of assholes m ght do, never even thought about them
putt ng n somebody smarter. And whoever that guy was, he
was pretty smart. It was a good plan, almost worked. I never
saw
t com ng. Then when t happened, I st ll wasted a sh t-load of
t me talk ng to you about the damn a rbags deploy ng.'
'Don't feel bad,' she sa d.
'I do feel bad. Leon had a bas c rule: do t r ght. Thank God he
wasn't there to see that screw-up. He'd have been ashamed of
me.'
He saw her face cloud over. Real zed what he'd sa d.
'I'm sorry. I just can't make myself bel eve he's dead.'
They came out on Lafayette. Jod e was at the kerb, scann ng
for a cab.
'Well, he s,' she sa d, gently. 'We'll get used to t, I guess.'
He nodded. 'And I'm sorry about your car. I should have seen
t com ng.'
She shrugged. 'It's only leased. I'll get them to send another
one just l ke t. Now I know t stands up n a coll s on, r ght?
Maybe a red one.'
'You should report t stolen,' he sa d. 'Call the cops and say t
wasn't there n the garage when you went for t th s morn ng.'
'That's fraud,' she sa d.
'No, that's smart. Remember I can't afford for the cops to be
ask ng me quest ons about th s. I don't even carry a dr ver's
l cence.'
She thought about t. Then she sm led. L ke a k d s ster
sm les when she's forg v ng her b g brother for some k nd of
waywardness, he thought.
'OK,' she sa d. 'I'll call them from the off ce.'
'The off ce? You're not go ng to the damn off ce.'
'Why not?' she sa d, surpr sed.
He waved vaguely west, back towards Broadway. 'After what
happened there? I want you where I can see you, Jod e.'
'I need to go to work, Reacher,' she sa d. 'And be log cal. The
off ce hasn't become unsafe just because of what happened
over there. It's a completely separate propos t on, r ght? The
off ce s st ll as safe now as t always was. And you were happy
for me to go there before, so what's changed?'
He looked at her. He wanted to say everyth ng's changed.
Because whatever Leon started w th some old couple from a
card ology cl n c has now got halfway-competent profess onals
m xed n w th t. Halfway-competent profess onals who were
about half a second away from w nn ng th s morn ng. And he
wanted to say: I love you and you're n danger and I don't want
you anyplace I can't be look ng out for you. But he couldn't say
any of that. Because he had comm tted h mself to keep ng t all
away from her. All of t, the love and the danger. So he just
shrugged, lamely.
'You should come w th me,' he sa d.
'Why? To help?'
He nodded. 'Yes, help me w th these old folks. They'll talk to
you, because you're Leon's daughter.'
'You want me w th you because I'm Leon's daughter?'
He nodded aga n. She spotted a cab and waved t down.
'Wrong answer, Reacher,' she sa d.
He argued w th her, but he got nowhere. Her m nd was made
up, and she wouldn't change t. The best he could do was to get
her to solve h s mmed ate problem and rent h m a car, w th her
gold card and her l cence. They took the cab up to M dtown and
found a Hertz off ce. He wa ted outs de n the sun for quarter of
an
hour and then she came around the block n a brand-new
Taurus and p cked h m up. She drove all the way back
Downtown on Broadway. They passed by her bu ld ng and
passed by the scene of the ambush three blocks south. The
damaged veh cles were gone. There were shards of glass n the
gutter and o l sta ns on the blacktop, but that was all. She drove
on south and parked on a hydrant oppos te her off ce door. Left
the motor runn ng and racked the seat all the way back, ready
for the change of dr ver.
'OK,' she sa d. 'You'll p ck me up here, about seven o'clock?'
'That late?'
'I'm start ng late,' she sa d. 'I'll have to f n sh late.' 'Don't leave
the bu ld ng, OK?' He got out on the s dewalk and watched her
all the way ns de. There was a broad paved area n front of the
bu ld ng. She sk pped across t, bare legs flash ng and danc ng
under the dress. She turned and sm led and waved. Pushed
s deways through the revolv ng door, sw ng ng her heavy case.
It was a tall bu ld ng, maybe s xty storeys. Probably dozens of
su tes rented to dozens of separate f rms, maybe hundreds. But
the s tuat on looked l ke t m ght be safe enough. There was a
w de recept on counter mmed ately ns de the revolv ng door. A
l ne of secur ty guys s tt ng beh nd t, and beh nd them was a
sol d glass screen, wall to wall, floor to ce l ng, w th one
open ng n t, operated by a buzzer under the r counter. Beh nd
the screen were the elevators. No way n, unless the secur ty
guys saw f t to let you n. He nodded to h mself. It m ght be safe
enough. Maybe. It would depend on the d l gence of the
doormen. He saw her talk ng to one of them, head bent, blond
ha r fall ng
forward. Then she was walk ng to the door n the screen,
wa t ng, push ng t. She went through to the elevators. H t a
button. A door sl d open. She backed n, lever ng her case over
the threshold w th both hands. The door sl d shut.
He wa ted out on the paved area for a m nute. Then he hurr ed
across and shouldered n through the revolv ng door. Strode
over to the counter l ke he d d t every day of h s l fe. P cked on
the oldest secur ty guy. The oldest ones are usually the most
sloppy. The younger ones st ll enterta n hopes of advancement.
'They want me up at Spencer Gutman,' he sa d, look ng at h s
watch.
'Name?' the old guy asked.
'L ncoln,' Reacher sa d.
The guy was gr zzled and t red, but he d d what he was
supposed to do. He p cked a cl pboard out of a slot and stud ed
t.
'You got an appo ntment?'
'They just paged me,' Reacher sa d. 'Some k nd of a b g hurry,
I guess.'
'L ncoln, l ke the car?'
'L ke the pres dent,' Reacher sa d.
The old guy nodded and ran a th ck f nger down a long l st of
names.
'You're not on the l st,' he sa d. 'I can't let you n, w thout
you're on the l st.'
'I work for Costello,' Reacher sa d. 'They need me upsta rs,
l ke r ght now.'
'I could call them,' the guy sa d. 'Who paged you?'
Reacher shrugged. 'Mr Spencer, I guess. He's who I usually
see.'
The guy looked offended. Placed the cl pboard back n ts
slot.
'Mr Spencer d ed ten years ago,' he sa d. 'You want to come
n, you get yourself a proper appo ntment, OK?'
Reacher nodded. The place was safe enough. He turned on
h s heel and headed back to the car.
Mar lyn Stone wa ted unt l Chester's Mercedes was out of
s ght and then she ran back to the house and got to work. She
was a ser ous woman, and she knew a poss ble s x-week gap
between l st ng and clos ng was go ng to need some ser ous
nput.
Her f rst call was to the clean ng serv ce. The house was
already perfectly clean, but she was go ng to move some
furn ture out. She took the v ew that present ng a house sl ghtly
empty of furn ture created an mpress on of spac ousness. It
made t seem even larger than t was. And t avo ded trapp ng a
potent al buyer nto preconcept ons about what would look
good, and what wouldn't. For nstance, the Ital an credenza n
the hallway was the perfect p ece for that hallway, but she d dn't
want a potent al buyer to th nk the hallway wouldn't work any
other way. Better to just have noth ng there, and let the buyer's
mag nat on f ll the gap, maybe w th a p ece she already had.
So f she was go ng to move furn ture out, she needed the
clean ng serv ce to attend to the spaces left beh nd. A sl ght
lack of furn ture created a spac ous look, but obv ous gaps
created a sad look. So she called them, and she called the
mov ng and storage people too, because she was go ng to have
to put the d splaced stuff somewhere. Then she called the pool
serv ce, and the gardeners. She wanted them there every
morn ng unt l further not ce, for an hour's work every day. She
needed the yard look ng ts
absolute best. Even at th s end of the market, she knew kerb
appeal was k ng.
Then she tr ed to remember other stuff she'd read, or th ngs
people had told her about. Flowers, of course, n vases, all over
the place. She called the flor st. She remembered somebody
say ng saucers of w ndow cleaner neutral zed all the l ttle stray
smells any house generates. Someth ng to do w th the
ammon a. She remembered read ng that putt ng a handful of
coffee beans n a hot oven made a wonderful welcom ng smell.
So she put a new packet n her utens l drawer, ready. She
f gured f she put some n the oven each t me Sheryl called to
say she was on her way over w th cl ents, that would be t m ng
t about r ght, n terms of aroma.
EIGHT
Chester Stone's day started out n the normal way. He drove
to work at the usual t me. The Benz was as sooth ng as ever.
The sun was sh n ng, as t should be n June. The dr ve nto the
c ty was normal. Normal traff c, no more, no less. The usual
rose vendors and paper sellers n the toll plazas. The
slacken ng congest on down the length of Manhattan, prov ng
he'd t med t just r ght, as he usually d d. He parked n h s
normal leased slot under h s bu ld ng and rode the elevator up
to h s off ces. Then h s day stopped be ng normal.
The place was deserted. It was as f h s company had
van shed overn ght. The staff had all d sappeared, nst nct vely,
l ke rats from a s nk ng sh p. A s ngle phone was tr ll ng on a
d stant desk. Nobody was s tt ng there to answer t. The
computers were all turned off. The mon tor screens were dull
grey squares, reflect ng the str p l ghts n the ce l ng. H s own
nner off ce was always qu et, but now there was a strange hush
ly ng over t. He walked n and heard a sound l ke a tomb.
'I'm Chester Stone,' he sa d nto the s lence.
He sa d t just to be mak ng some no se n the place,
but t came out l ke a croak. There was no echo, because the
th ck carpet ng and the f breboard walls soaked up the sound
l ke a sponge. H s vo ce just d sappeared n the vo d.
'Sh t,' he sa d.
He was angry. Mostly w th h s secretary. She had been w th
h m a long t me. She was the sort of employee he expected to
stand up and be loyal, w th a shy hand on h s shoulder, a gleam
n her eye, a prom se to stay and beat the odds whatever the
hell they were. But she'd done the same th ng as all the others.
She'd heard the rumours com ng out of the f nance department,
the company was bust, the pay checks would bounce, and
she'd dumped some old f les out of a carton and boxed up the
photos of her damn nephews n the r cheap brass frames and
her ratty old sp der plant from her desk and her junk from her
drawers and carr ed t all home on the subway to her neat l ttle
apartment, wherever the hell that was. Her neat l ttle apartment,
decorated and furn shed w th h s pay checks from when the
t mes were good. She would be s tt ng there now, n her
bathrobe, dr nk ng coffee slowly, an unexpected morn ng off,
never to return to h m, maybe leaf ng through the vacanc es n
the back of the newspaper, choos ng her next port of call.
'Sh t,' he sa d aga n.
He turned on h s heel and barged out through the secretar al
pen and back out all the way to the elevator. Rode down to the
street and strode out nto the sun. Turned west and set out
walk ng fast, n a fury, w th h s heart thump ng. The enormous
gl tter ng bulk of the Tw n Towers loomed over h m. He hurr ed
across the plaza and ns de to the elevators. He was sweat ng.
The ch ll of the lobby a r struck through h s
jacket. He rode the express up to e ghty-e ght. Stepped out
and walked through the narrow corr dor and nto Hob e's brassand-oak lobby for the second t me n twenty-four hours.
The male recept on st was s tt ng beh nd h s counter. On the
other s de of the lobby a th ckset man n an expens ve su t was
com ng out of a small k tchen, carry ng two mugs n one hand.
Stone could smell coffee. He could see steam r s ng and brown
froth sw rl ng n the mugs. He glanced between the two men.
'I want to see Hob e,' he sa d.
They gnored h m. The th ckset man walked over to the
counter and set one of the mugs n front of the recept on st.
Then he walked back beh nd Stone and put h mself nearer the
lobby door than Stone was. The recept on st leaned forward and
rotated the coffee mug, carefully adjust ng the angle of the
handle unt l t was presented comfortably to h s grasp.
'I want to see Hob e,' Stone sa d aga n, look ng stra ght
ahead.
'My name s Tony,' the recept on st sa d to h m.
Stone just turned and stared at h m, blankly. The guy had a
red mark on h s forehead, l ke a fresh bru se. The ha r on h s
temple was newly combed but wet, l ke he'd pressed a cold
cloth to h s head.
'I want to see Hob e,' Stone sa d for the th rd t me.
'Mr Hob e's not n the off ce today,' Tony sa d. 'I'll be deal ng
w th your affa rs for the t me be ng. We have matters to d scuss,
don't we?'
'Yes, we do,' Stone sa d.
'So shall we go ns de?' Tony sa d, and stood up.
He nodded to the other guy, who sl d around the counter and
took up pos t on n the cha r. Tony came out and stepped
across to the nner door. Held t open
and Stone walked through nto the same gloom as the day
before. The bl nds were st ll closed. Tony padded ahead
through the dark to the desk. He walked around t and sat down
n Hob e's cha r. The sprung base creaked once n the s lence.
Stone followed after h m. Then he stopped and glanced left and
r ght, wonder ng where he should s t.
'You'll rema n stand ng,' Tony sa d to h m.
'What?' Stone sa d back.
'You'll rema n stand ng for the durat on of the nterv ew.'
'What?' Stone sa d aga n, aston shed.
'R ght n front of the desk.'
Stone just stood there, h s mouth clamped shut.
'Arms by your s des,' Tony sa d. 'Stand stra ght and don't
slump.'
He sa d t calmly, qu etly, n a matter-of-fact vo ce, not mov ng
at all. Then there was s lence. Just fa nt background no ses
boom ng elsewhere n the bu ld ng, and thump ng n Stone's
chest. H s eyes were adjust ng to the gloom. He could see the
score marks on the desktop from Hob e's hook. They made an
angry tracery, deep n the wood. The s lence was unsettl ng
h m. He had absolutely no dea how to react to th s. He glanced
at the sofa to h s left. It was hum l at ng to stand. Doubly so,
when told to by a damn recept on st. He glanced at the sofa to
h s r ght. He knew he should f ght back. He should just go
ahead and s t down on one of the sofas. Just step left or r ght
and s t down. Ignore the guy. Just do t. Just s t down, and
show the guy who was boss. L ke h tt ng a w nn ng return or
trump ng an ace. S t down, for God's sake, he told h mself. But
h s legs would not move. It was l ke he was paralysed. He stood
st ll, a yard n front of the
desk, r g d w th outrage and hum l at on. And fear.
'You're wear ng Mr Hob e's jacket,' Tony sa d. 'Would you take
t off, please?'
Stone stared at h m. Then he glanced down at h s jacket. It
was h s Sav le Row. He real zed that for the f rst t me n h s l fe,
he'd acc dentally worn the same th ng two days runn ng.
'Th s s my jacket,' he sa d.
'No, t's Mr Hob e's.'
Stone shook h s head. 'I bought t n London. It's def n tely my
jacket.'
Tony sm led n the dark.
'You don't understand, do you?' he sa d.
'Understand what?' Stone sa d, blankly.
'That Mr Hob e owns you now. You're h s. And everyth ng you
have s h s.'
Stone stared at h m. There was s lence n the room. Just the
fa nt background no ses from the bu ld ng and the thump ng n
Stone's chest.
'So take Mr Hob e's jacket off,' Tony sa d, qu etly.
Stone was just star ng at h m, h s mouth open ng and clos ng,
no sound com ng out of t.
'Take t off,' Tony sa d. 'It's not your property. You shouldn't
be stand ng there wear ng another man's jacket.'
H s vo ce was qu et, but there was menace n t. Stone's face
was r g d w th shock, but then suddenly h s arms were start ng
to move, l ke they were outs de of h s consc ous control. He
struggled off w th the jacket and held t out by the collar, l ke he
was n the menswear department, hand ng back a garment he'd
tr ed and hadn't l ked.
'On the desk, please,' Tony sa d.
Stone la d the jacket flat on the desk. He stra ghtened t and felt the f ne wool snagg ng over the rough
surface. Tony pulled t closer and went nto the pockets, one
after the other. He assembled the contents n a small p le n
front of h m. Balled up the jacket and tossed t casually over the
desk on to the left-hand sofa.
He p cked up the Mont Blanc founta n pen. Made an
apprec at ve l ttle shape w th h s mouth and sl pped t nto h s
own pocket. Then he p cked up the bunch of keys. Fanned them
on the desktop and p cked through them, one at a t me.
Selected the car key, and held t up between h s f nger and
thumb.
'Mercedes?'
Stone nodded, blankly.
'Model?'
'500SEL,' Stone muttered.
'New?'
Stone shrugged. 'A year old.'
'Colour?'
'Dark blue.'
'Where?'
'At my off ce,' Stone muttered. 'In the lot.'
'We'll p ck t up later,' Tony sa d.
He opened a drawer and dropped the keys nto t. Pushed the
drawer shut and turned h s attent on to the wallet. He held t
ups de down and shook t and raked the contents out w th h s
f nger. When t was empty, he tossed t under the desk. Stone
heard t clang nto a trash can. Tony glanced once at the p cture
of Mar lyn and p tched t after the wallet. Stone heard a fa nter
clang as the st ff photograph c paper h t the metal. Tony
stacked the cred t cards w th three f ngers and sl d them to one
s de l ke a croup er.
'Guy we know w ll g ve us a hundred bucks for these,' he
sa d.
Then he r ffled the paper money together and sorted t by
denom nat on. Counted t up and cl pped t together w th a
paper cl p. Dropped t nto the same drawer as the keys.
'What do you guys want?' Stone asked.
Tony looked up at h m.
'I want you to take Mr Hob e's t e off,' he sa d.
Stone shrugged, helplessly.
'No, ser ously, what do you guys want from me?'
'Seventeen-po nt-one m ll on dollars. That's what you owe us.'
Stone nodded. 'I know. I'll pay you.'
'When?' Tony asked.
'Well, I'll need a l ttle t me,' Stone sa d.
Tony nodded. 'OK, you've got an hour.'
Stone stared at h m. 'No, I need more than an hour.'
'An hour s all you've got.'
'I can't do t n an hour.'
'I know you can't,' Tony sa d. 'You can't do t n an hour, or a
day, or a week, or a month, or a year, because you're a useless
p ece of sh t who couldn't manage h s way out of a wet grocery
sack, aren't you?'
'What?'
'You're a d sgrace, Stone. You took a bus ness your
grandfather slaved over and your father bu lt b gger and you
flushed t all stra ght down the to let, because you're totally
stup d, aren't you?'
Stone shrugged, blankly. Then he swallowed.
'OK, so I took some h ts,' he sa d. 'But what could I do?'
'Take the t e off,' Tony screamed at h m.
Stone jumped and flung h s hands up. Struggled w th the
knot.
'Get t off, you p ece of sh t,' Tony screamed.
He tore t off. Dropped t on the desk. It lay there n a tangle.
'Thank you, Mr Stone,' Tony sa d qu etly.
'What do you guys want?' Stone wh spered.
Tony opened a d fferent drawer and came out w th a
handwr tten sheet of paper. It was yellow and f lled w th a dense
unt dy scrawl. Some k nd of a l st, w th f gures totalled at the
bottom of the page.
'We own th rty-n ne per cent of your corporat on,' he sa d. 'As
of th s morn ng. What we want s another twelve per cent.'
Stone stared at h m. D d the maths n h s head. 'A controll ng
nterest?'
'Exactly,' Tony sa d. 'We hold th rty-n ne per cent, another
twelve g ves us f fty-one, wh ch would ndeed represent a
controll ng nterest.'
Stone swallowed aga n and shook h s head.
'No,' he sa d. 'No, I won't do that.'
'OK, then we want seventeen-po nt-one m ll on dollars w th n
the hour.'
Stone just stood there, glanc ng w ldly left and r ght. The door
opened beh nd h m and the th ckset man n the expens ve su t
came n and padded soundlessly across the carpet and stood
w th h s arms folded, beh nd Tony's left shoulder.
'The watch, please,' Tony sa d.
Stone glanced at h s left wr st. It was a Rolex. It looked l ke
steel, but t was plat num. He had bought t n Geneva. He
unlatched t and handed t over. Tony nodded and dropped t n
another drawer.
'Now take Mr Hob e's sh rt off.'
'You can't make me g ve you more stock,' Stone sa d.
'I th nk we can. Take the sh rt off, OK?'
'Look, I won't be nt m dated,' Stone sa d, as conf dently as he
could.
'You're already nt m dated,' Tony sa d back. 'Aren't you?
You're about to make a mess n Mr Hob e's pants. Wh ch would
be a bad m stake, by the way, because we'd only make you
clean them up.'
Stone sa d noth ng. Just stared at a spot n the a r between
the two men.
'Twelve per cent of the equ ty,' Tony sa d gently. 'Why not? It's
not worth anyth ng. And you'd st ll have forty-n ne per cent left.'
'I need to speak w th my lawyers,' Stone sa d.
'OK, go ahead.'
Stone looked around the room, desperately. 'Where's the
phone?'
'There's no phone n here,' Tony sa d. 'Mr Hob e doesn't l ke
phones.'
'So how?'
'Shout,' Tony sa d. 'Shout real loud, and maybe your lawyers
w ll hear you.'
'What?'
'Shout,' Tony sa d aga n. 'You're real slow, aren't you, Mr
Stone? Put two and two together and draw a conclus on.
There's no phone n here, you can't leave the room, you want to
talk w th your lawyers, so you'll have to shout.'
Stone stared blankly nto space.
'Shout, you useless p ece of sh t,' Tony screamed at h m.
'No, I can't,' Stone sa d helplessly. 'I don't know what you
mean.'
'Take the sh rt off,' Tony screamed.
Stone shook v olently. Hes tated, w th h s arms halfway n the
a r.
'Get t off, you p ece of sh t,' Tony screamed.
Stone's hands leapt up and unbuttoned t, all the way down.
He tore t off and stood there hold ng t, shak ng n h s
undersh rt.
'Fold t neatly, please,' Tony sa d. 'Mr Hob e l kes h s th ngs
neat.'
Stone d d h s best. He shook t out by the collar and folded t
n half, and half aga n. He bent and la d t square on top of the
jacket on the sofa.
'G ve up the twelve per cent,' Tony sa d.
'No,' Stone sa d back, clench ng h s hands.
There was s lence. S lence and darkness.
'Eff c ency,' Tony sa d qu etly. 'That's what we l ke here. You
should have pa d more attent on to eff c ency, Mr Stone. Then
maybe your bus ness wouldn't be n the to let. So what's the
most eff c ent way for us to do th s?'
Stone shrugged, helplessly. 'I don't know what you're talk ng
about.'
'Then I'll expla n,' Tony sa d. 'We want you to comply. We want
your s gnature on a p ece of paper. So how do we get that?'
'You'll never get t, you bastard,' Stone sa d. 'I'll go bankrupt
f rst, damn t. Chapter eleven. You won't get a damn th ng from
me. Not a th ng. You'll be n court f ve years, m n mum.'
Tony shook h s head pat ently, l ke a grade school teacher
hear ng the wrong answer for the hundredth t me n a long
career.
'Do whatever you want,' Stone sa d to h m. 'I won't g ve you
my company.'
'We could hurt you,' Tony sa d.
Stone's eyes dropped through the gloom to the desktop. H s
t e was st ll ly ng there, r ght on top of the rough gouges from
the hook.
'Take Mr Hob e's pants off,' Tony screamed.
'No, I won't, damn t,' Stone screamed back.
The guy at Tony's shoulder reached under h s arm. There was
a squeak of leather. Stone stared at h m, ncredulous. The guy
came out w th a small black handgun. He used one arm and
a med t, eye level, stra ght out. He advanced around the desk
towards Stone. Nearer and nearer. Stone's eyes were w de and
star ng. F xed on the gun. It was a med at h s face. He was
shak ng and sweat ng. The guy was stepp ng qu etly, and the
gun was com ng closer, and Stone's eyes were cross ng,
follow ng t n. The gun came to rest w th the muzzle on h s
forehead. The guy was press ng w th t. The muzzle was hard
and cold. Stone was shak ng. Lean ng backward aga nst the
pressure. Stumbl ng, try ng to focus on the black blur that was
the gun. He never saw the guy's other hand ball ng nto a f st.
Never saw the blow sw ng ng n. It smashed hard nto h s gut
and he went down l ke a sack, legs fold ng, squ rm ng and
gasp ng and retch ng.
'Take the pants off, you p ece of sh t,' Tony screamed down at
h m.
The other guy landed a savage k ck and Stone yelped and
rolled around and around on h s back l ke a turtle, gasp ng,
gagg ng, wrench ng at h s belt. He got t loose. Scrabbled for
the buttons and the z p. He tore the pants down over h s legs.
They snagged on h s shoes and he wrenched them free and
pulled them off ns de out.
'Get up, Mr Stone,' Tony sa d, qu etly.
Stone staggered to h s feet and stood, unstead ly, lean ng
forward, head down, pant ng, h s hands on h s knees, h s
stomach heav ng, th n wh te ha rless legs com ng down out of
h s boxers, lud crous dark socks and shoes on h s feet.
'We could hurt you,' Tony sa d. 'You understand that now,
r ght?'
Stone nodded and gasped. He was press ng both forearms
nto h s gut. Heav ng and gagg ng.
'You understand that, r ght?' Tony asked aga n.
Stone forced another nod.
'Say the words, Mr Stone,' Tony sa d. 'Say we could hurt you.'
'You could hurt me,' Stone gasped.
'But we won't. That's not how Mr Hob e l kes th ngs to be
done.'
Stone ra sed a hand and sw ped tears from h s eyes and
looked up, hopefully.
'Mr Hob e prefers to hurt the w ves,' Tony sa d. 'Eff c ency,
you see? It gets faster results. So at th s po nt, you really need
to be th nk ng about Mar lyn.'
The rented Taurus was much faster than the Bravada had
been. On dry June roads, there was no contest. Maybe n the
snows of January or the sleet of February he would have
apprec ated the full-t me four-wheel dr ve, but for a fast tr p up
the Hudson n June, a regular sedan had t all over a jeep, that
was for damn sure. It was low and stable, t rode well, t tracked
through the bends l ke an automob le should. And t was qu et.
He had ts rad o locked on to a powerful c ty stat on beh nd h m,
and a woman called Wynonna Judd was ask ng h m why not
me? He felt he shouldn't be l k ng Wynonna Judd as much as he
was,
because f somebody had asked h m f he'd enjoy a country
vocal st s ng ng pla nt vely about love, he'd have probably sa d
no he wouldn't, based on h s preconcept ons. But she had a hell
of a vo ce, and the number had a hell of a gu tar part. And the
lyr c was gett ng to h m, because he was mag n ng t was Jod e
s ng ng to h m, not Wynonna Judd. She was s ng ng why not
me when you're grow ng old? Why not me? He started s ng ng
along w th t, h s rough bass rumble underneath the soar ng
contralto, and by the t me the number faded and the commerc al
started, he was f gur ng f he ever had a house and a stereo l ke
other people d d, he'd buy the record. Why not me?
He was head ng north on Route 9, and he had a Hertz map
open bes de h m wh ch went up far enough to show h m
Br ghton was halfway between Peeksk ll and Poughkeeps e,
over to the west, r ght on the Hudson. He had the old couple's
address bes de t, wr tten on a sheet from a med cal pad from
McBannerman's off ce. He had the Taurus mov ng at a steady
s xty-f ve, fast enough to get h m there, slow enough to get h m
there unmolested by the traff c cops, who he assumed were
h d ng out around every wooded corner, wa t ng to boost the r
mun c pal revenues w th the r radar guns and the r books of
blank t ckets.
It took h m an hour to get level w th Garr son aga n, and he
f gured he would head on north to a b g h ghway he
remembered sw ng ng away west over the r ver towards
Newburgh. He should be able to come off that road just short of
the Hudson and fall on Br ghton from above. Then t was just a
quest on of hunt ng down the address, wh ch m ght not be easy.
But t was easy, because the road that dropped h m
south nto Br ghton from the east-west h ghway was labelled
w th the same name as was n the second l ne of the old folks'
address. He cru sed south, watch ng for ma lboxes and house
numbers. Then t started to get harder. The ma lboxes were
grouped n s xes, clustered hundreds of yards apart, stand ng
on the r own, w th no obv ous connect on to any part cular
houses. In fact, there were very few houses v s ble at all. It
seemed l ke they were all up l ttle rural tracks, gravel and
patched blacktop, runn ng off left and r ght nto the woods l ke
tunnels.
He found the r ght ma lbox. It was set on a wooden post that
the weather was rott ng and the frost heave was cant ng
forward. V gorous green v nes and thorny creepers were
tw st ng up around t. It was a large-s ze box, dull green, w th
the house number pa nted on the s de n faded but mmaculate
freehand scr pt. The door was hang ng open, because the box
was completely stuffed w th ma l. He took t all out and squared
t on the passenger seat bes de h m. Squeaked the door closed
and saw a name pa nted on the front n the same faded neat
hand: Hob e.
The ma lboxes were all on the r ght s de of the road, for the
conven ence of the ma l carr er, but the tracks ran off n both
d rect ons. There were four of them v s ble from where he was
stopped, two of them to the left and two to the r ght. He
shrugged and headed down the f rst of them, lead ng to the
r ght, over towards the r ver.
It was the wrong track. There were two houses down there,
one north and one south. One of them had a dupl cate
nameplate on the gates: Koz nsky. The other had a br ght red
Pont ac F reb rd parked under a new basketball hoop on the
garage gable. Ch ldren's
b cycles were sprawled on a lawn. Not persuas ve ev dence of
aged and nf rm people l v ng there.
The f rst track on the left was wrong too. He found the r ght
place on the second r ght-hand track. There was an overgrown
dr veway runn ng away south, parallel w th the r ver. There was
an old rusted ma lbox at the gate, back from when the postal
serv ce was prepared to come a l ttle nearer your house. Same
dull green colour, but even more faded. Same neat pa nted
scr pt, faded l ke a ghost: Hob e. There were power l nes and a
phone cable runn ng n, swarm ng w th v nes that hung down
l ke curta ns. He swung the Taurus nto the dr veway, brush ng
vegetat on on both s des, and came to a stop beh nd an old
Chevy sedan, parked at an angle under a carport. The old car
was a full-s ze, hood and trunk l ke fl ght decks, turn ng the
same p tted dull brown that all old cars turn.
He k lled the motor and got out n the s lence. Ducked back n
and grabbed the stack of ma l and stood there, hold ng t. The
house was a low one-storey, runn ng away from h m to the west
towards the r ver. The house was the same brown as the car,
anc ent boards and sh ngles. The yard was a r ot. It was what a
tended garden becomes n f fteen untouched years of wet
spr ngs and hot summers. There had been a w de path runn ng
around from the carport to the front door, but t was narrowed
l ke a gangplank w th encroach ng brush. He looked around and
f gured an nfantry platoon equ pped w th flamethrowers would
be more use there than gardeners.
He made t to the door, w th the brush grabb ng and snatch ng
at h s ankles. There was a bell-push, but t was rusted sol d. He
leaned forward and rapped on the
wood w th h s knuckles. Then he wa ted. No response. He
rapped aga n. He could hear the jungle seeth ng beh nd h m.
Insect no se. He could hear the muffler t ck ng as t cooled
underneath the Taurus over on the dr veway. He knocked aga n.
Wa ted. There was the creak of floorboards ns de the house.
The sound was carry ng ahead of somebody's footsteps and
sp ll ng out to h m. The footsteps halted on the other s de of the
door and he heard a woman's vo ce, th n and muffled by the
wood.
'Who's there?' t called out.
'Reach er,' he called back. 'General Garber's fr end.'
H s vo ce was loud. Beh nd h m, he heard pan cked scurry ng
n the brush. Furt ve an mals were flee ng. In front of h m, he
heard a st ff lock turn ng and bolts eas ng back. The door
creaked open. Darkness ns de. He stepped forward nto the
shadow of the eaves and saw an old woman wa t ng. She was
maybe e ghty, st ck th n, wh te ha r, stooped, wear ng a faded
floral-pr nt dress that flared r ght out from the wa st over nylon
pett coats. It was the sort of dress he'd seen n photographs of
women at suburban garden part es n the f ft es and the s xt es.
The sort of dress that was normally worn w th long wh te gloves
and a w de-br mmed hat and a contented bourgeo s sm le.
'We were expect ng you,' she sa d.
She turned and stood as de. He nodded and went n. The
rad us of the sk rt meant he had to push past ts flare w th a
loud rustle of nylon.
'I brought your ma l,' he sa d to her. 'Your box was full.'
He held up the th ck stack of curled envelopes and wa ted.
'Thank you,' she sa d. 'You're very k nd. It's a long walk out
there, and we don't l ke to stop the car to get t, n case we get
rear-ended. It's a very busy road. People dr ve terr bly fast, you
know. Faster than they should, I th nk.'
Reacher nodded. It was about the qu etest road he had ever
seen. A person could sleep the n ght out there r ght on the
yellow l ne, w th a good chance of surv v ng unt l morn ng. He
was st ll hold ng the ma l. The old lady showed no cur os ty
over t.
'Where would you l ke me to put t?'
'Would you put t n the k tchen?'
The hallway was a dark space, panelled n gloomy wood. The
k tchen was worse. It had a t ny w ndow, glassed n w th yellow
reeded glass. There was a collect on of freestand ng un ts n
muddy dark veneer, and cur ous old enamel appl ances,
speckled n m nt greens and greys, stand ng up on short legs.
The whole room smelled of old food and a warm oven, but t
was clean and t dy. A rag rug on worn l noleum. There was a
ch pped ch na mug w th a pa r of th ck eyeglasses stand ng
vert cally n t. He put the stack of ma l next to the mug. When
her v s tor was gone, she would use her eyeglasses to read her
ma l, r ght after she put her best frock back n the closet w th
the mothballs.
'May I offer you cake?' she asked.
He glanced at the stove top. There was a ch na plate there,
covered over w th a worn l nen cloth. She'd baked someth ng
for h m.
'And coffee?'
Next to the stove top was an anc ent percolator, m nt green
enamel, green glass knob on the top,
connected to the outlet by a cord nsulated w th frayed fabr c.
He nodded.
'I love coffee and cake,' he sa d.
She nodded back, pleased. Bustled forward, crush ng her
sk rt aga nst the oven door. She used a th n trembl ng thumb
and operated the sw tch on the percolator. It was already f lled
and ready to go.
'It takes a moment,' she sa d. Then she paused and l stened.
The old percolator started a loud gulp ng sound. 'So come and
meet Mr Hob e. He's awake now, and very anx ous to see you.
Wh le we're wa t ng for the mach ne.'
She led h m through the hallway to a small parlour n the
back. It was about twelve by twelve and heav ly furn shed w th
armcha rs and sofas and glass-fronted chest-h gh cab nets
f lled w th ch na ornaments. There was an old guy n one of the
cha rs. He was wear ng a st ff serge su t, blue, worn and sh ny
n places, and at least three s zes too b g for h s shrunken body.
The collar of h s sh rt was a w de st ff hoop around a pale
scrawny neck. Random s lky tufts of wh te were all that was left
of h s ha r. H s wr sts were l ke penc ls protrud ng from the cuffs
of h s su t. H s hands were th n and bony, la d loosely on the
arms of the cha r. He had clear plast c tubes looped over h s
ears, runn ng down under h s nose. There was a bottle of
oxygen on a wheeled cart, parked beh nd h m. He looked up and
took a long loud sn ff of the gas to fuel the effort of l ft ng h s
hand.
'Major Reacher,' he sa d. 'I'm very pleased to meet you.'
Reacher stepped forward and grasped the hand and shook t.
It was cold and dry, and t felt l ke a
skeleton's hand wrapped n flannel. The old guy paused and
sucked more oxygen and spoke aga n.
'I'm Tom Hob e, Major. And th s lovely lady s my w fe Mary.'
Reacher nodded.
'Pleased to meet you both,' he sa d. 'But I'm not a major any
more.'
The old guy nodded back and sucked the gas through h s
nose.
'You served,' he sa d. 'Therefore I th nk you're ent tled to your
rank.'
There was a f eldstone f replace, bu lt low n the centre of one
wall. The mantel was packed t ght w th photographs n ornate
s lver frames. Most of them were colour snaps show ng the
same subject, a young man n ol ve fat gues, n a var ety of
poses and s tuat ons. There was one older p cture among them,
a rbrushed black-and-wh te, a d fferent man n un form, tall and
stra ght and sm l ng, a pr vate f rst class from a d fferent
generat on of serv ce. Poss bly Mr Hob e h mself, before b s
fa l ng heart started k ll ng h m from the ns de, although t was
hard for Reacher to tell. There was no resemblance.
'That's me,' Hob e conf rmed, follow ng h s gaze.
'World War Two?' Reacher asked.
The old man nodded. Sadness n h s eyes.
'I never went overseas,' he sa d. 'I volunteered well ahead of
the draft, but I had a weak heart, even back then. They wouldn't
let me go. So I d d my t me n a storeroom n New Jersey.'
Reacher nodded. Hob e had h s arm beh nd h m, f ddl ng w th
the cyl nder valve, ncreas ng the oxygen flow.
'I'll br ng the coffee now,' the old lady sa d. 'And the cake.'
'Can I help you w th anyth ng?' Reacher asked her.
'No, I'll be f ne,' she sa d, and sw shed slowly out of the room.
'S t down, Major, please,' Tom Hob e sa d.
Reacher nodded and sat down n the s lence, n a small
armcha r near enough to catch the old guy's fad ng vo ce. He
could hear the rattle of h s breath ng. Noth ng else, just a fa nt
h ss from the top of the oxygen bottle and the cl nk of ch na
from the k tchen. Pat ent domest c sounds. The w ndow had a
Venet an bl nd, l me-green plast c, t lted down aga nst the l ght.
The r ver was out there somewhere, presumably beyond an
overgrown yard, maybe th rty m les upstream of Leon Garber's
place.
'Here we are,' Mrs Hob e called from the hallway.
She was on her way back nto the room w th a wheeled cart.
There was a match ng ch na set stacked on t, cups and saucers
and plates, w th a small m lk jug and a sugar bowl. The l nen
cover was off the platter, reveal ng a pound cake, dr zzled w th
some k nd of yellow c ng. Maybe lemon. The old percolator was
there, smell ng of coffee.
'How do you l ke t?'
'No m lk, no sugar,' Reacher sa d.
She poured coffee nto a cup, her th n wr st qu ver ng w th the
effort. The cup rattled n ts saucer as she passed t across. She
followed t w th a quarter of the cake on a plate. The plate
shook. The oxygen bottle h ssed. The old man was rehears ng
h s story, d v d ng t up nto b tes, tak ng n enough oxygen to
fuel each one of them.
'I was a pr nter,' he sa d suddenly. 'I ran my own shop. Mary
worked for a b g customer of m ne. We met and were marr ed n
the spr ng of '47. Our son was born n the June of '48.'
He turned away and ran h s glance along the l ne of
photographs.
'Our son, V ctor Truman Hob e.'
The parlour fell qu et, l ke an observance.
'I bel eved n duty,' the old man sa d. 'I was unf t for act ve
serv ce, and I regretted t. Regretted t b tterly, Major. But I was
happy to serve my country any way I could, and I d d. We
brought our son up the same way, to love h s country and to
serve t. He volunteered for V etnam.'
Old Mr Hob e closed h s mouth and sucked oxygen through
h s nose, once, tw ce, and then he leaned down to the floor
bes de h m and came up w th a leather-bound folder. He spread
t across h s bony legs and opened t up. Took out a photograph
and passed t across. Reacher juggled h s cup and h s plate and
leaned forward to take t from the shak ng hand. It was a faded
colour pr nt of a boy n a backyard. The boy was maybe n ne or
ten, stocky, toothy, freckled, gr nn ng, wear ng a metal bowl
ups de down on h s head, w th a toy r fle shouldered, h s st ff
den m trousers tucked nto h s socks to resemble the look of
fat gues buckled nto ga ters.
'He wanted to be a sold er,' Mr Hob e sa d. 'Always. It was h s
amb t on. I approved of t at the t me, of course. We were unable
to have other ch ldren, so V ctor was on h s own, the l ght of our
l ves, and I thought that to be a sold er and to serve h s country
was a f ne amb t on for the only son of a patr ot c father.'
There was s lence aga n. A cough. A h ss of oxygen. S lence.
'D d you approve of V etnam, Major?' Hob e asked suddenly.
Reacher shrugged.
'I was too young to have much of an op n on,' he sa d. 'But
know ng what I know now, no, I wouldn't have approved of
V etnam.'
'Why not?'
'Wrong place,' Reacher sa d. 'Wrong t me, wrong reasons,
wrong methods, wrong approach, wrong leadersh p. No real
back ng, no real w ll to w n, no coherent strategy.'
'Would you have gone?'
Reacher nodded.
'Yes, I would have gone,' he sa d. 'No cho ce. I was the son of
a sold er, too. But I would have been jealous of my father's
generat on. Much eas er to go to World War Two.'
'V ctor wanted to fly hel copters,' Hob e sa d. 'He was
pass onate about t. My fault aga n, I'm afra d. I took h m to a
county fa r, pa d two bucks for h m to have h s f rst fl ght n one.
It was an old Bell, a crop duster. After that, all he wanted to be
was a hel copter p lot. And he dec ded the Army was the best
place to learn how.'
He sl d another photograph out of the folder. Passed t
across. It showed the same boy, now tw ce the age, grown tall,
st ll gr nn ng, n new fat gues, stand ng n front of an Army
hel copter. It was an H-23 H ller, an old tra n ng mach ne.
'That's Fort Wolters,' Hob e sa d. 'All the way down n Texas.
US Army Pr mary Hel copter School.'
Reacher nodded. 'He flew choppers n 'Nam?'
'He passed out second n h s class,' Hob e sa d. 'That was no
surpr se to us. He was always an excellent student, all the way
through h gh school. He was espec ally g fted n math. He
understood accbuntancy. I mag ned he'd go to college and then
come nto partnersh p w th me, to do the book work. I looked
forward to t. I struggled n school, Major. No reason to be coy
about t now. I'm not an educated man. It was a constant del ght
for me to see V ctor do ng so well. He was a very smart boy.
And a very good boy. Very smart, very k nd, a good heart, a
perfect son. Our only son.'
The old lady was s lent. Not eat ng the cake, not dr nk ng the
coffee.
'H s pass ng out was at Fort Rucker,' Hob e sa d. 'Down n
Alabama. We made the tr p to see t.'
He sl d across the next photograph. It was a dupl cate of one
of the framed pr nts from the mantel. Faded pastel grass and
sky, a tall boy n dress un form, cap down over h s eyes, h s arm
around an older woman n a pr nt dress. The woman was sl m
and pretty. The photograph was sl ghtly out of focus, the
hor zon sl ghtly t lted. Taken by a fumbl ng husband and father,
breathless w th pr de.
'That's V ctor and Mary,' the old man sa d. 'She hasn't
changed a b t, has she, that day to th s?'
'Not a b t,' Reacher l ed.
'We loved that boy,' the old woman sa d qu etly. 'He was sent
overseas two weeks after that photograph was taken.'
'July of '68,' Hob e sa d. 'He was twenty years old.'
'What happened?' Reacher asked.
'He served a full tour,' Hob e sa d. 'He was commended tw ce.
He came home w th a medal. I
could see r ght away the dea of keep ng the books for a pr nt
shop was too small for h m. I thought he would serve out h s
t me and get a job fly ng hel copters for the o l r gs. Down n the
Gulf, perhaps. They were pay ng b g money then, for Army
p lots. Or Navy, or A r Force, of course.'
'But he went over there aga n,' Mrs Hob e sa d. 'To V etnam
aga n.'
'He s gned on for a second tour,' Hob e sa d. 'He d dn't have
to. But he sa d t was h s duty. He sa d the war was st ll go ng
on, and t was h s duty to be a part of t. He sa d that's what
patr ot sm meant.'
'And what happened?' Reacher asked.
There was a long moment of s lence.
'He d dn't come back,' Hob e sa d.
The s lence was l ke a we ght n the room. Somewhere a clock
was t ck ng. It grew louder and louder unt l t was f ll ng the a r
l ke blows from a hammer.
'It destroyed me,' Hob e sa d qu etly.
The oxygen wheezed n and out, n and out, through a
constr cted throat.
'It just destroyed me. I used to say I'll exchange the whole
rest of my l fe, just for one more day w th h m.'
'The rest of my l fe,' h s w fe echoed. 'For just one more day
w th h m.'
'And I meant t,' Hob e sa d. 'And I st ll would. I st ll would,
Major. Look ng at me now, that's not much of a barga n, s t? I
haven't got much l fe left n me. But I sa d t then, and I sa d t
every day for th rty years, and as God s my w tness, I meant t
every s ngle t me I sa d t. The whole rest of my l fe, for one
more day w th h m.'
'When was he k lled?' Reacher asked, gently.
'He wasn't k lled,' Hob e sa d. 'He was captured.'
'Taken pr soner?'
The old man nodded. 'At f rst, they told us he was m ss ng.
We assumed he was dead, but we clung on, hop ng. He was
posted m ss ng, and he stayed m ss ng. We never got off c al
word he was k lled.'
'So we wa ted,' Mrs Hob e sa d. 'We just kept on wa t ng, for
years and years. Then we started ask ng. They told us V ctor
was m ss ng, presumed k lled. That was all they could say. H s
hel copter was shot down n the jungle, and they never found
the wreckage.'
'We accepted that then,' Hob e sa d. 'We knew how t was.
Plenty of boys d ed w thout a known grave. Plenty of boys
always have, n war.'
'Then the memor al went up,' Mrs Hob e sa d. 'Have you seen
t?'
'The Wall?' Reacher sa d. 'In DC? Yes, I've been there. I've
seen t. I found t very mov ng.'
'They refused to put h s name on t,' Hob e sa d.
'Why?'
'They never expla ned. We asked and we begged, but they
never told us exactly why. They just sa d he's no longer
cons dered a casualty.'
'So we asked them what he s cons dered as,' Mrs Hob e sa d.
'They just told us m ss ng n act on.'
'But the other MIAs are on the Wall,' Hob e sa d.
There was s lence aga n. The clock hammered away n
another room.
'What d d General Garber say about th s?' Reacher asked.
'He d dn't understand t,' Hob e sa d. 'D dn't understand t at
all. He was st ll check ng for us when he d ed.'
There was s lence aga n. The oxygen h ssed and the clock
hammered.
'But we know what happened,' Mrs Hob e sa d.
'You do?' Reacher asked her. 'What?'
'The only th ng that f ts,' she sa d. 'He was taken pr soner.'
'And never released,' Hob e sa d.
'That's why the Army s cover ng t up,' Mrs Hob e sa d. 'The
government s embarrassed about t. The truth s some of our
boys were never released. The V etnamese held on to them, l ke
hostages, to get fore gn a d and trade recogn t on and cred ts
from us, after the war. L ke blackma l. The government held out
for years, desp te our boys st ll be ng pr soners over there. So
they can't adm t t. They h de t nstead, and won't talk about t.'
'But we can prove t now,' Hob e sa d.
He sl d another photograph from the folder. Passed t across.
It was a newer pr nt. V v d glossy colours. It was a telephoto
shot taken through trop cal vegetat on. There was barbed w re
on bamboo fence posts. There was an As an f gure n a brown
un form, w th a bandanna around h s forehead. A r fle n h s
hands. It was clearly a Sov et AK-47. No doubt about t. And
there was another f gure n the p cture. A tall Caucas an,
look ng about f fty, emac ated, gaunt, bent, grey, wear ng pale
rotted fat gues. Look ng half away from the As an sold er,
fl nch ng.
'That's V ctor,' Mrs Hob e sa d. 'That's our son. That
photograph was taken last year.'
'We spent th rty years ask ng about h m,' Hob e sa d. 'Nobody
would help us. We asked everybody. Then we found a man who
told us about these secret camps. There aren't many. Just a few,
w th a handful
of pr soners. Most of them have d ed by now. They've grown
old and d ed, or been starved to death. Th s man went to
V etnam and checked for us. He got close enough to take th s
p cture. He even spoke to one of the other pr soners through
the w re. Secretly, at n ght. It was very dangerous for h m. He
asked for the name of the pr soner he'd just photographed. It
was V c Hob e, F rst Cavalry hel copter p lot.'
'The man had no money for a rescue,' Mrs Hob e sa d. 'And
we'd already pa d h m everyth ng we had for the f rst tr p. We
had no more left. So when we met General Garber at the
hosp tal, we told h m our story and asked h m to try and get the
government to pay.'
Reacher stared at the photograph. Stared at the gaunt man
w th the grey face.
'Who else has seen th s p cture?'
'Only General Garber,' Mrs Hob e answered. 'The man who
took t told us to keep t a secret. Because t's very sens t ve,
pol t cally. Very dangerous. It's a terr ble th ng, bur ed n the
nat on's h story. But we had to show t to General Garber,
because he was n a pos t on to help us.'
'So what do you want me to do?' Reacher asked.
The oxygen h ssed n the s lence. In and out, n and out,
through the clear plast c tubes. The old man's mouth was
work ng.
'I just want h m back,' he sa d. 'I just want to see h m aga n,
one more day before I d e.'
After that, the old couple were done talk ng. They turned
together and f xed m sty gazes on the row of photographs on
the mantel. Reacher was left s tt ng n the s lence. Then the old
man turned back and used both hands and l fted the leatherbound folder off h s
bony knees and held t out. Reacher leaned forward and took
t. At f rst he assumed t was so he could put the three
photographs back ns de. Then he real zed the baton had been
passed to h m. L ke a ceremony. The r quest had become
Leon's, and now t was h s.
The folder was th n. Apart from the three photographs he had
seen, t conta ned noth ng more than nfrequent letters home
from the r son and formal letters from the Department of the
Army. And a sheaf of paperwork show ng the l qu dat on of the r
l fe sav ngs and the transfer by cert f ed check of e ghteen
thousand dollars to an address n the Bronx, to fund a
reconna ssance m ss on to V etnam led by a man named Rutter.
The letters from the boy started w th br ef notes from var ous
locat ons n the South, as he passed through D x, and Polk, and
Wolters, and Rucker, and Belvo r and Benn ng on h s way
through h s tra n ng. Then there was a short note from Mob le n
Alabama, as he boarded sh p for the month-long voyage
through the Panama Canal and across the Pac f c to Indoch na.
Then there were fl msy Army Ma lgrams from V etnam tself,
e ght from the f rst tour, s x from the second. The paper was
th rty years old, and t was st ff and dry, l ke anc ent papyrus.
L ke someth ng d scovered by archaeolog sts.
He hadn't been much of a correspondent. The letters were full
of the usual banal phrases a young sold er wr tes home. There
must have been a hundred m ll on parents n the world w th
treasured old letters l ke these, d fferent t mes, d fferent wars,
d fferent languages, but the same messages: the food, the
weather, the rumour of act on, the reassurances.
The responses from the Department of the Army marched
through th rty years of off ce technology. They started out typed
on old manual mach nes, some letters m sal gned, some
wrongly spaced, some w th red haloes above them where the
r bbon had sl pped. Then electr c typewr ters, cr sper and more
un form. Then word processors, mmaculately pr nted on better
paper. But the messages were all the same. No nformat on.
M ss ng n act on, presumed k lled. Condolences. No further
nformat on.
The deal w th the guy called Rutter had left them penn less.
There had been some modest mutual funds and a l ttle cash on
depos t. There was a sheet wr tten n a shaky hand Reacher
guessed was the old woman's, totall ng the r monthly needs,
work ng the f gures aga n and aga n, par ng them down unt l
they matched the Soc al Secur ty checks, free ng up the r
cap tal. The mutuals had been cashed n e ghteen months ago
and amalgamated w th the cash hold ngs and the whole lot had
been ma led to the Bronx. There was a rece pt from Rutter, w th
the amount formally set off aga nst the cost of the exploratory
tr p, due to leave mm nently. There was a request for any and
all nformat on l kely to prove helpful, nclud ng serv ce number
and h story and any ex st ng photographs. There was a letter
dated three months subsequently, deta l ng the d scovery of the
remote camp, the r sky clandest ne photography, the wh spered
talk through the w re. There was a prospectus for a rescue
m ss on, planned n great deta l, at a projected cost to the
Hob es of forty-f ve thousand dollars. Forty-f ve thousand
dollars they d dn't have.
'W ll you help us?' the old woman asked through
the s lence. 'Is t all clear? Is there anyth ng you need to
know?'
He glanced across at her and saw she had been follow ng h s
progress through the doss er. He closed the folder and stared
down at ts worn leather cover. R ght then the only th ng he
needed to know was why the hell hadn't Leon told these people
the truth?
NINE
Mar lyn Stone m ssed lunch because she was busy, but d dn't
m nd because she was happy about the way the place was
start ng to look. She found herself regard ng the whole
bus ness n a very d spass onate manner, wh ch surpr sed her a
l ttle, because after all t was her home she was gett ng ready to
sell, her own home, the place she'd chosen w th care and
thought and exc tement not so many years ago. It had been the
place of her dreams. Way b gger and better than anyth ng she'd
ever expected to have. It had been a phys cal thr ll back then,
just th nk ng about t. Mov ng n felt l ke she'd d ed and gone to
heaven. Now she was just look ng at the place l ke a showp ece,
l ke a market ng propos t on. She wasn't see ng rooms she'd
decorated and l ved n and thr lled to and enjoyed. There was no
pa n. No w stful glances at places where she and Chester had
fooled around and laughed and ate and slept. Just a br sk and
bus nessl ke determ nat on to br ng t all up to a whole new
peak of rres st b l ty.
The furn ture movers had arr ved f rst, just as she'd planned.
She had them take the credenza out of the hallway, and then
Chester's armcha r out of the l v ng room. Not because t was a
bad p ece, but because t
was def n tely an extra p ece. It was h s favour te cha r,
chosen n the way men choose th ngs, for comfort and
fam l ar ty rather than for style and su tab l ty. It was the only
p ece they'd brought from the r last house. He'd put t next to
the f replace, at an angle. Day to day, she rather l ked t. It gave
the room a comfortable l ved- n qual ty. It was the touch that
changed the room from a magaz ne showp ece to a fam ly
home. Wh ch was exactly why t had to go.
She had the movers carry out the butcher's block table from
the k tchen, too. She had thought long and hard about that
table. It certa nly gave the k tchen a no-nonsense look. L ke t
was a proper workplace, speak ng of ser ous meals planned
and executed there. But w thout t, there was an un nterrupted
th rty-foot expanse of t led floor runn ng all the way to the bay
w ndow. She knew that w th fresh pol sh on the t les, the l ght
from the w ndow would flood the whole th rty-foot span nto a
sea of space. She had put herself n a prospect ve buyer's
shoes and asked herself wh ch would mpress you more? A
ser ous k tchen? Or a drop-dead spac ous k tchen? So the
butcher's block was n the mover's truck.
The TV from the den was n there, too. Chester had a problem
w th telev s on sets. V deo had k lled the home-mov e s de of h s
bus ness and he had no enthus asm for buy ng the latest and
best of h s compet tors' products. So the TV was an obsolete
RCA, not even a console model. It had sh ny fake chrome
around the screen, and t bulged out l ke a grey f shbowl. She
had seen better sets junked on the s dewalk, look ng down from
the tra n when t eased nto the 125th Street stat on. So she'd
had the movers clear t out of the den and br ng the bookcase
down from
the guest su te to f ll ts space. She thought the room looked
much better for t. W th just the bookcase and the leather
couches and the dark lampshades, t looked l ke a cultured
room. An ntell gent room. It made t an asp rat onal space. L ke
a buyer would be buy ng a l festyle, not just a house.
She spent some t me choos ng books for the coffee tables.
Then the flor st arr ved w th flat cardboard boxes full of blooms.
She had the g rl wash all her vases and then left her alone w th
a European magaz ne and told her to copy the arrangements.
The guy from Sheryl's off ce brought the for-sale s gn and she
had h m plant t n the shoulder next to the ma lbox. Then the
garden crew arr ved at the same t me the movers were leav ng,
wh ch requ red some awkward manoeuvr ng out on the
dr veway. She led the crew ch ef around the garden, expla n ng
what had to be done, and then she ducked back ns de the
house before the roar of the mowers started up. The pool boy
came to the door at the same t me as the clean ng serv ce
people arr ved. She was caught glanc ng left and r ght between
them, momentar ly overcome and unsure of who to start f rst.
But then she nodded f rmly and told the cleaners to wa t, and
led the boy around to the pool and showed h m what needed
do ng. Then she ran back to the house, feel ng hungry, real z ng
she'd m ssed her lunch, but glow ng w th sat sfact on at the
progress she was mak ng.
They both made t down the hallway to see h m leave. The old
man worked on the oxygen long enough to get h mself up out of
h s cha r, and then he wheeled the cyl nder slowly ahead of h m,
partly lean ng on t l ke a cane, partly push ng t l ke a golf
trolley. H s w fe
rustled along n front of h m, her sk rt brush ng both door
jambs and both s des of the narrow passageway. Reacher
followed beh nd them, w th the leather folder tucked up under
h s arm. The old lady worked the lock on the door and the old
man stood pant ng and gr pp ng the handle of the cart. The door
opened and sweet fresh a r blew n.
'Any of V ctor's old fr ends st ll around here?' Reacher asked.
'Is that mportant, Major?'
Reacher shrugged. He had learned a long t me ago the best
way to prepare people for bad news was by look ng very
thorough, r ght from the start. People l stened better f they
thought you'd exhausted every poss b l ty.
'I just need to bu ld up some background,' he sa d.
They looked myst f ed, but l ke they were ready to th nk about
t, because he was the r last hope. He held the r son's l fe n h s
hands, l terally.
'Ed Steven, I guess, at the hardware store,' Mr Hob e sa d
eventually. 'Th ck as th eves w th V ctor, from k ndergarten r ght
through twelfth grade. But that was th rty-f ve years ago, Major.
Don't see how t can matter now.'
Reacher nodded, because t d dn't matter now.
'I've got your number,' he sa d. 'I'll call you, soon as I know
anyth ng.'
'We're rely ng on you,' the old lady sa d.
Reacher nodded aga n.
'It was a pleasure to meet you both,' he sa d. 'Thank you for
the coffee and the cake. And I'm very sorry about your
s tuat on.'
They made no reply. It was a hopeless th ng to say. Th rty
years of agony, and he was sorry about the r
s tuat on? He just turned and shook the r fra l hands and
stepped back outs de on to the r overgrown path. P cked h s
way back to the Taurus, carry ng the folder, look ng f rmly
ahead.
He reversed down the dr veway, catch ng the vegetat on on
both s des, and eased out of the track. Made the r ght and
headed south on the qu et road he'd left to f nd the house. The
town of Br ghton f rmed up ahead of h m. The road w dened and
smoothed out. There was a gas stat on and a f re house. A small
mun c pal park w th a L ttle League d amond. A supermarket
w th a large park ng lot, a bank, a row of small stores shar ng a
common frontage, set back from the street.
The supermarket's park ng lot seemed to be the geograph c
centre of the town. He cru sed slowly past t and saw a nursery,
w th l nes of shrubs n pots under a spr nkler, wh ch was
mak ng ra nbows n the sun. Then a large shed, dull red pa nt,
stand ng n ts own lot: Steven's Hardware. He swung the
Taurus n and parked next to a t mber store n back.
The entrance was an ns gn f cant door set n the end wall of
the shed. It gave on to a maze of a sles, packed t ght w th every
k nd of th ng he'd never had to buy. Screws, na ls, bolts, hand
tools, power tools, garbage cans, ma lboxes, panes of glass,
w ndow un ts, doors, cans of pa nt. The maze led to a central
core, where four shop counters were set n a square under
br ght fluorescent l ght ng. Ins de the corral were a man and two
boys, dressed n jeans and sh rts and red canvas aprons. The
man was lean and small, maybe f fty, and the boys were clearly
h s sons, younger vers ons of the same face and phys que,
maybe e ghteen and twenty.
'Ed Steven?' Reacher asked.
The man nodded and set h s head at an angle and ra sed h s
eyebrows, l ke a guy who has spent th rty years deal ng w th
enqu r es from salesmen and customers.
'Can I talk to you about V ctor Hob e?'
The guy looked blank for a second, and then he glanced
s deways at h s boys, l ke he was spool ng backward all the way
through the r l ves and far beyond, back to when he last knew
V ctor Hob e.
'He d ed n 'Nam, r ght?' he sa d.
'I need some background.'
'Check ng for h s folks aga n?' He sa d t w thout surpr se, and
there was an edge of wear ness n there, too. L ke the Hob es'
problems were well known n the town, and gladly tolerated, but
no longer exc t ng any k nd of urgent sympathy.
Reacher nodded. 'I need to get a feel for what sort of a guy he
was. Story s you knew h m pretty well.'
Steven looked blank aga n. 'Well, I d d, I guess. But we were
just k ds. I only saw h m once, after h gh school.'
'Want to tell me about h m?'
'I'm pretty busy. I've got unload ng to see to.'
'I could g ve you a hand. We could talk wh le we're do ng t.'
Steven started to say a rout ne no, but then he glanced at
Reacher, saw the s ze of h m, and sm led l ke a labourer who's
been offered the free use of a forkl ft.
'OK,' he sa d. 'Out back.'
He came out from the corral of counters and led Reacher
through a rear door. There was a dusty p ckup parked n the sun
next to an open shed w th a t n roof. The p ck-up was loaded
w th bags of cement.
The shelves n the open shed were empty. Reacher took h s
jacket off and la d t on the hood of the truck.
The bags were made of th ck paper. He knew from h s t me
w th the pool gang that f he used two hands on the m ddle of
the bags, they would fold themselves over and spl t. The way to
do t was to clamp a palm on the corner and l ft them onehanded. That would keep the dust off h s new sh rt, too. The
bags we ghed a hundred pounds, so he d d them two at a t me,
one n each hand, hold ng them out, counterbalanced away
from h s body. Steven watched h m, l ke he was a s deshow at
the c rcus.
'So tell me about V ctor Hob e,' Reacher grunted.
Steven shrugged. He was lean ng on a post, under the t n
roof, out of the sun.
'Long t me ago,' he sa d. 'What can I tell you? We were just
k ds, you know? Our dads were n the chamber of commerce
together. H s was a pr nter. M ne ran th s place, although t was
just a lumberyard back then. We were together all the way
through school. We started k ndergarten on the same day,
graduated h gh school on the same day. I only saw h m once
after that, when he was home from the Army. He'd been n
V etnam a year, and he was go ng back aga n.'
'So what sort of a guy was he?'
Steven shrugged aga n. 'I'm k nd of wary about g v ng you an
op n on.'
'Why? Some k nd of bad news n there?'
'No, no, noth ng l ke that,' Steven sa d. 'There's noth ng to
h de. He was a good k d. But I'd be g v ng you one k d's op n on
about another k d from th rty-f ve years ago, r ght? M ght not be
a rel able op n on.'
Reacher paused, w th a hundred-pound bag n each
hand. Glanced back at Steven. He was lean ng on h s post n
h s red apron, lean and f t, the exact p cture of what Reacher
assumed was a typ cal caut ous smalltown Yankee
bus nessman. The sort of guy whose judgement m ght be
reasonably sol d. He nodded.
'OK, I can see that. I'll take t nto account.'
Steven nodded back, l ke the ground rules were clear. 'How
old are you?'
'Th rty-e ght,' Reacher sa d.
'From around here?'
Reacher shook h s head. 'Not really from around anywhere.'
'OK, couple of th ngs you need to understand,' Steven sa d.
'Th s s a small, small suburban town, and V ctor and I were
born here n '48. We were already f fteen years old when
Kennedy got shot, and s xteen before the Beatles arr ved, and
twenty when there was all that r ot ng n Ch cago and LA. You
know what I'm say ng here?'
'D fferent world,' Reacher sa d.
'You bet your ass t was,' Steven sa d back. 'We grew up n a
d fferent world. Our whole ch ldhood. To us, a real dar ng guy
was one who put baseball cards n the wheels of h s Schw nn.
You need to bear that n m nd, when you hear what I say.'
Reacher nodded. L fted the n nth and tenth bag out of the
p ck-up bed. He was sweat ng l ghtly, and worry ng about the
state of h s sh rt when Jod e next saw t.
'V ctor was a very stra ght k d,' Steven sa d. 'A very stra ght
and normal k d. And l ke I say, for comparat ve purposes, that
was back when the rest of us thought we were the bee's knees
for stay ng out unt l half past n ne on a Saturday n ght, dr nk ng
m lk shakes.'
'What was he nterested n?' Reacher asked.
Steven blew out h s cheeks and shrugged. 'What can I tell
you? Same th ngs as all the rest of us, I guess. Baseball, M ckey
Mantle. We l ked Elv s, too. Ice cream, and the Lone Ranger.
Stuff l ke that. Normal stuff.'
'H s dad sa d he always wanted to be a sold er.'
'We all d d. F rst t was cowboys and Ind ans, then t was
sold ers.'
'So d d you go to 'Nam?'
Steven shook h s head. 'No, I k nd of moved on from the
sold er th ng. Not because I d sapproved. You got to
understand, th s was way, way before all that long-ha r stuff
arr ved up here. Nobody objected to the m l tary. 1 wasn't afra d
of t, e ther. Back then there was noth ng to be afra d of. We
were the US, r ght? We were go ng to wh p the ass off those
slanty-eyed gooks, s x months max mum. Nobody was worr ed
about go ng. It just seemed old-fash oned. We all respected t,
we all loved the stor es, but t seemed l ke yesterday's th ng,
you know what I mean? I wanted to go nto bus ness. I wanted
to bu ld my dad's yard up nto a b g corporat on. That seemed
l ke the th ng to do. To me, that seemed l ke more of an
Amer can th ng than go ng nto the m l tary. Back then, t
seemed just as patr ot c'
'So you beat the draft?' Reacher asked.
Steven nodded. 'Draft board called me, but I had college
appl cat ons pend ng and they sk pped r ght over me. My dad
was close to the board cha rman, wh ch d dn't hurt any, I guess.'
'How d d V ctor react to that?'
'He was f ne w th t. There was no ssue about t. I wasn't ant war or anyth ng. I supported V etnam,
same as anybody else. It was just a personal cho ce,
yesterday's th ng or tomorrow's th ng. I wanted tomorrow's
th ng, V ctor wanted the Army. He k nd of knew t was k nd of,
well, sta d. Truth s, he was pretty much nfluenced by h s old
man. He was Four-F n World War Two. M ne was a foot sold er,
went to the Pac f c. V ctor k nd of felt h s fam ly hadn't done ts
b t. So he wanted to do t, l ke a duty. Sounds stuffy now, r ght?
Duty? But we all thought l ke that, back then. No compar son at
all w th the k ds of today. We were all pretty ser ous and oldfash oned around here, V ctor maybe sl ghtly more than the rest
of us. Very ser ous, very earnest. But not really a whole lot out
of the ord nary.'
Reacher was three-quarters through w th the bags. He
stopped and rested aga nst the p ck-up door. 'Was he smart?'
'Smart enough, I guess,' Steven sa d. 'He d d well n school,
w thout exactly sett ng the world on f re. We had a few k ds
here, over the years, gone to be lawyers or doctors or whatever.
One of them went to NASA, a b t younger than V ctor and me.
V ctor was smart enough, but he had to work to get h s grades,
as I recall.'
Reacher started w th the bags aga n. He had f lled the farthest
shelves f rst, wh ch he was glad about, because h s forearms
were start ng to burn.
'Was he ever n any k nd of trouble?'
Steven look mpat ent. 'Trouble? You haven't been l sten ng to
me, m ster. V ctor was stra ght as an arrow, back when the
worst k d would look l ke a complete angel today.'
S x bags to go. Reacher w ped h s palms on h s pants.
'What was he l ke when you last saw h m? Between the two
tours?'
Steven paused to th nk about t. 'A l ttle older, I guess. I'd
grown up a year, t seemed l ke he'd grown up f ve. But he was
no d fferent. Same guy. St ll ser ous, st ll earnest. They gave
h m a parade when he came home, because he had a medal. He
was real embarrassed about t, sa d the medal was noth ng.
Then he went away aga n, and he never came back.'
'How d d you feel about that?'
Steven paused aga n. 'Pretty bad, I guess. Th s was a guy I'd
known all my l fe. I'd have preferred h m to come back, of
course, but I was real glad he d dn't come back n a wheelcha r
or someth ng, l ke a lot of them d d.'
Reacher f n shed the work. He butted the last bag nto
pos t on on the shelf w th the heel of h s hand and leaned on the
post oppos te Steven.
'What about the mystery? About what happened to h m?'
Steven shook h s head and sm led, sadly. "There's no
mystery. He was k lled. Th s s about two old folks refus ng to
accept three unpleasant truths, s all.'
'Wh ch are?'
'S mple,' Steven sa d. 'Truth one s the r boy d ed. Truth two s
he d ed out there n some godforsaken mpenetrable jungle
where nobody w ll ever f nd h m. Truth three s the government
got d shonest around that t me, and they stopped l st ng the
MIAs as casualt es, so they could keep the numbers
reasonable. There were… what? Maybe ten boys on V c's
chopper when t went down? That's ten names they kept off the
n ghtly news. It was a pol cy, and t's too late for them to adm t
to anyth ng now.'
'That's your take?'
'Sure s,' Steven sa d. 'The war went bad, and the government
went bad w th t. Hard enough for my generat on to accept, let
me tell you. You younger guys are probably more at home w th
t, but you better bel eve the old folk l ke the Hob es are never
go ng to square up to t.'
He lapsed nto s lence, and glanced absently back and forth
between the empty p ck-up and the full shelves. 'That's a ton of
cement you sh fted. You want to come n and wash up and let
me buy you a soda?'
'I need to eat,' Reacher sa d. 'I m ssed lunch.'
Steven nodded, and then he sm led, ruefully. 'Head south.
There's a d ner r ght after the tra n stat on. That's where we
used to dr nk m lk shakes, half past n ne Saturday n ght,
th nk ng we were pract cally Frank S natra.'
The d ner had obv ously changed many t mes s nce dar ng
boys w th baseball cards n the wheels of the r b cycles had
s pped m lk shakes there on Saturday n ghts. Now t was a
sevent es-style eater e, low and square, a br ck facade, green
roof, w th a n net es-style gloss n the form of elaborate neon
s gns n every w ndow, hot p nks and blues. Reacher took the
leather-bound folder w th h m and pulled the door and stepped
nto ch lly a r smell ng of Freon and burgers and the strong stuff
they squ rt on the tables before w p ng them down. He sat at the
counter and a cheerful heavy g rl of twenty-someth ng boxed
h m n w th flatware and a napk n and handed h m a menu card
the s ze of a b llboard w th photographs of the food pos t oned
next to the wr tten descr pt ons. He ordered a half-pounder,
Sw ss, rare, slaw and on on
r ngs, and made a substant al wager w th h mself that t
wouldn't resemble the photograph n any way at all. Then he
drank h s ced water and got a ref ll before open ng the folder.
He concentrated on V ctor's letters to h s folks. There were
twenty-seven of them n total, th rteen from h s tra n ng
post ngs and fourteen from V etnam. They bore out everyth ng
he'd heard from Ed Steven. Accurate grammar, accurate
spell ng, pla n terse phras ng. The same handwr t ng used by
everybody educated n Amer ca between the twent es and the
s xt es, but w th a backward slant. A left-handed person. None
of the twenty-seven letters ran more than a few l nes over the
page. A dut ful person. A person who knew t was cons dered
mpol te to end a personal letter on the f rst page. A pol te,
dut ful, left-handed, dull, convent onal, normal person, sol dly
educated, but no k nd of a rocket sc ent st.
The g rl brought h m the burger. It was adequate n tself, but
very d fferent from the g gant c feast dep cted n the photograph
on the menu. The slaw was float ng n wh tened v negar n a
cr mped paper cup, and the on on r ngs were bloated and
un form, l ke small brown automob le tyres. The Sw ss was
sl ced so th n t was transparent, but t tasted l ke cheese.
The photograph taken after the pass ng-out parade down at
Rucker was harder to nterpret. The focus was off, and the peak
of h s cap put V ctor's eyes nto deep shadow. H s shoulders
were back, and h s body was tense. Burst ng w th pr de, or
embarrassed by h s mother? It was hard to tell. In the end,
Reacher voted for pr de, because of the mouth. It was a t ght
l ne, sl ghtly down at the edges, the sort of mouth that needs
f rm control from the fac al muscles to stop a
huge joyful gr n. Th s was a photograph of a guy at the
absolute peak of h s l fe so far. Every goal atta ned, every dream
real zed. Two weeks later, he was overseas. Reacher shuffled
through the letters for the note from Mob le. It was wr tten from
a bunk, before sa l ng. Ma led by a company clerk n Alabama.
Sober phrases, a page and a quarter. Emot ons t ghtly checked.
It commun cated noth ng at all.
He pa d the check and left the g rl a two-dollar t p for be ng so
cheerful. Would she have wr tten home a page and a quarter of
t ght-assed noth ngness the day she was sa l ng off to war? No,
but she would never sa l off to war. V ctor's hel copter went
down maybe seven years before she was born, and V etnam
was just someth ng she had suffered through n eleventh-grade
h story class.
It was way too early to head stra ght back to Wall Street. Jod e
had sa d seven o'clock. At least two hours to k ll, m n mum. He
sl d nto the Taurus and put the a r on h gh to blow the heat
away. Then he flattened the Hertz map on the st ff leather of the
folder and traced a route away from Br ghton. He could take
Route 9 south to the Bear Mounta n Parkway, the Bear east to
the Tacon c, the Tacon c south to the Spra n, and the Spra n
would dump h m out on the Bronx R ver Parkway. That road
would take h m stra ght down to the Botan cal Gardens, wh ch
was a place he had never been, and a place he was pretty keen
to v s t.
Mar lyn got to her lunch a l ttle after three o'clock. She had
checked the clean ng crew's work before she let them leave,
and they had done a perfect job. They had used a steam-cleaner
on the hall rug, not because t was
d rty, but because t was the best way of ra s ng up the dents
n the p le left by the credenza's feet. The steam swelled the
wool f bres, and after a thorough vacuum ng nobody was ever
go ng to know a heavy p ece of furn ture had once rested there.
She took a long shower and w ped out the stall w th a k tchen
towel to leave the t l ng dry and sh ny. She combed her ha r and
left t to a r-dry. She knew the June hum d ty would put a sl ght
curl n t. Then she got dressed, wh ch nvolved one garment
only. She put on Chester's favour te th ng, a dark p nk s lk
sheath wh ch worked best w th noth ng on underneath. It came
just above the knee, and although t wasn't exactly t ght, t
clung n all the r ght places, as f t had been made for her,
wh ch n fact t had been, although Chester wasn't aware of that.
He thought t was just a lucky off-the-peg acc dent. She was
happy to let h m th nk that, not because of the money, but
because t felt a l ttle, well, brazen to adm t to hav ng such a
sexy th ng custom-made. And the effect on h m was, frankly,
brazen. It was l ke a tr gger. She used t when she thought he
needed reward ng. Or deflect ng. And he was go ng to need
deflect ng ton ght. He was go ng to arr ve home and f nd h s
house up for sale and h s w fe n charge. Any old way she
looked at t, t was go ng to be a d ff cult even ng, and she was
prepared to use any advantage she could to get through t,
brazen or not.
She chose the Gucc heels that matched the sheath's colour
and made her legs look long. Then she went down to the
k tchen and ate her lunch, wh ch was an apple and a square of
reduced-fat cheese, and then she went back upsta rs and
brushed her teeth aga n and thought about make-up. Be ng
naked under the dress
and w th her ha r down n a natural style, the way to go was
really no make-up at all, but she was prepared to adm t she was
just a l ttle beyond be ng able to get away w th that, so she set
out on the long haul of mak ng herself up so she would look l ke
she hadn't troubled to.
It took her twenty m nutes, and then she d d her na ls, toes
too, because she felt that counted when t was l kely her shoes
would be com ng off early. Then she dabbed her favour te
perfume on, enough to be not ced w thout be ng overwhelm ng.
Then the phone rang. It was Sheryl.
'Mar lyn?' she sa d. 'S x hours on the market, and you've got a
n bble!'
'I have? But who? And how?'
'I know, the very f rst day, before you're even l sted anywhere,
sn't t wonderful? It's a gentleman who's relocat ng w th h s
fam ly, and he was cru s ng the area, gett ng a feel for t, and he
saw your s gn. He came stra ght over here for the part culars.
Are you ready? Can I br ng h m r ght over?'
'Wow, r ght now? Already? Th s s qu ck, sn't t? But yes, I
guess I'm ready. Who s t, Sheryl? You th nk he's a ser ous
buyer?'
'Def n tely I do, and he's only here today. He has to go back
west ton ght.'
'OK, well, br ng h m on over, I guess. I'll be ready.'
She real zed she must have been rehears ng the whole
rout ne, unconsc ously, w thout really be ng aware of t. She
moved fast, but she wasn't flustered. She hung up the phone
and ran stra ght down to the k tchen and sw tched the oven on
low. Spooned a heap of coffee beans on to a saucer and placed
them on the m ddle shelf. Shut the oven door and turned to the
s nk. Dropped the apple core nto the waste d sposal and
stacked the plate n the d shwasher. W ped the s nk down w th a
paper towel and stood back, hands on h ps, scann ng the room.
She walked to the w ndow and angled the bl nd unt l the l ght
caught the sh ne on the floor.
'Perfect,' she sa d to herself.
She ran back up the sta rs and started at the top of the house.
She ducked nto every room, scann ng, check ng, adjust ng
flowers, angl ng bl nds, plump ng p llows. She turned lamps on
everywhere. She had read that to turn them on after the buyer
was already n the room was a clear message the house was
gloomy. Better to have them on from the outset, wh ch was a
clear message of cheerful welcome.
She ran back down the sta rs. In the fam ly room, she opened
the bl nd all the way to show off the pool. In the den, she turned
on the read ng lamps and t lted the bl nd almost closed, to g ve
a dark, comfortable look. Then she ducked nto the l v ng room.
Sh t, Chester's s de-table was st ll there, r ght next to where h s
armcha r had been. How could she have m ssed that? She
grabbed t two-handed and ran w th t to the basement sta rs.
She heard Sheryl's car on the gravel. She opened the basement
door and ran down and dumped the table and ran back up.
Closed the door on t and ducked nto the powder room.
Stra ghtened the guest towel and dabbed at her ha r and
checked herself n the m rror. God! She was wear ng her s lk
sheath. W th noth ng underneath. The s lk was cl ng ng to her
sk n. What the hell was th s poor guy go ng to th nk?
The doorbell rang. She was frozen. D d she have t me to
change? Of course not. They were at the door,
r ght now, r ng ng the bell. A jacket or someth ng? The
doorbell rang aga n. She took a breath and shook her h ps to
loosen the fabr c and walked down the hall. Took another breath
and opened the door.
Sheryl beamed n at her, but Mar lyn was already look ng at
the buyer. He was a tall sh man, maybe f fty or f fty-f ve, grey, n
a dark su t, stand ng s de-on, look ng out and back at the
plant ngs along the dr veway. She glanced down at h s shoes,
because Chester always sa d wealth and breed ng shows up on
the feet. These looked pretty good. Heavy Oxfords, pol shed to
a sh ne. She started a sm le. Was th s go ng to be t? Sold w th n
s x hours? That would be a hell of a th ng. She sm led a qu ck
consp rator's sm le w th Sheryl and turned to the man.
'Come n,' she sa d br ghtly, and held out her hand.
He turned back from the garden to face her. He stared stra ght
at her, frankly and blatantly. She felt naked under h s gaze. She
pract cally was naked. But she found herself star ng r ght back
at h m, because he was terr bly burned. One s de of h s head
was just a mass of sh ny p nk scars. She kept her pol te sm le
frozen n place and kept her hand extended towards h m. He
paused. Brought h s hand up to meet t. But t wasn't a hand. It
was a sh n ng metal hook. Not an art f c al hand, not a clever
prosthet c dev ce, just a w cked metal curve made of gleam ng
steel.
Reacher was at the kerb outs de the s xty-storey bu ld ng on
Wall Street ten m nutes before seven o'clock. He kept the motor
runn ng and scanned a tr angle that had ts po nt on the
bu ld ng's ex t door and spread s deways across the plaza past
the d stance where somebody could get to her before he could.
There was nobody ns de the tr angle who worr ed h m.
Nobody stat c, nobody watch ng, just a th n stream of off ce
workers jostl ng out to the street, jackets over the r arms, bulky
br efcases n the r hands. Most of them were mak ng a left on
the s dewalk, head ng for the subway. Some of them were
thread ng through the cars at the kerb, look ng for cabs out n
the traff c stream.
The other parked cars were harmless. There was a UPS truck
two places ahead, and a couple of l very veh cles w th dr vers
stand ng next to them, scann ng for the r passengers. Innocent
bustle, at the weary end of a busy day. Reacher settled back n
h s seat to wa t, h s eyes fl ck ng left and r ght, ahead and
beh nd, always return ng to the revolv ng door.
She came out before seven, wh ch was sooner than he
expected. He saw her through the glass, n the lobby. He saw
her ha r, and her dress, and the flash of her legs as she sk pped
s deways to the ex t. He wondered for a second f she had just
been wa t ng up on her h gh floor. The t m ng was plaus ble. She
could have seen the car from her w ndow, gone stra ght to the
elevator. She pushed the door and sp lled out on to the plaza.
He got out of the car and moved around the hood to the
s dewalk and stood wa t ng. She was carry ng the p lot's case.
She sk pped through a shaft of sun and her ha r l t up l ke a
halo. Ten yards from h m, she sm led.
'Hello, Reacher,' she called.
'Hello, Jod e,' he sa d.
She knew someth ng. He could see t n her face. She had b g
news for h m, but she was sm l ng l ke she was go ng to tease
h m w th t.
'What?' he asked.
She sm led aga n and shook her head. 'You f rst, OK?'
They sat n the car and he ran through everyth ng the old
couple had told h m. Her sm le faded and she turned sombre.
Then he gave her the leather-bound folder and left her to scan t
through wh le he fought the traff c n a narrow counterclockw se
square that left them fac ng south on Broadway, two blocks
from her place. He pulled n at the kerb outs de an espresso bar.
She was read ng the reconna ssance report from Rutter and
study ng the photograph of the emac ated grey man and the
As an sold er.
'Incred ble,' she sa d, qu etly.
'G ve me your keys,' he sa d back. 'Get a coffee and I'll walk
up for you when I know your bu ld ng's OK.'
She made no object on. The photograph had shaken her up.
She just went nto her bag for her keys and got out of the car
and sk pped stra ght across the s dewalk and nto the coffee
shop. He watched her ns de and then eased south down the
street. He turned d rectly nto her garage. It was a d fferent car,
and he f gured f anybody was wa t ng down there they would
hes tate long enough to g ve h m all the advantage he would
need. But the garage was qu et. Just the same group of parked
veh cles, look ng l ke they hadn't moved all day. He put the
Taurus n her slot and went up the metal sta rs to the lobby.
Nobody there. Nobody n the elevator, nobody n the fourthfloor hallway. Her door was undamaged. He opened t up and
stepped ns de. Qu et, st ll a r. Nobody there.
He used the f re sta rs to get back to the lobby and went out
the glass doors to the street. Walked the two blocks north and
ducked nto the coffee shop and found her alone at a chrome
table, read ng V ctor
Hob e's letters, an espresso untouched at her elbow.
'You go ng to dr nk that?' he asked.
She stacked the jungle photograph on top of the letters.
'Th s has b g mpl cat ons,' she sa d.
He took that for a no, and pulled the cup over and swallowed
the coffee n one mouthful. It had cooled sl ghtly and was
wonderfully strong.
'Let's go,' she sa d. She let h m carry her case and took h s
arm for the two-block walk. He gave back her keys at the street
door and they went n through the lobby together and up n the
elevator n s lence. She unlocked the apartment door and went
ns de ahead of h m.
'So t's government people after us,' she sa d.
He made no reply. Just shrugged off h s new jacket and
dropped t on the sofa under the Mondr an copy.
'Has to be,' she sa d.
He walked to the w ndows and cracked the bl nds. Shafts of
dayl ght poured n and the wh te room glowed.
'We're close to the secret of these camps,' she sa d. 'So the
government s try ng to s lence us. CIA or somebody.'
He walked through to the k tchen. Pulled the refr gerator door
and took out a bottle of water.
'We're n ser ous danger,' she sa d. 'You don't seem very
worr ed about t.'
He shrugged and took a swallow of water. It was too cold. He
preferred t room temperature.
'L fe's too short for worry ng,' he sa d.
'Dad was worry ng. It was mak ng h s heart worse.'
He nodded. 'I know. I'm sorry.'
'So why aren't you tak ng t ser ously? Don't you bel eve t?'
'I bel eve t,' he sa d. 'I bel eve everyth ng they told me.'
'And the photograph proves t, r ght? The place obv ously
ex sts.'
'I know t ex sts,' he sa d. 'I've been there.'
She stared at h m. 'You've been there? When? How?'
'Not long ago,' he sa d. 'I got just about as close as th s Rutter
guy got.'
'Chr st, Reacher,' she sa d. 'So what are you go ng to do
about t?'
'I'm go ng to buy a gun.'
'No, we should go to the cops. Or the newspapers, maybe.
The government can't do th s.'
'You wa t for me here, OK?'
'Where are you go ng?'
'I'm go ng to buy a gun. Then I'll buy us some p zza. I'll br ng
t back.'
'You can't buy a gun, not n New York C ty, for God's sake.
There are laws. You need ID and perm ts and th ngs and you've
got to wa t f ve days anyway.'
'I can buy a gun anywhere,' he sa d. 'Espec ally New York C ty.
What do you want on the p zza?'
'Have you got enough money?'
'For the p zza?'
'For the gun,' she sa d.
'The gun w ll cost me less than the p zza,' he sa d. 'Lock the
door beh nd me, OK? And don't open t unless you see t's me
n the spy hole.'
He left her stand ng n the centre of the k tchen. He used the
f re sta rs to the lobby and stood n the bustle on the s dewalk
long enough to get h mself l ned up w th the geography. There
was a p zza parlour on the block to the south. He ducked ns de
and ordered a
large p e, half anchov es and capers, half hot pepperon , to go
n th rty m nutes. Then he dodged traff c on Broadway and
struck out east. He'd been n New York enough t mes to know
what people say s true. Everyth ng happens fast n New York.
Th ngs change fast. Fast n terms of chronology, and fast n
terms of geography. One ne ghbourhood shades nto another
w th n a couple of blocks. Somet mes, the front of a bu ld ng s
a m ddle-class parad se, and around the back bums are
sleep ng n the alley. He knew a fast ten-m nute walk was go ng
to take h m worlds away from Jod e's expens ve apartment
block. He found what he was look ng for n the shadows under
the approach to the Brooklyn Br dge. There was a messy tangle
of streets crouch ng there, and a g ant hous ng project
sprawl ng to the north and east. Some ragged cluttered stores,
and a basketball court w th cha ns under the hoops nstead of
nets. The a r was hot and damp and f lled w th fumes and no se.
He turned a corner and stood lean ng on the cha n-l nk w th the
basketball no ses beh nd h m, watch ng two worlds coll de.
There was a rap d traff c flow of veh cles dr v ng and people
walk ng fast, and an equal quant ty of cars stopped and dl ng
and people stand ng around n bunches. The mov ng cars
tacked around the stopped ones, honk ng and swerv ng, and
the walk ng people pushed and compla ned and dodged nto the
gutter to pass the knots of lo terers. Somet mes a car would
stop short and a boy would dart forward to the dr ver's w ndow.
There would be a short conversat on and money would change
hands l ke a conjur ng tr ck and the boy would dart back to a
doorway and d sappear. He would reappear a moment later and
hustle back to the car. The dr ver
would glance left and r ght and accept a small package and
force back nto the traff c n a burble of exhaust and a blast of
horns. Then the boy would return to the s dewalk and wa t.
Somet mes the trade was on foot, but the system was always
the same. The boys were the cut-outs. They carr ed the money
n and the packages out, and they were too young to go to tr al.
Reacher was watch ng them use three doorways n part cular,
spaced out along the block frontage. The centre of the three
was do ng the bus est trade. About two-to-one, n terms of
commerc al volume. It was the eleventh bu ld ng, count ng up
from the south corner. He pushed off the fence and turned east.
There was a vacant lot ahead wh ch gave h m a gl mpse of the
r ver. The br dge soared over h s head. He turned north and
came up beh nd the bu ld ngs n a narrow alley. Scanned ahead
as he walked and counted eleven f re escapes. Dropped h s
glance to ground level and saw a black sedan jammed nto the
narrow space outs de the eleventh rear entrance. There was a
boy of maybe n neteen s tt ng on the trunk l d, w th a mob le
phone n h s hand. The back-door guard, one step up the
promot on ladder from h s baby brothers shuttl ng back and
forward across the s dewalk.
There was nobody else around. The boy was on h s own.
Reacher stepped nto the alley. The way to do t s to walk fast
and focus on someth ng way beyond your target. Make the guy
feel l ke he's got noth ng to do w th anyth ng. Reacher made a
show of check ng h s watch and glanc ng far ahead nto the
d stance. He hustled along, almost runn ng. At the last m nute,
he dropped h s gaze to the car, l ke he was suddenly dragged
back nto the present by the obstacle. The boy
was watch ng h m. Reacher dodged left, where he knew the
angle of the car wouldn't let h m through. He pulled up n
exasperat on and dodged r ght, turn ng w th the pent-up fury of
a hurry ng man baulked by a nu sance. He swung h s left arm
w th the turn and h t the k d square n the s de of the head. The
k d toppled and he h t h m aga n, r ght-handed, just a short-arm
jab, relat vely gentle. No reason to put h m n the hosp tal.
He let h m fall off the trunk l d una ded, to see how far away
he'd put h m. A consc ous person w ll always break h s fall. Th s
k d d dn't. He h t the alley floor w th a dusty thump. Reacher
rolled h m over and checked h s pockets. There was a gun n
there, but t wasn't the sort of th ng he was go ng to bear home
n tr umph. It was a Ch nese.22, some m tat on of a Sov et
m tat on of someth ng that was probably useless to start w th.
He p tched t out of reach under the car.
He knew the back door of the tenement would be unlocked,
because that's the po nt of a back door when you're do ng a
roar ng trade about 150 yards south of Pol ce Plaza. They come
n the front, you need to be able to get out the back w thout
fumbl ng for the key. He nched t open w th h s toe and stood
gaz ng nto the gloom. There was an nner door off the back
hallway, lead ng to the r ght, nto a room w th a l ght on ns de. It
was about ten paces away.
No po nt n wa t ng. They weren't about to take a d nner break.
He walked ahead ten paces and stopped at the door. The
bu ld ng stank of decay and sweat and ur ne. It was qu et. An
abandoned bu ld ng. He l stened. There was a low vo ce ns de
the room. Then an answer to t. Two people, m n mum.
Sw ng ng the door open and stand ng and tak ng stock of the
scene ns de s not the way to do t. The guy who pauses even
for a m ll second s the guy who d es earl er than h s
classmates. Reacher's guess was the tenement was maybe
f fteen feet w de, of wh ch three were represented by the
hallway he was stand ng n. So he a med to be the other twelve
feet nto the room before they even knew he was there. They
would st ll be look ng at the door, wonder ng who else was
com ng n after h m.
He took a breath and burst through the door l ke t wasn't
there at all. It crashed back aga nst the h nge and he was across
the room n two huge str des. D m l ght. A s ngle electr c bulb.
Two men. Packages on the table. Money on the table. A
handgun on the table. He h t the f rst guy a w de sw ng ng
roundhouse blow square on the temple. The guy fell s deways
and Reacher drove through h m w th a knee n the gut on h s
way back to the second man, who was com ng up out of h s
cha r w th h s eyes w de and h s mouth open n shock. Reacher
a med h gh and smacked h m w th a forearm smash exactly
hor zontal between h s eyebrows and h s ha rl ne. Do t hard
enough, and the guy goes down for an hour, but h s skull stays
n one p ece. Th s was supposed to be a shopp ng tr p, not an
execut on.
He stood st ll and l stened through the door. Noth ng. The guy
n the alley was sleep ng and the no se on the street was
occupy ng the k ds on the s dewalk. He glanced at the table and
glanced away aga n, because the handgun ly ng there was a
Colt Detect ve Spec al. A s x-shot.38-cal bre revolver n blued
steel w th black plast c gr ps. Stubby l ttle two- nch barrel. No
good at all. Nowhere near the sort of th ng he was
look ng for. The short barrel was a drawback, and the cal bre
was a d sappo ntment. He remembered a Lou s ana cop he'd
met, a pol ce capta n from some small jur sd ct on out n the
bayou. The guy had come to the m l tary pol ce for f rearms
adv ce and Reacher had been deta led to deal w th h m. The guy
had all k nds of tales of woe about the.38-cal bre revolvers h s
men were us ng. He sa d you just can't rely on them to put a guy
down, not f he's com ng at you all pumped up on angel dust.
He told a story about a su c de. The guy needed f ve shots to
the head w th a.38 to put h mself away. Reacher had been
mpressed by the guy's unhappy face and he had dec ded then
and there to stay away from.38s, wh ch was a pol cy he was not
about to change now. So he turned h s back on the table and
stood st ll and l stened aga n. Noth ng. He squatted next to the
guy he'd h t n the head and started through h s jacket.
The bus est dealers make the most money, and the most
money buys the best toys, wh ch was why he was n th s
bu ld ng, and not n one of the slower r vals up or down the
street. He found exactly what he wanted n the guy's left-hand
nner pocket. Someth ng a whole lot better than a puny.38
Detect ve Spec al. It was a b g black automat c, a Steyr GB, a
handsome n ne-m ll metre wh ch had been a b g favour te of h s
Spec al Forces fr ends through most of h s career. He pulled t
out and checked t over. The magaz ne had all e ghteen shells n
t and the chamber smelled l ke t had never been f red. He
pulled the tr gger and watched the mechan sm move. Then he
reassembled the gun and jammed t under h s belt n the small
of h s back and sm led. Stayed down next to the unconsc ous
guy and wh spered, 'I'll buy your
Steyr for a buck. Just shake your head f you've got a problem
w th that, OK?'
Then he sm led aga n and stood up. Peeled a dollar b ll off h s
roll and left t we ghted down on the tabletop under the
Detect ve Spec al. Stepped back to the hallway. All qu et. He
made the ten paces to the back and came out nto the l ght.
Checked left and r ght up and down the alley and stepped over
to the parked sedan. Opened the dr ver's door and found the
lever and popped the trunk. There was a black nylon sports bag
n there, empty. A small cardboard box of n ne-m ll metre
reloads under a tangle of red and black jump leads. He put the
ammun t on n the bag and walked away w th t. The p zza was
wa t ng for h m when he arr ved back on Broadway.
It was sudden. It happened w thout warn ng. As soon as they
were ns de and the door was closed, the man h t Sheryl, a
v c ous backhand blow to the face w th whatever was ns de h s
empty sleeve. Mar lyn was frozen w th shock. She saw the man
tw st ng v olently and the hook sw ng ng through ts gl tter ng
arc and she heard the wet crunch as h s arm h t Sheryl's face
and she clamped both hands over her mouth as f t were
somehow v tally mportant she d dn't scream. She saw the man
sp nn ng back towards her and reach ng up under h s r ght
armp t and com ng out w th a gun n h s left hand. She saw
Sheryl go ng over backward and sprawl ng on the rug, r ght
where t was st ll damp from the steam clean ng. She saw the
gun arc ng at her along the exact same rad us he had used
before, but n the reverse d rect on, com ng stra ght at her. The
gun was made of dark metal, grey, dewed w th o l. It was dull,
but t shone. It stopped level w th
her chest, and she stared down at ts colour, and all she could
th nk was that's what they mean when they say gunmetal.
'Step closer,' the man sa d.
She was paralysed. Her hands were clamped to her face and
her eyes were open so w de she thought the sk n on her face
would tear.
'Closer,' the man sa d aga n.
She stared down at Sheryl. She was struggl ng up on her
elbows. Her eyes were crossed and blood was runn ng from her
nose. Her top l p was swell ng and the blood was dr pp ng off
her ch n. Her knees were up and her sk rt was rucked. She
could see her panty hose change from th n to th ck at the top.
Her breath ng was ragged. Then her elbows gave way aga n and
sl d forward and her knees splayed out. Her head h t the floor
w th a soft thump and rolled s deways.
'Step closer,' the man sa d.
She stared at h s face. It was r g d. The scars looked l ke hard
plast c. One eye was hooded under an eyel d as th ck and
coarse as a thumb. The other was cold and unbl nk ng. She
stared at the gun. It was a foot away from her chest. Not
mov ng. The hand that held t was smooth. The na ls were
man cured. She stepped forward a quarter of a step.
'Closer.'
She sl d her feet forward unt l the gun was touch ng the fabr c
of her dress. She felt the hardness and the coldness of the grey
metal through the th n s lk.
'Closer.'
She stared at h m. H s face was a foot away from hers. On the
left the sk n was grey and l ned. The good eye was webbed w th
l nes. The r ght eye bl nked. The
eyel d was slow and heavy. It went down, then up,
del berately, l ke a mach ne. She leaned forward an nch. The
gun pressed nto her breast.
'Closer.'
She moved her feet. He answered w th match ng pressure on
the gun. The metal was press ng hard nto the softness of her
flesh. It was crush ng her breast. The s lk was y eld ng nto a
deep crater. It was pull ng her n pple s deways. It was hurt ng
her. The man ra sed h s r ght arm. The hook. He held t up n
front of her eyes. It was a pla n steel curve, rubbed and pol shed
unt l t shone. He rotated t slowly, w th an awkward movement
of h s forearm. She heard leather ns de h s sleeve. The t p of
the hook was mach ned to a po nt. He rotated the t p away and
la d the flat of the curve aga nst her forehead. She fl nched. It
was cold. He scraped t down her forehead and traced the curve
of her nose. In under her nose. He pressed t aga nst her top l p.
Brought t down and n and pressed unt l her mouth opened. He
tapped t gently aga nst her teeth. It caught on her bottom l p,
because her l p was dry. He dragged her l p down w th the steel
unt l the soft rubbery flesh pulled free. He traced over the curve
of her ch n. Down under her ch n to her throat. Up aga n an
nch, and back, under the shelf of her jaw, unt l he was forc ng
her head up w th the strength n h s shoulder. He stared nto her
eyes.
'My name s Hob e,' he sa d.
She was up on t ptoes, try ng to take the we ght off her throat.
She was start ng to gag. She couldn't remember tak ng a breath
s nce she had opened the door.
'D d Chester ment on me?'
Her head was t lt ng upwards. She was star ng at the
ce l ng. The gun was d gg ng nto her breast. It was no longer
cold. The heat of her body had warmed t. She shook her head,
a small urgent mot on, balanced on the pressure of the hook.
'He d dn't ment on me?'
'No,' she gasped. 'Why? Should he have?'
'Is he a secret ve man?'
She shook her head aga n. The same small urgent mot on,
s de to s de, the sk n of her throat snagg ng left and r ght
aga nst the metal.
'D d he tell you about h s bus ness problems?'
She bl nked. Shook her head aga n.
'So he s a secret ve man.'
'I guess,' she gasped. 'But I knew anyway.'
'Does he have a g rlfr end?'
She bl nked aga n. Shook her head.
'How can you be sure?' Hob e asked. 'If he's a secret ve man?'
'What do you want?' she gasped.
'But I guess he doesn't need a g rlfr end. You're a very
beaut ful woman.'
She bl nked aga n. She was up on her toes. The Gucc heels
were off the ground.
'I just pa d you a compl ment,' Hob e sa d. 'Oughtn't you say
someth ng n response? Pol tely?'
He ncreased the pressure. The steel dug nto the flesh of her
throat. One foot came free of the ground.
'Thank you,' she gasped.
The hook eased down. Her eye l ne came back to the
hor zontal and her heels touched the rug. She real zed she was
breath ng. She was pant ng, n and out, n and out.
'A very beaut ful woman.'
He dropped the hook away from her throat. It
touched her wa st. Traced down over the curve of her h p.
Down over her th gh. He was star ng at her face. The gun was
jammed hard n her flesh. The hook turned, and the flat face of
the curve l fted off her th gh, leav ng just the po nt beh nd. It
traced downward. She felt t sl de off the s lk onto her bare leg.
It was sharp. Not l ke a needle. L ke a penc l po nt. It stopped
mov ng. It started back up. He was press ng w th t, gently. It
wasn't cutt ng her. She knew that. But t was furrow ng aga nst
the f rmness of her sk n. It moved up. It sl d under the s lk. She
felt the metal on the sk n of her th gh. It moved up. She could
feel the s lk of her dress bunch ng and gather ng n the rad us
of the hook. The hook moved up. The back of the hem was
sl d ng up the backs of her legs. Sheryl st rred on the floor. The
hook stopped mov ng and Hob e's awful r ght eye sw velled
slowly across and down.
'Put your hand n my pocket,' he sa d.
She stared at h m.
'Your left hand,' he sa d. 'My r ght pocket.'
She had to move closer and reach over and down between
h s arms. Her face was close to h s. He smelled of soap. She felt
around to h s pocket. Darted her f ngers ns de and closed them
over a small cyl nder. Sl d t out. It was a used roll of duct tape,
an nch n d ameter. S lver. Maybe f ve yards rema n ng. Hob e
stepped away from her.
'Tape Sheryl's wr sts together,' he sa d.
She wr ggled her h ps to make the hem of her dress fall down
nto place. He watched her do t and sm led. She glanced
between the roll of s lver tape and Sheryl, down on the floor.
'Turn her over,' he sa d.
The l ght from the w ndow was catch ng the gun. She knelt
next to Sheryl. Pulled on one shoulder and pushed on the other
unt l she flopped over on her front.
'Put her elbows together,' he sa d.
She hes tated. He ra sed the gun a fract on, and then the
hook, arms w de, a d splay of super or weaponry. She gr maced.
Sheryl st rred aga n. Her blood had pooled on the rug. It was
brown and st cky. Mar lyn used both hands and forced her
elbows together, beh nd her back. Hob e looked down.
'Get them real close,' he sa d.
She p cked at the tape w th her na l and got a length free.
Wrapped t around and around Sheryl's forearms, just below her
elbows.
'T ght,' he sa d. 'All the way up.'
She wound the tape around and around, up above her elbows
and down to her wr sts. Sheryl was st rr ng and struggl ng.
'OK, s t her up,' Hob e sa d.
She dragged her nto a s tt ng pos t on w th her taped arms
beh nd her. Her face was masked n blood. Her nose was
swollen, go ng blue. Her l ps were puffy.
'Put the tape on her mouth,' Hob e sa d.
She used her teeth and b t off a s x- nch length. Sheryl was
bl nk ng and focus ng. Mar lyn shrugged unhapp ly at her, l ke a
helpless apology, and stuck the tape over her mouth. It was
th ck tape, w th tough re nforc ng threads baked nto the s lver
plast c coat ng. It was sh ny, but not sl ppery, because of the
ra sed cr ss-cross threads. She rubbed her f ngers s de to s de
across them to make t st ck. Sheryl's nose started bubbl ng
and her eyes opened w de n pan c.
'God, she can't breathe,' Mar lyn gasped.
She went to r p the tape off aga n, but Hob e k cked her hand
away.
'You broke her nose,' Mar lyn sa d. 'She can't breathe.'
The gun was po nt ng down at her head. Held steady.
E ghteen nches away.
'She's go ng to d e,' Mar lyn sa d.
'That's for damn sure,' Hob e sa d back.
She stared up at h m n horror. Blood was rasp ng and
bubbl ng n Sheryl's fractured a rways. Her eyes were star ng n
pan c. Her chest was heav ng. Hob e's eyes were on Mar lyn's
face.
'You want me to be n ce?' he asked.
She nodded w ldly.
'Are you go ng to be n ce back?'
She stared at her fr end. Her chest was convuls ng, heav ng
for a r that wasn't there. Her head was shak ng from s de to
s de. Hob e leaned down and turned the hook so the po nt was
rasp ng across the tape on Sheryl's mouth as her head jerked
back and forth. Then he jabbed hard and forced the po nt
through the s lver. Sheryl froze. Hob e moved h s arm, left and
r ght, up and down. Pulled the hook back out. There was a
ragged hole left n the tape, w th a r wh stl ng n and out. The
tape sucked and blew aga nst her l ps as Sheryl gasped and
panted.
'I was n ce,' Hob e sa d. 'So now you owe me, OK?'
Sheryl's breath ng was suck ng hard through the hole n the
tape. She was concentrat ng on t. Her eyes were squ nt ng
down, l ke she was conf rm ng there was a r n front of her to
use. Mar lyn was watch ng her, s tt ng back on her heels, cold
w th terror.
'Help her to the car,' Hob e sa d.
TEN
Chester Stone was alone n the bathroom on the e ghty-e ghth
floor. Tony had forced h m to go n there. Not phys cally. He had
just stood there and po nted s lently, and Stone had scuttled
across the carpet n h s undersh rt and shorts, w th h s dark
socks and pol shed shoes on h s feet. Then Tony had lowered
h s arm and stopped po nt ng and told h m to stay n there and
closed the door on h m. There had been muffled sounds out n
the off ce, and after a few m nutes the two men must have left,
because Stone heard doors shutt ng and the nearby wh ne of
the elevator. Then t had gone dark and s lent.
He sat on the bathroom floor w th h s back aga nst the grey
gran te t l ng, star ng nto the s lence. The bathroom door was
not locked. He knew that. There had been no f ddl ng or cl ck ng
when the door closed. He was cold. The floor was hard t le, and
the ch ll was str k ng up through the th n cotton of h s boxers.
He started sh ver ng. He was hungry, and th rsty.
He l stened carefully. Noth ng. He eased h mself up off the
floor and stepped to the s nk. Turned the faucet and l stened
aga n over the tr ckle of water. Noth ng. He bent h s head and
drank. H s teeth touched the
metal of the faucet and he tasted the chlor ne taste of c ty
water. He held a mouthful unswallowed and let t soak nto h s
dry tongue. Then he gulped t down and turned the faucet off.
He wa ted an hour. A whole hour, s tt ng on the floor, star ng
at the unlocked door, l sten ng to the s lence. It was hurt ng
where the guy had h t h m. A hard ache, where the f st had
glanced off h s r bs. Bone aga nst bone, sol d, jarr ng. Then a
soft, nauseated feel ng n h s gut where the blow had landed. He
kept h s eyes on the door, try ng to tune out the pa n. The
bu ld ng boomed and rumbled gently, l ke there were other
people n the world, but they were far away. The elevators and
the a r-cond t on ng and the rush of water n the p pes and the
play of the breeze on the w ndows added and cancelled to a
low, comfortable wh sper, just below the po nt of easy aud b l ty.
He thought he could hear elevator doors open ng and clos ng,
maybe e ghty-e ght floors down, fa nt bass thumps sh ver ng
upward through the shafts.
He was cold, and cramped, and hungry, and hurt ng, and
scared. He stood up, bent w th cramp and pa n, and l stened.
Noth ng. He sl d h s leather soles across the t le. Stood w th h s
hand on the doorknob. L stened hard. St ll noth ng. He opened
the door. The huge off ce was d m and s lent. Empty. He padded
stra ght across the carpet and stopped near the door out to the
recept on area. Now he was nearer the elevator banks. He could
hear the cars wh n ng up and down ns de the shafts. He
l stened at the door. Noth ng. He opened the door. The recept on
area was d m and deserted. The oak gleamed pale and there
were random gleams com ng off the brass accents. He could
hear the motor runn ng ns de a refr gerator n
the k tchen to h s r ght. He could smell cold stale coffee.
The door out to the lobby was locked. It was a b g, th ck door,
probably f re-res stant n l ne w th severe c ty codes. It was
faced n pale oak, and he could see the dull gleam of steel n the
gap where t met the frame. He shook the handle, and t d dn't
move at all. He stood there for a long t me, fac ng the door,
peer ng out through the t ny w red glass w ndow, th rty feet
away from the elevator buttons and freedom. Then he turned
back to the counter.
It was chest h gh, v ewed from the front. In back, there was a
desktop level, and the chest-h gh barr er was made up of
cubbyholes w th off ce stat onery and folders stacked neatly
ns de. There was a telephone on the desktop part, n front of
Tony's cha r. The telephone was a compl cated console, w th a
handset on the left and buttons on the r ght under a small
oblong w ndow. The w ndow was a grey LCD readout that sa d
off. He p cked up the handset and heard noth ng except the
blood h ss ng n h s ear. He pressed random buttons. Noth ng.
He quartered the console, trac ng h s f nger left-to-r ght across
every button, search ng. He found a button marked operate. He
pressed t and the l ttle screen changed to enter code. He
pressed random numbers and the screen changed back to off.
There were cupboards under the desktop. L ttle oak doors.
They were all locked. He shook each of them n turn and heard
l ttle metal tongues str k ng metal plates. He walked back nto
Hob e's off ce. Walked through the furn ture to the desk. There
was noth ng on the sofas. H s clothes were gone. Noth ng on
the desktop. The desk drawers were locked. It was a sol d
desk, expens ve, ru ned by the gouges from the hook, and the
drawer locks felt t ght. He squatted down, r d culous n h s
underwear, and pulled at the handles. They moved a fract on,
then stopped. He saw the trash can, under the desk. It was a
brass cyl nder, not tall. He t lted t over. H s wallet was n there,
empty and forlorn. The p cture of Mar lyn was next to t, face
down. The paper was pr nted over and over on the back: kodak.
He reached nto the can and p cked t up. Turned t over. She
sm led out at h m. It was a casual head-and-shoulders shot. She
was wear ng the s lk dress. The sexy one, the one she'd had
custom-made. She d dn't know he knew she'd had t made. He
had been home alone when the store called. He'd told them to
call back, and let her bel eve he thought t was off-the-peg. In
the photo, she was wear ng t for the f rst t me. She was sm l ng
shyly, her eyes an mated w th dar ng, tell ng h m not to go too
low w th the lens, not down to where the th n s lk clung to her
breasts. He cradled the p cture n h s palm and stared at t, and
then he placed t back n the can, because he had no pockets.
He stood up urgently and stepped around the leather cha r to
the wall of w ndows. Pushed the slats of the bl nd apart w th
both hands and looked out. He had to do someth ng. But he
was e ghty-e ght floors up. Noth ng to see except the r ver and
New Jersey. No ne ghbours oppos te to gesture urgently at.
Noth ng at all oppos te, unt l the Appalach ans reached
Pennsylvan a. He let the bl nds fall back and paced every nch
of the off ce, every nch of the recept on area, and back nto the
off ce to do t all over aga n. Hopeless. He was n a pr son. He
stood n the centre of the floor, sh ver ng, focus ng on noth ng.
He was hungry. He had no dea what t me t was. The off ce
had no clock and he had no watch. The sun was gett ng low n
the west. Late afternoon or early even ng, and he hadn't eaten
lunch. He crept to the off ce door. L stened aga n. Noth ng
except the comfortable hum of the bu ld ng and the rattle of the
refr gerator motor. He stepped out and crossed to the k tchen.
He paused w th h s f nger on the l ght sw tch, and then he dared
to turn t on. A fluorescent tube k cked n. It fl ckered for a
second and threw a flat glare across the room and added an
angry buzz from ts c rcu try. The k tchen was small, w th a
token sta nless-steel s nk and an equal length of counter.
R nsed mugs ups de down, and a f lter mach ne tarred w th old
coffee. A t ny refr gerator under the counter. There was m lk n
there and a s x-pack of beer, and a Zabar's bag, neatly folded
shut. He pulled t out. There was someth ng wrapped n
newspaper. It was heavy, and sol d. He stood up and unrolled
the paper on the counter. There was a plast c bag ns de. He
gr pped the bottom, and the severed hand thumped out on the
counter. The f ngers were wh te and curled, and there was
spongy purple flesh and spl ntered wh te bone and empty blue
tubes tra l ng at the wr st. Then the glare of the fluorescent l ght
spun around and t lted past h s gaze as he fa nted to the floor.
Reacher put the p zza box on the elevator floor and took the
gun out of h s belt and z pped t nto the sports bag w th the
spare shells. Then he crouched and p cked up the p zza aga n n
t me for the elevator door to sl de back on the fourth floor. The
apartment opened up as soon as he stepped w th n range of the
f sh-eye n the door. Jod e was stand ng just ns de the
hallway, wa t ng for h m. She was st ll n the l nen dress. It was
sl ghtly creased across the h ps, from s tt ng all day. Her long
brown legs were sc ssored, one foot n front of the other.
'I brought d nner,' he sa d.
She looked at the sports bag nstead.
'Last chance, Reacher. We should talk w th somebody about
all of th s.'
'No,' he sa d.
He put the bag on the floor and she stepped beh nd h m to
lock the door.
'OK,' she sa d. 'If th s s the government do ng someth ng,
maybe you're r ght. Maybe we should stay away from the cops.'
'R ght,' he sa d.
'So I'm w th you on th s.'
'Let's eat,' he sa d.
He walked through to the k tchen w th the p zza. She had set
the table. There were two place sett ngs, oppos te each other.
Plates, kn ves and forks, paper napk ns, glasses of ced water.
L ke two people were res dent n the apartment. He put the box
on the counter and opened t up.
'You choose,' he sa d.
She was stand ng close beh nd h m. He could feel her there.
He could smell her perfume. He felt the flat of her hand touch
h s back. It burned. She left t there for a second, then she used
t to move h m out of the way.
'Let's spl t t,' she sa d.
She balanced the box on her arm and carr ed t back to the
table. Pulled the sl ces off each other wh le the box canted and
wobbled. Shared them between the
plates. He sat and s pped the water and watched her. She was
slender and energet c and could make any mundane act v ty
look l ke a graceful ballet. She turned away and dumped the
greasy box and turned back. The dress tw sted and flowed w th
her. She sat down. He heard the wh sper of l nen on sk n and
her foot h t h s knee under the table.
'Sorry,' she sa d.
She w ped her f ngers on the napk n and tossed her ha r
beh nd her shoulders and held her head at an angle for the f rst
b te. She ate left-handed, roll ng the wedge nto a po nt,
attack ng t hungr ly.
'No lunch,' she sa d. 'You told me not to leave the bu ld ng.'
She darted her tongue out and caught a thread of cheese.
Sm led self-consc ously as she hooked t back between her l ps.
They shone w th the o l. She took a long dr nk of water.
'Anchov es, my favour te. How d d you know? But they make
you th rsty later, don't they? So salty.'
Her dress was sleeveless and he could see her arms, all the
way down from the l ttle knob of bone at the top of the shoulder.
They were sl m and brown and narrow. Almost no muscle there
at all, just t ny b ceps l ke tendons. She was gorgeous and she
took h s breath away, but she was a puzzle, phys cally. She was
tall, but she was so t ny he d dn't see how there was room for all
the essent al organs ns de her. She was as th n as a st ck, but
looked v brant and f rm and strong. A puzzle. He remembered
the feel of her arm around h s wa st, f fteen years before. L ke
somebody was t ghten ng a th ck rope around h s m ddle.
'I can't stay here ton ght,' he sa d.
She looked across at h m. 'Why not? You got someth ng to do, I'll come do t too. L ke I sa d, I'm w th you on
th s.'
'No, I just can't stay,' he sa d.
'Why not?' she asked aga n.
He took a deep breath and held t. Her ha r was sh mmer ng n
the l ght.
'It's not appropr ate that I should stay here,' he sa d.
'But why not?'
He shrugged, embarrassed. 'Just because, Jod e. Because
you're th nk ng of me l ke a brother or an uncle or someth ng,
because of Leon, but I'm not that, am ?'
She was star ng at h m.
'I'm sorry,' he sa d.
Her eyes were w de. 'What?'
'Th s s not r ght,' he sa d gently. 'You're not my s ster or my
n ece. That's just an llus on because I was close to your dad.
To me, you're a beaut ful woman, and I can't be here alone w th
you.'
'Why not?' she asked aga n, breathless.
'Chr st, Jod e, why not? Because t's not appropr ate, that's
why not. You don't need to hear all the deta ls. You're not my
s ster or my n ece, and I can't keep on pretend ng you are. It's
dr v ng me crazy, pretend ng.'
She was very st ll. Star ng at h m. St ll breathless.
'How long have you felt th s way?' she asked.
He shrugged, embarrassed aga n. 'Always, I guess. S nce I
f rst met you. G ve me a break, Jod e, you weren't a k d. I was
nearer your age than Leon's.'
She was s lent. He held h s breath, wa t ng for the tears. The
outrage. The trauma. She was just star ng at h m. He was
already regrett ng hav ng spoken. He
should have just kept h s damn mouth shut. B tten h s damn
l p and gotten through t. He had been through worse, although
he couldn't exactly remember where or when. '
'I'm sorry,' he sa d aga n.
Her face was blank. W de blue eyes star ng at h m. Her elbows
were on the table. The dress fabr c was bunch ng at the front
and cupp ng forward. He could see the strap of her bra, th n and
wh te aga nst the sk n of her shoulder. He stared at her
angu shed face and closed h s eyes and s ghed n despa r.
Honesty was the best pol cy? Forget about t.
Then she d d a cur ous th ng. She stood up slowly, and turned
and hauled her cha r out of the way. Stepped forward and
gr pped the table edge, both hands, sl m muscles stand ng out
l ke cords. She dragged the table off to one s de. Then she
changed pos t on and turned and butted t w th her th ghs unt l
t was hard back aga nst the counter. Reacher was left s tt ng on
h s cha r, suddenly solated n the m ddle of the room. She
stepped back and stood n front of h m. H s breath froze n h s
chest.
'You're th nk ng of me l ke just a woman?' she asked, slowly.
He nodded.
'Not l ke a k d s ster? Not l ke your n ece?'
He shook h s head. She paused.
'Sexually?' she asked qu etly.
He nodded, st ll embarrassed, res gned. 'Of course sexually.
What do you th nk? Look at yourself. I could hardly sleep last
n ght.'
She just stood there.
'I had to tell you,' he sa d. 'I'm really sorry, Jod e.'
She closed her eyes. Screwed them t ght shut. Then
he saw a sm le. It spread across her whole face. Her hands
clenched at her s de. She exploded forward and hurled herself
at h m. She landed on h s lap and her arms clamped t ght
beh nd h s head and she k ssed h m l ke she would d e f she
stopped.
It was Sheryl's car, but he made Mar lyn dr ve t. He sat n the
back, beh nd Mar lyn, w th Sheryl next to h m w th her arms
crushed beh nd her. The tape was st ll on her mouth, and she
was breath ng hard. He kept the hook rest ng on her lap, w th
the po nt dug n aga nst the sk n of her th gh. H s left hand held
the gun. He touched t to the back of Mar lyn's neck often
enough that she never forgot t was there.
Tony met them n the underground garage. Off ce hours were
over and the place was qu et. Tony handled Sheryl and Hob e
took Mar lyn and the four of them rode up n the fre ght elevator.
Hob e unlocked the door from the corr dor and stepped nto the
recept on area. The k tchen l ght was on. Stone was sprawled
on the floor, n h s underwear. Mar lyn gasped and ran to h m.
Hob e watched the sway of her body under the th n dress and
sm led. Turned back and locked the door. Pocketed the keys
and the gun. Mar lyn had stopped short and was star ng nto the
k tchen, hands up at her mouth aga n, eyes w de, horror n her
face. Hob e followed her gaze. The hand was ly ng on the
counter, palm up, f ngers curled l ke a beggar's. Then Mar lyn
was look ng downward n terror.
'Don't worry,' Hob e sa d. 'It's not one of h s. But t's a
thought, sn't t? I could cut h s hand off f he doesn't do what I
want.'
Mar lyn stared at h m.
'Or I could cut yours off,' he sa d to her. 'I could make h m
watch. Maybe I could make h m do t for me.'
'You're nsane,' Mar lyn sa d.
'He would, you know,' Hob e sa d. 'He'd do anyth ng. He's
pathet c. Look at h m, n h s underwear. You th nk he looks
good n h s underwear?'
She sa d noth ng.
'What about you?' Hob e asked. 'Do you look good n your
underwear? You want to take that dress off and show me?'
She stared at h m n pan c.
'No?' he sa d. 'OK, maybe later. But what about your realestate agent? You th nk she'd look good n her underwear?'
He turned to Sheryl. She was back ng away aga nst the door,
lean ng hard on her taped arms. She st ffened.
'What about t?' he sa d to her. 'You look good n your
underwear?'
She stared and shook her head w ldly. Her breath ng wh stled
through the hole n the tape. Hob e stepped nearer and p nned
her aga nst the door and forced the t p of h s hook under the
wa stband of her sk rt.
'Let's check t out.'
He wrenched w th the hook and Sheryl staggered off-balance
and the fabr c tore open. Buttons scattered and she fell to her
knees. He ra sed h s foot and used the flat of h s sole to push
her all the way over. He nodded to Tony. Tony ducked down and
pulled the torn sk rt down off her thrash ng legs.
'Panty hose,' Hob e sa d. 'God, I hate panty hose. So
unromant c'
He stooped and used the t p of the hook to tear the nylon to
shreds. Her shoes came off. Tony balled the sk rt and the shoes
and the torn nylon and carr ed t to the k tchen. Dropped t nto
the trash. Sheryl scrabbled her bare legs under her and sat
there gasp ng through the tape. She was wear ng t ny wh te
pant es and was try ng to make the ta ls of her blouse fall down
over them. Mar lyn was watch ng her, open mouthed n horror.
'OK, now we're hav ng fun,' Hob e sa d. 'Aren't we?'
'You bet,' Tony sa d. 'But not as much fun as we're go ng to
have.'
Hob e laughed and Stone st rred. Mar lyn ducked down and
helped h m to a s tt ng pos t on on the k tchen floor. Hob e
stepped over and p cked up the severed hand from the
countertop.
'Th s came off the last guy who annoyed me,' he sa d.
Stone was open ng and clos ng h s eyes l ke he could make
the scene change by w p ng t away. Then he stared out at
Sheryl. Mar lyn real zed he had never met her before. He d dn't
know who she was.
'Into the bathroom,' Hob e sa d.
Tony pulled Sheryl to her feet and Mar lyn helped Chester.
Hob e walked beh nd them. They f led nto the b g off ce and
crossed to the bathroom door.
'Ins de,' Hob e sa d.
Stone led the way. The women followed h m. Hob e watched
them go and stood at the door. Nodded n at Stone. 'Tony's
go ng to sleep the n ght out here, on the sofa. So don't come
out aga n. And spend your t me fru tfully. Talk th ngs over w th
your w fe. We're go ng to do the stock transfer tomorrow. Much
better
for her f we do t n an atmosphere of mutual agreement.
Much better. Any other way, there could be bad consequences.
You get my mean ng?'
Stone just stared at h m. Hob e let h s glance l nger on the
women and then he waved the severed hand n farewell and
pulled the door closed.
Jod e's wh te bedroom was flooded w th l ght. For f ve
m nutes every even ng n June, the sun dropped away to the
west and found a sl m stra ght path through Manhattan's tall
bu ld ngs and h t her w ndow w th ts full force. The bl nd
burned l ke t was ncandescent and the walls p cked t up and
bounced t around unt l the whole place was glow ng l ke a soft
wh te explos on. Reacher thought t was ent rely appropr ate. He
was ly ng on h s back, happ er than he could ever remember
gett ng.
If he'd thought about t, he m ght have worr ed. He could
remember mean l ttle proverbs that sa d th ngs l ke p ty the man
who gets what he wants. And t's better to travel hopefully than
to arr ve. To get someth ng you want after f fteen years of
want ng t could have felt strange. But t d dn't. It had felt l ke a
bl ssful rocket tr p to somewhere he had no dea ex sted. It had
been everyth ng he had dreamed t would be, mult pl ed by a
m ll on. She wasn't a myth. She was a l v ng breath ng creature,
hard and strong and s newy and perfumed, warm and shy and
g v ng.
She lay nestled n the crook of h s arm, w th her ha r over h s
face. It was n h s mouth as he breathed. H s hand was rest ng
on her back. He was rock ng t back and forth over her r bs. Her
backbone was n a cleft formed by long shallow muscle. He
traced h s f nger down the groove. Her eyes were closed and
she was
sm l ng. He knew that. He had felt the scrape of her lashes on
h s neck, and h s shoulder could feel the shape of her mouth. It
could decode the feel of the muscles n her face. She was
sm l ng. He moved h s hand. Her sk n was cool and soft.
'I should be cry ng now,' she sa d, qu etly. 'I always thought I
would be. I used to th nk, f th s ever, ever happens, I'll cry
afterwards.'
He squeezed her t ghter. 'Why should we cry?'
'Because of all those wasted years,' she sa d.
'Better late than never,' he sa d.
She came up on her elbows. Cl mbed half on top of h m, her
breasts crushed nto h s chest. 'That stuff you sa d to me, I
could have sa d to you, exactly word for word. I w sh I had, a
long t me ago. But I couldn't.'
'I couldn't, e ther,' he sa d. 'It felt l ke a gu lty secret.'
'Yes,' she sa d. 'My gu lty secret.'
She cl mbed up all the way and sat astr de h m, back stra ght,
sm l ng.
'But now t's not a secret,' she sa d.
'No,' he sa d.
She stretched her arms up h gh and started a yawn that
ended n a contented sm le. He put h s hands on her t ny wa st.
Traced them upward to her breasts. Her sm le broadened to a
gr n. 'Aga n?'
He nudged her s deways w th h s h ps and rolled her over and
la d her down gently on the bed. 'We're play ng catch-up, r ght?
All those wasted years.'
She nodded. Just a t ny mot on, sm l ng, rubb ng her ha r
aga nst the p llow.
Mar lyn took charge. She felt she was the strong one. Chester
and Sheryl were dazed, wh ch she felt was
understandable, because they were the two who had suffered
the abuse. She could guess how vulnerable they must be
feel ng, half-dressed. She felt half-dressed herself, but she
wasn't go ng to worry about that now. She pulled the tape off
Sheryl's mouth and held her wh le she cr ed. Then she ducked
beh nd her and worked the b nd ng free from her wr sts and
unwound t up to her elbows. She balled up the st cky mass and
dropped t n the trash and went back to help massage some
feel ng nto her shoulders. Then she found a washcloth and ran
hot water nto the s nk and sponged the crusted blood off
Sheryl's face. Her nose was swollen and go ng black. She
started worry ng about gett ng her to a doctor. She started
rehears ng th ngs n her head. She had seen mov es where
hostages get taken. Somebody always elects herself
spokesman and says no pol ce and gets the s ck released to the
hosp tal. But how exactly do they do t?
She took the towels from the bar and gave Sheryl a bath
sheet to use as a sk rt. Then she d v ded up the rema nder nto
three p les and la d them on the floor. She could see the t les
were go ng to be cold. Thermal nsulat on was go ng to be
mportant. She sl d the three p les nto a row aga nst the wall.
She sat w th her back aga nst the door, and put Chester on her
left and Sheryl on her r ght. She took the r hands and squeezed
them hard. Chester squeezed back.
'I'm so sorry,' he sa d.
'How much do you owe?' she asked.
'More than seventeen m ll on.'
She d dn't bother to ask f he could pay t back. He wouldn't
be half-naked on a bathroom floor f he could pay t back.
'What does he want?' she asked.
He shrugged at her s de, m serably.
'Everyth ng,' he sa d. 'He wants the whole company.'
She nodded, and focused on the plumb ng under the s nk.
'What would that leave us w th?'
He paused and then shrugged aga n. 'Whatever crumb he
would feel l ke throw ng us. Probably noth ng at all.'
'What about the house?' she asked. 'We'd st ll have that,
r ght? I put t on the market. Th s lady s the broker. She says
t'll sell for nearly two m ll on.'
Stone glanced across at Sheryl. Then he shook h s head. 'The
house belongs to the company. It was a techn cal th ng, eas er
to f nance that way. So Hob e w ll get t, along w th everyth ng
else.'
She nodded and stared nto space. On her r ght, Sheryl was
sleep ng, s tt ng up. The terror had exhausted her.
'You go to sleep, too,' she sa d. 'I'll f gure someth ng out.'
He squeezed her hand aga n and leaned h s head back.
Closed h s eyes.
'I'm so sorry,' he sa d aga n.
She made no reply. Just smoothed the th n s lk down over her
th ghs and stared stra ght ahead, th nk ng hard.
The sun was gone before they f n shed for the second t me. It
became a br ght bar sl d ng s deways off the w ndow. Then t
became a narrow hor zontal beam, play ng across the wh te
wall, travell ng slowly, dust danc ng through t. Then t was
gone, shut off l ke a l ght, leav ng the room w th the cool dull
glow of
even ng. They lay spent and nuzzl ng n a tangle of sheets,
bod es slack, breath ng low. Then he felt her sm le aga n. She
came up on one elbow and looked at h m w th the same teas ng
gr n he'd seen outs de her off ce bu ld ng.
'What?' he asked.
I've got someth ng to tell you,' she sa d.
He wa ted.
'In my off c al capac ty.'
He focused on her face. She was st ll sm l ng. Her teeth were
wh te and her eyes were br ght blue, even n the new cool
d mness. He thought what off c al capac ty? She was a lawyer
who cleaned up the mess when somebody owed somebody
else a hundred m ll on dollars. '
'I don't owe money,' he sa d. 'And I don't th nk anybody owes
me.'
She shook her head. St ll sm l ng. 'As executor of Dad's w ll.'
He nodded. It made sense that Leon should appo nt her. A
lawyer n the fam ly, the obv ous cho ce.
'I opened t up and read t,' she sa d. 'Today, at work.'
'So what's n t? He was a secret m ser? A closet b ll ona re?'
She shook her head aga n. Sa d noth ng.
'He knows what happened to V ctor Hob e and wrote t all
down n h s w ll?'
She was st ll sm l ng. 'He left you someth ng. A bequest.'
He nodded aga n, slowly. That made sense, too. That was
Leon. He'd remember, and he'd p ck out some l ttle th ng, for the
sake of sent ment. But what? He scanned back. Probably a
souven r. Maybe h s
medals? Maybe the sn per r fle he brought home from Korea.
It was an old Mauser, or g nally German, presumably captured
by the Sov ets on the Eastern Front and sold on ten years later
to the r Korean customers. It was a hell of a p ece of mach nery.
Leon and he had speculated on the act on t must have seen,
many t mes. It would be a n ce th ng to have. A n ce memory.
But where the hell would he keep t?
'He left you h s house,' she sa d.
'H s what?'
'H s house,' she sa d aga n. 'Where we were, up n Garr son.'
He stared at her blankly. 'H s house?'
She nodded. St ll sm l ng.
'I don't bel eve t,' he sa d. 'And I can't accept t. What would I
do w th t?'
'What would you do w th t? You'd l ve n t, Reacher. That's
what houses are for, r ght?'
'But I don't l ve n houses,' he sa d. 'I've never l ved n a
house.'
'Well, you can l ve n one now.'
He was s lent. Then he shook h s head. 'Jod e, I just can't
accept t. It should be yours. He should have left t to you. It's
your nher tance.'
'I don't want t,' she sa d s mply. 'He knew that. I l ke the c ty
better.'
'OK, so sell t. But t's yours, r ght? Sell t and keep the
money.'
'I don't need money. He knew that, too. It's worth less than I
make n a year.'
He looked at her. 'I thought that was an expens ve area, r ght
by the r ver?'
She nodded. 'It s.'
He paused, confused.
'H s house?' he sa d aga n.
She nodded.
'D d you know he was do ng th s?'
'Not spec f cally,' she sa d. 'But I knew he wasn't leav ng t to
me. I thought he m ght want me to sell t, g ve the money to
char ty. Old sold ers, or someth ng.'
'OK, so you should do that nstead.'
She sm led aga n. 'Reacher, I can't. It's not up to me. It's a
b nd ng nstruct on n h s w ll. I've got to obey t.'
'H s house,' he sa d vaguely. 'He left me h s house?'
'He was worr ed about you. For two years, he was worry ng.
S nce they cut you loose. He knew how t could be, you spend
the whole of your l fe n the serv ce, and suddenly you f nd
you've got noth ng at the end of t. He was concerned about
how you were l v ng.'
'But he d dn't know how I was l v ng,' he sa d.
She nodded aga n. 'But he could guess, r ght? He was a
smart old guy. He knew you'd be dr ft ng around somewhere. He
used to say, dr ft ng around s great, maybe three or four years.
But what about when he's f fty? S xty? Seventy? He was
th nk ng about t.'
Reacher shrugged, flat on h s back, naked, star ng at the
ce l ng.
'I was never th nk ng about t. One day at a t me was my
motto.'
She made no reply. Just ducked her head and k ssed h s
chest.
'I feel l ke I'm steal ng from you,' he sa d. 'It's your nher tance,
Jod e. You should have t.'
She k ssed h m aga n. 'It was h s house. Even f I wanted t,
we'd have to respect h s w shes. But the fact s I don't want t. I
never d d. He knew that. He was
totally free to do whatever he wanted w th t. And he d d. He
left t to you because he wanted you to have t.'
He was star ng at the ce l ng, but he was wander ng through
the house n h s m nd. Down the dr veway, through the trees,
the garage on h s r ght, the breezeway, the low bulk of the place
on h s left. The den, the l v ng room, the w de slow Hudson
roll ng by. The furn ture. It had looked pretty comfortable.
Maybe he could get a stereo. Some books. A house. H s house.
He tr ed the words n h s head: my house. My house. He barely
knew how to say them. My house. He sh vered.
'He wanted you to have t,' she sa d aga n. 'It's a bequest. You
can't argue aga nst t. It's happened. And t's not any k nd of a
problem to me, I prom se, OK?'
He nodded, slowly.
'OK,' he sa d. 'OK, but we rd. Really, truly we rd.'
'You want coffee?' she asked.
He turned and focused on her face. He could get h s own
coffee mach ne. In h s k tchen. In h s house. Connected to the
electr c ty. H s electr c ty.
'Coffee?' she asked aga n.
'I guess,' he sa d.
She sl d off the bed and found her shoes.
'Black, no sugar, r ght?'
She was stand ng there, naked except for her shoes. Patent,
w th heels. She saw h m look ng at her.
'K tchen floor feels cold. I always wear shoes n there.'
'Forget the coffee, OK?'
They slept n her bed, all n ght, way past dawn. Reacher woke
f rst and eased h s arm out from under
her and checked h s watch. Almost seven. He had slept n ne
hours. The f nest sleep of h s l fe. The best bed. He had slept n
a lot of beds. Hundreds, maybe even thousands. Th s was the
best of all of them. Jod e was asleep bes de h m. She was on
her front and had thrown the sheet off dur ng the n ght. Her
back was bare, all the way down to her wa st. He could see the
swell of her breast under her. Her ha r sp lled over her
shoulders. One knee was pulled up, rest ng on h s th gh. Her
head was bent forward on the p llow, curv ng n, follow ng the
d rect on of her knee. It gave her a compact, athlet c look. He
k ssed her neck. She st rred.
'Morn ng, Jod e,' he sa d.
She opened her eyes. Then she closed them, and opened
them aga n. She sm led. A warm, morn ng sm le.
'I was afra d I'd dreamed t,' she sa d. 'I used to, once.'
He k ssed her aga n. Tenderly, on the cheek. Then less
tenderly, on the mouth. Her arms came around beh nd h m and
he rolled over w th her. They made love aga n, the fourth t me n
f fteen years. Then they showered together, the f rst t me ever.
Then breakfast. They ate l ke they were starv ng.
'I need to go to the Bronx,' he sa d.
She nodded. 'Th s Rutter guy? I'll dr ve. I know roughly where
t s.'
'What about work? I thought you had to go n.'
She looked at h m, myst f ed.
'You told me you had hours to b ll,' he sa d. 'You sounded real
busy.'
She sm led, shyly. 'I made that up. I'm well ahead, really. They
sa d I should take the whole week off. I
just d dn't want to be hang ng around w th you, feel ng what I
was feel ng. That's why I just ran off to bed, the f rst n ght. I
should have shown you the guest room, you know, l ke a proper
l ttle hostess. But I d dn't want to be alone n a bedroom w th
you. It would have dr ven me crazy. So near, but so far, you
know what I mean?'
He nodded. 'So what d d you do n the off ce all day?'
She g ggled. 'Noth ng. Just sat there all day, do ng noth ng.'
'You're nuts,' he sa d. 'Why d dn't you just tell me?'
'Why d dn't you just tell me?'
'I d d tell you.'
'Eventually,' she sa d. 'After f fteen years.'
He nodded. 'I know, but I was worr ed about t. I thought you'd
be hurt or someth ng. I thought t would be the last th ng you
wanted to hear.'
'Same here,' she sa d. 'I thought you'd hate me for ever.'
They looked at each other and they sm led. Then they
gr nned. Then they laughed, and kept on laugh ng for f ve sol d
m nutes.
'I'm go ng to get dressed,' she sa d, st ll laugh ng. He followed
her through to the bedroom and found h s clothes on the floor.
She was halfway nto her closet, select ng someth ng clean. He
watched her, and started wonder ng f Leon's house had
closets. No, f h s house had them. Of course t d d. All houses
had closets, r ght? So d d that mean he'd have to start
assembl ng stuff to f ll them all w th?
She chose jeans and a sh rt, dressed up w th a leather belt
and expens ve shoes. He took h s new jacket out to the hallway
and loaded t w th the Steyr from the
sports bag. He poured twenty loose ref lls nto the oppos te
pocket. All the metal made the jacket feel heavy. She came out
to jo n h m w th the leather-bound folder. She was check ng
Rutter's address.
'Ready?' she asked.
'As I'll ever be,' he sa d.
He made her wa t at every stage wh le he checked ahead. The
exact same procedures he had used the day before. Her safety
had felt mportant then. Now t felt v tal. But everyth ng was
clean and qu et. Empty hallway, empty elevator, empty lobby,
empty garage. They got n the Taurus together and she drove t
around the block and headed back north and east.
'East R ver Dr ve to 1-95 OK w th you?' she asked. 'Go ng
east, t's the Cross Bronx Expressway.'
He shrugged and tr ed to recall the Hertz map. "Then take the
Bronx R ver Parkway north. We need to go to the zoo.'
'The zoo? Rutter doesn't l ve near the zoo.'
'Not the zoo, exactly. The Botan cal Gardens. Someth ng you
need to see.'
She glanced s deways at h m and then concentrated on
dr v ng. Traff c was heavy, just past the peak of rush hour, but t
was mov ng. They followed the r ver north and then north-west
to the George Wash ngton Br dge and turned the r backs on t
and headed east nto the Bronx. The expressway was slow, but
the parkway north was faster, because t was lead ng out of
town and New York was suck ng people nward at that hour.
Across the barr er, the southbound traff c was snarled.
'OK, where to?' she asked.
'Go past Fordham Un vers ty. Past the conservatory,
and park at the top.'
She nodded and made the lane changes. Fordham sl d by on
the left, and then the conservatory on the r ght. She used the
museum entrance and found the lot just beyond t. It was
mostly empty.
'Now what?'
He took the leather-bound folder w th h m.
'Just keep an open m nd,' he sa d.
The conservatory was a hundred yards ahead of them. He had
read all about t n a free leaflet, the day before. It was named for
somebody called En d Haupt and had cost a fortune to bu ld n
1902, and ten t mes as much to renovate n nety-f ve years later,
wh ch was money well spent because the result was
magn f cent. It was huge and ornate, the absolute def n t on of
urban ph lanthropy expressed n ron and m lky wh te glass.
It was hot and damp ns de. Reacher led Jod e around to the
place he was look ng for. The exot c plants were massed n
huge beds bounded by l ttle walls and ra l ngs. There were
benches set on the edges of the walkways. The m lky glass
f ltered the sunl ght to a br ght overcast. There was a strong
smell of heavy damp earth and pungent blooms.
'What?' she asked. She was partly amused, partly mpat ent.
He found the bench he was look ng for and stepped away from
t, close to the low wall. He stepped half a pace left, then
another, unt l he was sure.
'Stand here,' he sa d.
He took her shoulders from beh nd and moved her nto the
same pos t on he had just occup ed. Ducked h s head to her
level and checked.
'Stand on t ptoes,' he told her. 'Look stra ght ahead.'
She made herself taller and stared ahead. Her back
was stra ght and her ha r was sp lled on her shoulders.
'OK,' he sa d. 'Tell me what you see.'
'Noth ng,' she sa d. 'Well, plants and th ngs.'
He nodded and opened the leather folder. Took out the glossy
photograph of the grey emac ated Westerner, fl nch ng away
from h s guard's r fle. He held t out, arm's length n front of her,
just on the edge of her v s on. She looked at t.
'What?' she asked aga n, half amused, half frustrated.
'Compare,' he sa d.
She kept her head st ll and fl cked her eyes left and r ght
between the photograph and the scene n front of her. Then she
snatched the p cture from h m and held t herself, arm's length
n front of her. Her eyes w dened and her face went pale.
'Chr st,' she sa d. 'Sh t, th s p cture was taken here? R ght
here? It was, wasn't t? All these plants are exactly the same.'
He ducked down aga n and checked once more. She was
hold ng the p cture so the shapes of the plants corresponded
exactly. A mass of some k nd of palm on the left, f fteen feet
h gh, fronds of fern to the r ght and beh nd n a tangled spray.
The two f gures would have been twenty feet nto the dense
flower bed, p cked out by a telephoto lens that compressed the
perspect ve and threw the nearer vegetat on out of focus. Well
to the rear was a jungle hardwood, wh ch the camera had
blurred w th d stance. It was actually grow ng n a d fferent bed.
'Sh t,' she sa d aga n. 'Sh t, I don't bel eve t.'
The l ght was r ght, too. The m lky glass way above them gave
a pretty good mpersonat on of jungle overcast. V etnam s a
mostly cloudy place. The jagged mounta ns suck the clouds
down, and most people
remember the fogs and the m sts, l ke the ground tself s
always steam ng. Jod e stared between the photo and the
real ty n front of her, dodg ng fract onally left and r ght to get a
perfect f t.
'But what about the w re? The bamboo poles? It looks so
real.'
'Stage props,' he sa d. 'Three poles, ten yards of barbed w re.
How d ff cult s that to get? They carr ed t n here, probably all
rolled up.'
'But when? How?'
He shrugged. 'Maybe early one morn ng? When the place was
st ll closed? Maybe they know somebody who works here.
Maybe they d d t wh le the place was closed for the
renovat ons.'
She was star ng at the p cture, close up to her eyes. 'Wa t a
damn m nute. You can see that bench. You can see the corner
of that bench over there.'
She showed h m what she meant, w th her f ngerna l placed
prec sely on the glossy surface of the photograph. There was a
t ny square blur, wh te. It was the corner of an ron bench, off to
the r ght, beh nd the ma n scene. The telephoto lens had been
framed t ght, but not qu te t ght enough.
'I d dn't spot that,' he sa d. 'You're gett ng good at th s.'
She turned around to face h m. 'No, I'm gett ng good and mad,
Reacher. Th s guy Rutter took e ghteen thousand dollars for a
faked photograph.'
'Worse than that. He gave them false hope.'
'So what are we go ng to do?'
'We're go ng to pay h m a v s t,' he sa d.
They were back at the Taurus s xteen m nutes after leav ng t.
Jod e threaded back towards the parkway, drumm ng her
f ngers on the wheel and talk ng fast.
'But you told me you bel eved t. I sa d the photo proved the
place ex sted, and you agreed t d d. You sa d you'd been there,
not long ago, got about as close as Rutter had.'
'All true,' Reacher sa d. 'I bel eved the Botan cal Gardens
ex sted. I'd just come back from there. And I got as close as
Rutter d d. I was stand ng r ght next to the l ttle wall where he
must have taken the p cture from.'
'Jesus, Reacher, what s th s? A game?'
He shrugged. 'Yesterday I d dn't know what t was. I mean n
terms of how much I needed to share w th you.'
She nodded and sm led through her exasperat on. She was
remember ng the d fference between yesterday and today. 'But
how the hell d d he expect to get away w th t? The greenhouse
n the New York Botan cal Gardens, for God's sake?'
He stretched n h s seat. Eased h s arms all the way forward
to the w ndsh eld.
'Psychology,' he sa d. 'It's the bas s of any scam, r ght? You
tell people what they want to hear. Those old folks, they wanted
to hear the r boy was st ll al ve. So he tells them the r boy
probably s. So they nvest a lot of hope and money, they're
wa t ng on p ns three whole months, he g ves them a photo, and
bas cally they're go ng to see whatever they want to see. And he
was smart. He asked them for the exact name and un t, he
wanted ex st ng p ctures of the boy, so he could p ck out a
m ddle-aged guy roughly the r ght s ze and shape for the photo,
and he fed them back the r ght name and the r ght un t.
Psychology. They see what they want to see. He could have had
a guy n a gor lla su t n the p cture and they'd have bel eved
t was representat ve of the local w ldl fe.'
'So how d d you spot t?'
'Same way,' he sa d. 'Same psychology, but n reverse. I
wanted to d sbel eve t, because I knew t couldn't be true. So I
was look ng for someth ng that seemed wrong. It was the
fat gues the guy was wear ng that d d t for me. You not ce that?
Old worn-out US Army fat gues? Th s guy went down th rty
years ago. There s absolutely no way a set of fat gues would
last th rty years n the jungle. They'd have rotted off n s x
weeks.'
'But why there? What made you look n the Botan cal
Gardens?'
He spread h s f ngers aga nst the w ndsh eld glass, push ng
to ease the tens on n h s shoulders. 'Where else would he f nd
'vegetat on l ke that? Hawa , maybe, but why spend the a rfare
for three people when t's ava lable free r ght on h s doorstep?'
'And the V etnamese boy?'
'Probably a college k d,' he sa d. 'Probably r ght here at
Fordham. Maybe Columb a. Maybe he wasn't V etnamese at all.
Could have been a wa ter from a Ch nese restaurant. Rutter
probably pa d h m twenty bucks for the photo. He's probably
got four fr ends tak ng turns play ng the Amer can capt ve. A
b g wh te guy, a small wh te guy, a b g black guy, a small black
guy, all the bases covered. All of them bums, so they look th n
and haggard. Probably pa d them n bourbon. Probably took all
the p ctures at the same t me, uses them as appropr ate. He
could have sold that exact same p cture a dozen t mes over.
Anyone whose m ss ng boy was tall and wh te, they get a copy.
Then he swears them all to secrecy w th th s governmentconsp racy sh t, so nobody w ll ever compare notes afterward.'
'He's d sgust ng,' she sa d.
He nodded. 'That's for damn sure. BNR fam l es are st ll a b g,
vulnerable market, I guess, and he's feed ng off t l ke a
maggot.',
'BNR?' she asked.
'Body not recovered,' he sa d. 'That's what they are. KIA/BNR.
K lled n act on, body not recovered.'
'K lled? You don't bel eve there are st ll any pr soners?'
He shook h s head.
'There are no pr soners, Jod e,' he sa d. 'Not any more. That's
all bullsh t.'
'You sure?'
'Totally certa n.'
'How can you be certa n?'
'I just know,' he sa d. 'L ke I know the sky s blue and the
grass s green and you've got a great ass.'
She sm led as she drove. 'I'm a lawyer, Reacher. That k nd of
proof just doesn't do t for me.'
'H stor cal facts,' he sa d. 'The story about hold ng hostages
to get Amer can a d s all baloney, for a start. They were
plann ng to come runn ng south down the Ho Ch M nh Tra l as
soon as we were out of there, wh ch was r ght aga nst the Par s
Accords, so they knew they were never go ng to get any a d no
matter what they d d. So they let all the pr soners go n '73, a b t
slowly, I know, but they let them go. When we left n '75, they
scooped up about a hundred stragglers, and then they handed
them all stra ght back to us, wh ch doesn't j be w th any k nd of
a hostage strategy. Plus they were desperate for us to de-m ne
the r harbours, so they d dn't play s lly games.'
'They were slow about return ng rema ns,' she sa d. 'You
know, our boys k lled n plane crashes or
battles. They played s lly games about that.'
He nodded. 'They d dn't really understand. It was mportant to
us. We wanted two thousand bod es back. They couldn't
understand why. They'd been at war more than forty years:
Japanese, French, the US, Ch na. They probably lost a m ll on
people m ss ng n act on. Our two thousand was a drop n the
bucket. Plus they were Commun sts. They d dn't share the value
we put on nd v duals. It's a psycholog cal th ng aga n. But t
doesn't mean they kept secret pr soners n secret camps.'
'Not a very conclus ve argument,' she sa d dr ly. He nodded
aga n. 'Leon's the conclus ve argument. Your old man, and
people just l ke h m. I know those people. Brave, honourable
people, Jod e. They fought there, and then they rose to power
and prom nence later. The Pentagon s stuffed full of assholes, I
know that as well as anybody, but there were always enough
people l ke Leon around to keep them honest. You answer me a
quest on: f Leon had known there were st ll pr soners kept
back n 'Nam, what would he have done?'
She shrugged. 'I don't know. Someth ng, obv ously.' 'You bet
your ass someth ng,' he sa d. 'Leon would have torn the Wh te
House apart br ck by br ck, unt l all those boys were safely back
home. But he d dn't. And that's not because he d dn't know.
Leon knew everyth ng there was to know. There's no way they
could have kept a th ng l ke that a secret from all the Leons, not
all the t me. A b g consp racy last ng s x adm n strat ons? A
consp racy people l ke Leon couldn't sn ff out? Forget about t.
The Leons of th s world never reacted, so t was never
happen ng. That's conclus ve proof, as far as I'm concerned,
Jod e.'
'No, that's fa th,' she sa d.
'Whatever, t's good enough for me.'
She watched the traff c ahead, and thought about t. Then she
nodded, because n the end, fa th n her father was good
enough for her, too.
'So V ctor Hob e's dead?'
Reacher nodded. 'Has to be. K lled n act on, body not
recovered.'
She drove on, slowly. They were head ng south, and the
traff c was bad.
'OK, no pr soners, no camps,' she sa d. 'No government
consp racy. So they weren't government people who were
shoot ng at us and crash ng the r cars nto us.'
'I never thought t was,' he sa d. 'Most government people I
met were a lot more eff c ent than that. I was a government
person, n a manner of speak ng. You th nk I'd m ss two days n
a row?'
She slewed the car r ght and jammed to a stop on the
shoulder. Turned n her seat to face h m, blue eyes w de.
'So t must be Rutter,' she sa d. 'Who else can t be? He's
runn ng a lucrat ve scam, r ght? And he's prepared to protect t.
He th nks we're go ng to expose t. So he's been look ng for us.
And now we're plann ng to walk r ght nto h s arms.'
Reacher sm led.
'Hey, l fe's full of dangers,' he sa d.
Mar lyn real zed she must have fallen asleep, because she
woke up st ff and cold w th no ses com ng through the door at
her. The bathroom had no w ndow, and she had no dea what
t me t was. Morn ng, she guessed, because she felt l ke she
had been asleep some
t me. On her left, Chester was star ng nto space, h s gaze
f xed a thousand m les beyond the f xtures under the s nk. He
was nert. She turned and looked stra ght at h m, and got no
response at all. On her r ght, Sheryl was curled on the floor. She
was breath ng heav ly through her mouth. Her nose had turned
black and sh ny and swollen. Mar lyn stared at her and
swallowed. Turned aga n and pressed her ear to the door.
L stened hard.
There were two men out there. The sound of two deep vo ces,
talk ng low. She could hear elevators n the d stance. A very
fa nt traff c rumble, w th occas onal s rens, van sh ng nto
st llness. A rcraft no se, l ke a b g jet from JFK was wheel ng
away west across the harbour. She eased herself off the floor.
Her shoes had come off dur ng the n ght. She found them
scuffed under her p le of towels. She sl pped them on and
walked qu etly to the s nk. Chester was star ng stra ght through
her. She checked herself n the m rror. Not too bad, she thought.
The last t me she had spent the n ght on a bathroom floor was
after a soror ty party more than twenty years before, and she
looked no worse now than she had then. She combed her ha r
w th her f ngers and patted water on her eyes. Then she crept
back to the door and l stened aga n.
Two men, but she was pretty sure Hob e wasn't one of them.
There was some equal ty n the tenor of the vo ces. It was backand-forth conversat on, not orders and obed ence. She sl d the
p le of towels backward w th her foot and took a deep breath
and opened the door.
Two men stopped talk ng and turned to stare at her. The one
called Tony was s tt ng s deways on the sofa n front of the
desk. Another she had not seen before
was squatted next to h m on the coffee table. He was a
th ckset man n a dark su t, not tall, but heavy. The desk was not
occup ed. No s gn of Hob e. The w ndow bl nds were closed to a
crack, but she could see br ght sun outs de. It was later than
she thought. She glanced back to the sofa and saw Tony
sm l ng at her.
'Sleep well?' he asked.
She made no reply. Just kept a neutral look f xed on her face
unt l Tony's sm le d ed away. Score one, she thought.
'I talked th ngs over w th my husband,' she l ed.
Tony looked at her, expectantly, wa t ng for her to speak
aga n. She let h m wa t. Score two, she thought.
'We agree to the transfer,' she sa d. 'But t's go ng to be
compl cated. It's go ng to take some t me. There are factors I
don't th nk you apprec ate. We'll do t, but we're go ng to expect
some m n mum co-operat on from you along the way.'
Tony nodded. 'L ke what?'
'I'll d scuss that w th Hob e,' she sa d. 'Not w th you.'
There was s lence n the off ce. Just fa nt no ses from the
world outs de. She concentrated on her breath ng. In and out, n
and out.
'OK,' Tony sa d.
Score three, she thought.
'We want coffee,' she sa d. 'Three cups, cream and sugar.'
More s lence. Then Tony nodded and the th ckset man stood
up. He looked away and walked out of the off ce towards the
k tchen. Score four, she thought.
The return address on Rutter's letter corresponded to a d ngy
storefront some blocks south of any hope of
urban renewal. It was a clapboard bu ld ng sandw ched
between crumbl ng four-storey br ck structures that may have
been factor es or warehouses before they were abandoned
decades ago. Rutter's place had a f lthy w ndow on the left and
an entrance n the centre and a roll-up door stand ng open on
the r ght reveal ng a narrow garage area. There was a brandnew L ncoln Nav gator squeezed n the space. Reacher
recogn zed the model from advert sements he'd seen. It was a
g ant four-wheel-dr ve Ford, w th a th ck gloss of luxury added
n order to just fy ts elevat on to the L ncoln d v s on. Th s one
was metall c black, and t was probably worth more than the
real estate wrapped around t.
Jod e drove r ght past the bu ld ng, not fast, not slow, just
plaus ble c ty-street speed over the potholed road. Reacher
craned h s head around, gett ng a feel for the place. Jod e made
a left and came back around the block. Reacher gl mpsed a
serv ce alley runn ng beh nd the row, w th rusted f re escapes
hang ng above p les of garbage.
'So how do we do th s?' Jod e asked h m.
'We walk r ght n,' he sa d. 'F rst th ng we do s we watch h s
react on. If he knows who we are, we'll play t one way. If he
doesn't, we'll play t another.'
She parked two spaces south of the storefront, n the shadow
of a blackened br ck warehouse. She locked the car and they
walked north together. From the s dewalk they could make out
what was beh nd the d rty w ndow. There was a lame d splay of
Army-surplus equ pment, dusty old camouflage jackets and
water canteens and boots. There were f eld rad os and MRE
rat ons and nfantry helmets. Some of the stuff was already
obsolete before Reacher graduated from West Po nt.
The door was st ff and t worked a bell when t opened. It was
a crude mechan cal system whereby the mov ng door fl cked a
spr ng that fl cked the bell and made the sound. The store was
deserted. There was a counter on the r ght w th a door beh nd t
to the garage. There was a d splay of cloth ng on a c rcular
chrome rack and more random junk p led h gh on a s ngle shelf.
There was a rear door out to the alley, locked shut and alarmed.
In a l ne next to the rear door were f ve padded v nyl cha rs.
Scattered all around the cha rs were c garette butts and empty
beer bottles. The l ght ng was d m, but the dust of years was
v s ble everywhere.
Reacher walked ahead of Jod e. The floor creaked under h m.
Two paces ns de, he could see a trapdoor open beyond the
counter. It was a sturdy door, made from old p ne boards,
h nged w th brass and rubbed to a greasy sh ne where
generat ons of hands had folded t back. Floor jo sts were
v s ble ns de the hole, and a narrow sta rcase bu lt from the
same old wood was lead ng down towards hot electr c l ght. He
could hear feet scrap ng on a cement cellar floor below h m.
'I'll be r ght there, whoever the hell you are,' a vo ce called up
from the hole.
It was a man's vo ce, m ddle-aged, suspended somewhere
between surpr se and bad temper. The vo ce of a man not
expect ng callers. Jod e looked at Reacher and Reacher closed
h s hand around the butt of the Steyr n h s pocket.
A man's head appeared at floor level, then h s shoulders, then
h s torso, as he came on up the ladder. He was a bulky f gure
and had d ff culty cl mb ng out of the hole. He was dressed n
faded ol ve fat gues. He had greasy grey ha r, a ragged grey
beard, a fleshy
face, small eyes. He came out on hands and knees and stood
up.
'Help you?' he sa d.
Then another head and shoulders appeared beh nd h m. And
another. And another. And another. Four men stamped up the
ladder from the cellar. Each one stra ghtened and paused and
looked hard at Reacher and Jod e and then stepped away to the
l ne of cha rs. They were b g men, fleshy, tattooed, dressed n
s m lar old fat gues. They sat w th b g arms crossed aga nst b g
stomachs.
'Help you?' the f rst guy sa d aga n.
'Are you Rutter?' Reacher asked.
The guy nodded. There was no recogn t on n h s eyes.
Reacher glanced at the l ne of men on the r cha rs. They
represented a compl cat on he had not ant c pated.
'What do you want?' Rutter asked.
Reacher changed h s plan. Took a guess about the true
nature of the store's transact ons and what was stacked up
down n the cellar.
'I want a s lencer,' he sa d. 'For a Steyr GB.'
Rutter sm led, real amusement n the set of h s jaw and the
l ght n h s eyes.
'Aga nst the law for me to sell you one, aga nst the law for
you to own one.'
The s ngsong way he sa d t was an outr ght confess on that
he had them and sold them. There was a patron z ng
undercurrent n the tone that sa d I've got someth ng you want
and that makes me better than you. There was no caut on n h s
vo ce. No susp c on that Reacher was a cop try ng to set h m
up. Nobody ever thought Reacher was a cop. He was too b g
and too rough. He d dn't have the prec nct pallor or the urban
furt veness people subconsc ously assoc ate w th cops.
Rutter was not worr ed about h m. He was worr ed about Jod e.
He d dn't know what she was. He had spoken to Reacher but
looked at her. She was look ng back at h m, stead ly.
'Aga nst whose law?' she asked d sm ss vely.
Rutter scratched at h s beard. 'Makes them expens ve.'
'Compared to what?' she asked.
Reacher sm led to h mself. Rutter wasn't sure about her, and
w th two answers, just s x words, she had h m adr ft, th nk ng
she could be anyth ng from a Manhattan soc al te worr ed about
a k dnap threat aga nst her k ds, to a b ll ona re's w fe ntend ng
to nher t early, to a Rotary w fe a m ng to surv ve a messy love
tr angle. She was look ng at h m l ke she was a woman used to
gett ng her own way w thout oppos t on from anybody. Certa nly
not from the law, and certa nly not from some squal d l ttle
Bronx trader.
'Steyr GB?' Rutter asked. 'You want the proper Austr an
p ece?'
Reacher nodded, l ke he was the guy who dealt w th the tr v al
deta ls. Rutter cl cked h s f ngers and one of the heavy men
peeled off from the l ne of cha rs and dropped down the hole.
He came back up a long moment later w th a black cyl nder
wrapped n paper that gun o l had turned transparent.
'Two thousand bucks,' Rutter sa d.
Reacher nodded. The pr ce was almost fa r. The p stol was no
longer manufactured, but he f gured t probably last reta led
around e ght or n ne hundred bucks. F nal factory pr ce for the
suppressor was probably more than two hundred. Two grand
for
llegal supply ten years later and four thousand m les from
the factory gate was almost reasonable.
'Let me see t,' he sa d.
Rutter w ped the tube on h s pants. Handed t over. Reacher
came out w th the gun and cl cked the tube n place. Not l ke n
the mov es. You don't hold t up to your eyes and screw t on,
slowly and thoughtfully and lov ngly. You use l ght fast pressure
and a half-turn and t cl cks on l ke a lens f ts a camera.
It mproved the weapon. Improved ts balance. N nety-n ne
t mes n a hundred, a handgun gets f red h gh because the
reco l fl ps the muzzle upward. The we ght of the s lencer was
go ng to counteract that l kel hood. And a s lencer works by
d spers ng the blast of gas relat vely slowly, wh ch weakens the
reco l n the f rst place.
'Does t work real good?' Reacher asked.
'Sure t does,' Rutter sa d. 'It's the genu ne factory p ece.'
The guy who had brought t upsta rs was back on h s cha r.
Four guys, f ve cha rs. The way to take out a gang s to h t the
leader f rst. It's a un versal truth. Reacher had learned t at the
age of four. F gure out who the leader s, and put h m down f rst,
and put h m down hard. Th s s tuat on was go ng to be d fferent.
Rutter was the leader, but he had to stay n one p ece for the
t me be ng, because Reacher had other plans for h m.
'Two thousand bucks,' Rutter sa d aga n.
'F eld test,' Reacher sa d.
There s no safety catch on a Steyr GB. The f rst pull needs a
pressure of fourteen pounds on the tr gger, wh ch s judged to
be enough to avo d an acc dental d scharge f the gun s
dropped, because fourteen
pounds s a very del berate pull. So there s no separ- ate
safety mechan sm. Reacher fl cked h s hand left and pulled the
fourteen pounds. The gun f red and the empty cha r blew apart.
The sound was loud. Not l ke n the mov es. It's not a l ttle
cough. Not a pol te l ttle sp t. It's l ke tak ng the Manhattan
phone book and ra s ng t way over your head and smash ng t
down on a desk w th all your strength. Not a qu et sound. But
qu eter than t could be.
The four guys were frozen w th shock. Shredded v nyl and
d rty horseha r stuff ng were float ng n the a r. Rutter was
star ng, mot onless. Reacher h t h m hard, left-handed n the
stomach, and k cked h s feet away and dumped h m on the
floor. Then he l ned up the Steyr on the guy next to the
shattered cha r.
'Downsta rs,' he sa d. 'All of you. R ght now, OK?'
Nobody moved. So Reacher counted out loud one, two, and
on three he f red aga n. The same loud blast. The floorboards
spl ntered at the f rst guy's feet. One, two, and Reacher f red
aga n. And aga n, one, two, and f re. Dust and wood spl nters
were burst ng upward. The no se of the repeated shots was
crush ng. There was the strong st nk of burned powder and hot
steel wool ns de the suppressor. The men moved all at once
after the th rd bullet. They fought and crowded to the hatch.
Crashed and tumbled through. Reacher dropped the door
closed on them and dragged the counter over the top of t.
Rutter was up on h s hands and knees. Reacher k cked h m
over on h s back and kept on k ck ng h m unt l he had
scrambled all the way backward and h s head was jammed up
hard aga nst the d splaced counter.
Jod e had the faked photograph n her hand. She crouched
and held t out to h m. He bl nked and
focused on t. H s mouth was work ng, just a ragged hole n
h s beard. Reacher ducked down and caught h s left wr st.
Dragged h s hand up and took hold of the l ttle f nger.
'Quest ons,' he sa d. 'And I'll break a f nger every t me you l e
to me.'
Rutter started struggl ng, us ng all h s strength to tw st up
and away. Reacher h t h m aga n, a sol d blow to the gut, and he
went back down.
'You know who we are?'
'No,' Rutter gasped.
'Where was th s p cture taken?'
'Secret camps,' Rutter gasped. 'V etnam.'
Reacher broke h s l ttle f nger. He just wrenched t s deways
and snapped the knuckle. S deways s eas er than bend ng t all
the way back. Rutter shr eked n pa n. Reacher took hold of the
next f nger. There was a gold r ng on t.
'Where?'
'Bronx Zoo,' Rutter gasped.
'Who's the boy?'
'Just some k d.'
'Who's the man?'
'Fr end,' Rutter gasped.
'How many t mes have you done t?'
'F fteen, maybe,' Rutter sa d.
Reacher bent the r ng f nger s deways.
'That's the truth,' Rutter screamed. 'No more than f fteen, I
prom se. And I never d d anyth ng to you. I don't even know
you.'
'You know the Hob es?' Reacher asked. 'Up n Br ghton?'
He saw Rutter search ng through a mental l st, dazed. Then
he saw h m remember. Then he saw h m
struggl ng to comprehend how those pathet c old suckers
could poss bly have brought all th s down on h s head.
'You're a d sgust ng p ece of sh t, r ght?'
Rutter was roll ng h s head from s de to s de n pan c.
'Say t, Rutter,' Reacher yelled.
'I'm a p ece of sh t,' Rutter wh mpered.
'Where's your bank?'
'My bank?' Rutter repeated blankly.
'Your bank,' Reacher sa d.
Rutter hes tated. Reacher put some we ght back on the r ng
f nger.
'Ten blocks,' Rutter shr eked.
'T tle deed for your truck?'
'In the drawer.'
Reacher nodded to Jod e. She stood up and went around
beh nd the counter. Rattled open the drawers and came out w th
a sheaf of paperwork. She fl cked through and nodded.
'Reg stered n h s name. Cost forty thousand bucks.'
Reacher sw tched h s gr p and caught Rutter by the neck.
Bunched h s shoulder and pushed hard unt l the web of h s
hand was forc ng up under Rutter's jaw.
'I'll buy your truck for a dollar,' he sa d. 'Just shake your head
f you've got a problem w th that, OK?'
Rutter was totally st ll. H s eyes were popp ng under the force
of Reacher's gr p on h s throat.
'And then I'll dr ve you to your bank,' he sa d. 'In my new
truck. You'll take out e ghteen thousand dollars n cash and I'll
g ve t back to the Hob es.'
'No,' Jod e called. 'N neteen-s x-f fty. It was n a safe mutual.
Call t s x per cent, for a year and a half compounded.'
'OK,' Reacher sa d. He ncreased the pressure. 'N neteen-s xf fty for the Hob es, and n neteen-s x-f fty for us.'
Rutter's eyes were search ng Reacher's face. Plead ng. Not
understand ng.
'You cheated them,' Reacher sa d. 'You told them you'd f nd
out what happened to the r boy. You d dn't do that. So now we'll
have to do t for them. So we need expense money.'
Rutter was turn ng blue n the face. H s hands were clamped
hard on Reacher's wr st, desperately try ng to ease the
pressure.
'OK?' Reacher asked. 'So that's what we're go ng to do. Just
shake your head f you've got any k nd of a problem w th any
part of t.'
Rutter was dragg ng hard on Reacher's wr st, but h s head
stayed st ll.
'Th nk of t l ke a tax,' Reacher sa d. 'A tax on cheat ng l ttle
p eces of sh t.'
He jerked h s hand away and stood up. F fteen m nutes later,
he was n Rutter's bank. Rutter was nurs ng h s left hand n h s
pocket and s gn ng a check w th h s r ght. F ve m nutes after
that, Reacher had 39,300 cash dollars z pped nto the sports
bag. F fteen m nutes after that, he left Rutter n the alley beh nd
h s store, w th two dollar b lls stuffed n h s mouth, one for the
s lencer, and one for the truck. F ve m nutes after that, he was
follow ng Jod e's Taurus up to the Hertz return at LaGuard a.
F fteen m nutes after that, they were n the new L ncoln
together, head ng back to Manhattan.
ELEVEN
Even ng falls n Hano a full twelve hours earl er than n New
York, so the sun wh ch was st ll h gh as Reacher and Jod e left
the Bronx had already sl pped beh nd the h ghlands of northern
Laos, two hundred m les away to the west of No Ba A rport.
The sky was glow ng orange and the long shadows of late
afternoon were replaced by the sudden dull gloom of trop cal
dusk. The smells of the c ty and the jungle were masked under
the reek of kerosene, and the no ses of car horns and n ght-t me
nsects were blown away by the steady wh ne of jet eng nes
dl ng.
A g ant US A r Force C-141 Starl fter transport was stand ng
on the apron, a m le from the crowded passenger term nals,
next to an unmarked hangar. The plane's rear ramp was down,
and ts eng nes were runn ng fast enough to power the nter or
l ght ng. Ins de the unmarked hanger, too, l ghts were on. There
were a hundred arc l ghts, slung h gh up under the corrugated
metal roof, wash ng the cavernous space w th the r br ght
yellow glow.
The hangar was as large as a stad um, but t held noth ng
except seven caskets. Each one of them was s x and a half feet
long, made from r bbed alum n um
pol shed to a h gh sh ne and shaped roughly l ke a coff n,
wh ch s exactly what each one of them was. They were
stand ng n a neat row, on trestles, each one draped w th an
Amer can flag. The flags were newly laundered and cr sply
pressed, and the centre str pe of each flag was prec sely
al gned w th the centre r b of each casket.
There were n ne men and two women n the hangar, stand ng
next to the seven alum n um caskets. S x of the men were there
as the honour guard. They were regular sold ers of the Un ted
States Army, newly shaved, dressed n mmaculate ceremon al
un forms, hold ng themselves at r g d attent on, away from the
other f ve people. Three of those were V etnamese, two men and
a woman, short, dark, mpass ve. They were dressed n un form,
too, but the rs were everyday un forms, not ceremon al. Dark
ol ve cloth, worn and creased, badged here and there w th the
unfam l ar ns gn a of the r rank.
The last two people were Amer cans, dressed n c v l an
clothes, but the sort of c v l an clothes that nd cate m l tary
status as clearly as any un form. The woman was young, w th a
m d-length canvas sk rt and a long-sleeved khak blouse, w th
heavy brown shoes on her feet. The man was tall, s lver-ha red,
maybe f fty-f ve years old, dressed n trop cal khak s under a
l ghtwe ght belted ra ncoat. He was carry ng a battered brown
leather br efcase n h s hand, and there was a garment bag of
s m lar v ntage on the ground at h s feet.
The tall s lver-ha red man nodded to the honour guard, a t ny
s gnal, almost mpercept ble. The sen or sold er spoke a muted
command and the s x men formed up n two l nes of three. They
slow-marched
forward, and r ght-turned, and slow-marched aga n unt l they
were l ned up prec sely, three each s de of the f rst casket. They
paused a beat and stooped and l fted the casket to the r
shoulders n a s ngle flu d movement. The sen or man spoke
aga n, and they slow-marched forward towards the hangar door,
the casket supported exactly level on the r l nked arms, the only
sounds the crunch of the r boots on the concrete and the wh ne
of the wa t ng eng nes.
On the apron, they turned r ght and wheeled a w de slow
sem c rcle through the hot jet wash unt l they were l ned up w th
the Starl fter's ramp. They slow-marched forward, up the exact
centre of the ramp, feel ng carefully w th the r feet for the metal
r bs bolted there to help them, and on nto the belly of the plane.
The p lot was wa t ng for them. She was a US A r Force capta n,
tr m n a trop cal- ssue fl ght su t. Her crew was stand ng at
attent on w th her, a cop lot, a fl ght eng neer, a nav gator, a
rad o operator. Oppos te them were the loadmaster and h s
crew, s lent n green fat gues. They stood face-to-face n two
st ll l nes, and the honour guard f led slowly between them, all
the way up to the forward load ng bay. There they bent the r
knees and gently lowered the casket on to a shelf bu lt along
the fuselage wall. Four of the men stood back, heads bowed.
The forward man and the rear man worked together to sl de the
casket nto place. The loadmaster stepped forward and secured
t w th rubber straps. Then he stepped back and jo ned the
honour guard and held a long s lent salute.
It took an hour to load all seven caskets. The people ns de
the hangar stood s lent throughout, and then they followed the
seventh casket on to the apron. They matched the r walk to the
honour guard's slow pace,
and wa ted at the bottom of the Starl fter's ramp n the hot
no sy damp of the even ng. The honour guard came out, duty
done. The tall s lver-ha red Amer can saluted them and shook
hands w th the three V etnamese off cers and nodded to the
Amer can woman. No words were exchanged. He shouldered
h s garment bag and ran l ghtly up the ramp nto the plane. A
slow powerful motor wh rred and the ramp closed shut beh nd
h m. The eng nes ran up to speed and the g ant plane came off
ts brakes and started to tax . It wheeled a w de cumbersome
left and d sappeared beh nd the hangar. Its no se grew fa nt.
Then t grew loud aga n n the d stance and the watchers saw t
come back along the runway, eng nes scream ng, accelerat ng
hard, l ft ng off. It yawed r ght, cl mb ng fast, turn ng, d pp ng a
w ng, and then t was gone, just a tr angle of w nk ng l ghts t ny
n the d stance and a vague smudge of black kerosene smoke
trac ng ts curved path nto the n ght a r.
The honour guard d spersed n the sudden s lence and the
Amer can woman shook hands w th the three V etnamese
off cers and walked back to her car. The three V etnamese
off cers walked n a d fferent d rect on, back to the rs. It was a
Japanese sedan, repa nted a dull m l tary green. The woman
drove, and the two men sat n the back. It was a short tr p to the
centre of Hano . The woman parked n a cha n-l nk compound
beh nd a low concrete bu ld ng pa nted the colour of sand. The
men got out w thout a word and went ns de through an
unmarked door. The woman locked the car and walked around
the bu ld ng to a d fferent entrance. She went ns de and up a
short fl ght of sta rs to her off ce. There was a bound ledger
open on her desk. She recorded the safe despatch of the cargo
n
neat handwr t ng and closed the ledger. She carr ed t to a
f l ng cab net near her off ce door. She locked t ns de, and
glanced through the door, up and down the corr dor. Then she
returned to her desk and p cked up her telephone and d alled a
number eleven thousand m les away n New York.
Mar lyn got Sheryl woken up and Chester brought round nto
some sort of consc ousness before the th ckset man came nto
the bathroom w th the coffee. It was n mugs, and he was
hold ng them two n one hand and one n the other, unsure of
where to leave them. He paused and stepped to the s nk and
l ned them up on the narrow gran te ledge under the m rror.
Then he turned w thout speak ng and walked back out. Pulled
the door closed after h m, f rmly, but w thout slamm ng t.
Mar lyn handed out the mugs one at a t me, because she was
trembl ng and pretty sure she was go ng to sp ll them f she
tr ed them two at a t me. She squatted down and gave the f rst
one to Sheryl, and helped her take the f rst s p. Then she went
back for Chester's. He took t from her blankly and looked at t
l ke he d dn't know what t was. She took the th rd for herself
and stood aga nst the s nk and drank t down, th rst ly. It was
good. The cream and the sugar tasted l ke energy.
'Where are the stock cert f cates?' she wh spered.
Chester looked up at her, l stlessly. 'At my bank, n my box.'
Mar lyn nodded. Came face-to-face w th the fact she d dn't
know wh ch Chester's bank was. Or where t was. Or what stock
cert f cates were for.
'How many are there?'
He shrugged. 'A thousand, or g nally. I used three
hundred for secur ty aga nst the loans. I had to g ve them up
to the lender, temporar ly.'
'And now Hob e's got those?'
He nodded. 'He bought the debt. They'll messenger the
secur ty to h m, today, maybe. They don't need t any more. And
I pledged h m another n nety. They're st ll n the box. I guess I
was due to del ver them soon.'
'So how does the transfer actually happen?'
He shrugged aga n, wear ly, vaguely. 'I s gn the stock over to
h m, he takes the cert f cates and reg sters them w th the
Exchange, and when he's got f ve hundred and one reg stered
n h s name, then he's the major ty owner.'
'So where's your bank?'
Chester took h s f rst s p of coffee. 'About three blocks from
here. About f ve m nutes' walk. Then another f ve m nutes to the
Exchange. Call t ten m nutes beg nn ng to end, and we're
penn less and homeless on the street.'
He set the mug on the floor and lapsed back nto star ng.
Sheryl was l stless. Not dr nk ng her coffee. Her sk n looked
clammy. Maybe concussed, or someth ng. Maybe st ll n shock.
Mar lyn d dn't know. She had no exper ence. Her nose was
awful. Black and swollen. The bru s ng was spread ng under her
eyes. Her l ps were cracked and dry, from breath ng through her
mouth all n ght.
'Try some more coffee,' she sa d. 'It'll be good for you.'
She squatted bes de her and gu ded her hand up to her
mouth. T lted the mug. Sheryl took a s p. Some of the hot l qu d
ran down her ch n. She took another s p. She glanced up at
Mar lyn, w th someth ng n her eyes. Mar lyn d dn't know what t
was, but she sm led
back anyway, br ght w th encouragement.
'We'll get you to the hosp tal,' she wh spered.
Sheryl closed her eyes and nodded, l ke she was suddenly
f lled w th rel ef. Mar lyn knelt bes de her, hold ng her hand,
star ng at the door, wonder ng how she was go ng to del ver on
that prom se.
'Are you go ng to keep th s th ng?' Jod e asked.
She was talk ng about the L ncoln Nav gator. Reacher thought
about t as he wa ted. They were jammed up on the approach to
the Tr borough.
'Maybe,' he sa d.
It was more or less brand new. Very qu et and smooth. Black
metall c outs de, tan leather ns de, four hundred m les on the
clock, st ll reek ng of new h de and new carpet and the strong
plast c smell of a box-fresh veh cle. Huge seats, each one
dent cal w th the dr ver's cha r, lots of fat consoles w th dr nks
holders and l ttle l ds suggest ve of secret storage spaces.
'I th nk t's gross,' she sa d.
He sm led. 'Compared to what? That t ny l ttle th ng you were
dr v ng?'
'That was much smaller than th s.'
'You're much smaller than me.'
She was qu et for a beat.
'It was Flutter's,' she sa d. 'It's ta nted.'
The traff c moved, and then stopped aga n halfway over the
Harlem R ver. The bu ld ngs of M dtown were far away to h s
left, and hazy, l ke a vague prom se.
'It's just a tool,' he sa d. 'Tools have no memory.'
'I hate h m,' she sa d. 'I th nk more than I've ever hated
anybody.'
He nodded.
'I know,' he sa d. 'The whole t me we were n there I was
th nk ng about the Hob es, up there n Br ghton, alone n the r
l ttle house, the look n the r eyes. Send ng your only boy off to
war s a hell of a th ng, and to be l ed to and cheated afterward,
Jod e, there's no excuse for that. Swap the chronology, t could
have been my folks. And he d d t f fteen t mes. I should have
hurt h m worse.'
'As long as he doesn't do t aga n,' she sa d.
He shook h s head. 'The l st of targets s shr nk ng. Not too
many BNR fam l es left now to fall for t.'
They made t off the br dge and headed south on Second
Avenue. It was fast and clear ahead for s xty blocks.
'And t wasn't h m com ng after us,' she sa d qu etly. 'He d dn't
know who we were.'
Reacher shook h s head aga n. 'No. How many fake
photographs do you have to sell to make t worth trash ng a
Chevy Suburban? We need to analyse t r ght from the
beg nn ng, Jod e. Two full-t me employees get sent to the Keys
and up to Garr son, r ght? Two full-t me salar es, plus weapons
and a rfare and all, and they're r d ng around n the Tahoe, then
a th rd employee shows up w th a Suburban he can afford to
just dump on the street? That's a lot of money, and t's probably
just the v s ble t p of some k nd of an ceberg. It mpl es
someth ng worth maybe m ll ons of dollars. Rutter was never
mak ng that k nd of money, r pp ng off old folks for e ghteen
thousand bucks a pop.'
'So what the hell s th s about?'
Reacher just shrugged and drove, and watched the m rror all
the way.
Hob e took the call from Hano at home. He l stened to the
V etnamese woman's short report and hung up w thout
speak ng. Then he stood n the centre of h s l v ng room and
t lted h s head to one s de and narrowed h s good eye l ke he
was watch ng someth ng phys cal happen ng n front of h m.
L ke he was watch ng a baseball soar ng out of the d amond,
loop ng upward nto the glare of the l ghts, an outf elder
track ng back under t, the fence gett ng closer, the glove
com ng up, the ball soar ng, the fence loom ng, the outf elder
leap ng. W ll the ball clear the fence? Or not? Hob e couldn't
tell.
He stepped across the l v ng room and out to the terrace. The
terrace faced west across the park, from th rty floors up. It was
a v ew he hated, because all the trees rem nded h m of h s
ch ldhood. But t enhanced the value of h s property, wh ch was
the name of the game. He wasn't respons ble for the way other
people's tastes drove the market. He was just there to benef t
from them. He turned and looked left, to where he could see h s
off ce bu ld ng, all the way downtown. The Tw n Towers looked
shorter than they should, because of the curvature of the earth.
He turned back ns de and sl d the door closed. Walked through
the apartment and out to the elevator. Rode down all the way to
the park ng garage.
H s car was not mod f ed n any way to help h m w th h s
hand cap. It was a late-model Cad llac sedan w th the gn t on
and the selector on the r ght of the steer ng column. Us ng the
key was awkward, because he had to lean across w th h s left
hand and jab t n backward and tw st. But after that, he never
had much of a problem. He put t n dr ve by us ng the hook on
the selector and drove out of the garage one-handed, us ng
h s left, the hook rest ng down n h s lap.
He felt better once he was south of F fty-n nth Street. The
park d sappeared and he was deep n the no sy canyons of
M dtown. The traff c comforted h m. The Cad llac's a rcond t on ng rel eved the tch ng under h s scars. June was the
worst t me for that. Some part cular comb nat on of heat and
hum d ty acted together to dr ve h m crazy. But the Cad llac
made t better. He wondered dly whether Stone's Mercedes
would be as good. He thought not. He had never trusted the a r
on fore gn cars. So he would turn t nto cash. He knew a guy n
Queens who would spr ng for t. But t was another chore on the
l st. A lot to do, and not much t me to do t n. The outf elder was
r ght there, under the ball, leap ng, w th the fence at h s back.
He parked n the underground garage, n the slot prev ously
occup ed by the Suburban. He reached across and pulled the
key and locked the Cad llac. Rode upsta rs n the express
elevator. Tony was at the recept on counter.
'Hano called aga n,' Hob e told h m. 'It's n the a r.'
Tony looked away.
'What?' Hob e asked h m.
'So we should just abandon th s Stone th ng.'
'It'll take them a few days, r ght?'
'A few days m ght not be enough,' Tony sa d. 'There are
compl cat ons. The woman says she's talked t over w th h m,
and they'll do the deal, but there are compl cat ons we don't
know about.'
'What compl cat ons?'
Tony shook h s head. 'She wouldn't tell me. She wants to tell
you, d rect.'
Hob e stared at the off ce door. 'She's k dd ng,
r ght? She damn well better be k dd ng. I can't afford any k nd
of compl cat ons now. I just pre-sold the s tes, three separate
deals. I gave my word. The mach nery s n mot on. What
compl cat ons?'
'She wouldn't tell me,' Tony sa d aga n.
Hob e's face was tch ng. There was no a r-cond t on ng n the
garage. The short walk to the elevator had upset h s sk n. He
pressed the hook to h s forehead, look ng for some rel ef from
the metal. But the hook was warm, too.
'What about Mrs Jacob?' he asked.
'She was home all n ght,' Tony sa d. 'W th th s Reacher guy. I
checked. They were laugh ng about someth ng th s morn ng. I
heard them from the corr dor. Then they drove somewhere,
north on the FDR Dr ve. Maybe go ng back to Garr son.'
'I don't need her n Garr son. I need her r ght here. And h m.'
Tony was s lent.
'Br ng Mrs Stone to me,' Hob e sa d.
He walked nto h s off ce and across to h s desk. Tony went
the oppos te way, towards the bathroom. He came out a
moment later, push ng Mar lyn n front of h m. She looked t red.
The s lk sheath looked lud crously out of context, l ke she was a
partygoer caught out by a bl zzard and stranded n town the
morn ng after.
Hob e po nted to the sofa.
'S t down, Mar lyn,' he sa d.
She rema ned stand ng. The sofa was too low. Too low to s t
on n a short dress, and too low to ach eve the psycholog cal
advantage she was go ng to need. But to stand n front of h s
desk was wrong, too. Too suppl cant. She walked around to the
wall of w ndows.
Eased the slats apart and gazed out at the morn ng. Then she
turned and propped herself aga nst the ledge. Made h m rotate
h s cha r to face her.
'What are these compl cat ons?' he asked.
She looked at h m and took a deep breath.
'We'll get to that,' she sa d. 'F rst we get Sheryl to the
hosp tal.'
There was s lence. No sound at all, except the rumbl ng and
boom ng of the populated bu ld ng. Far away to the west, a
s ren sounded fa ntly. Maybe all the way over n Jersey C ty.
'What are these compl cat ons?' he asked aga n. He used the
same exact vo ce, the same exact ntonat on. L ke he was
prepared to overlook her m stake.
'The hosp tal f rst.'
The s lence cont nued. Hob e turned back to Tony.
'Get Stone out of the bathroom,' he sa d.
Stone stumbled out, n h s underwear, w th Tony's knuckles n
h s back, all the way to the desk. He h t h s sh ns on the coffee
table and gasped n pa n.
'What are these compl cat ons?' Hob e asked h m.
He just glanced w ldly left and r ght, l ke he was too scared
and d sor entated to speak. Hob e wa ted. Then he nodded.
'Break h s leg,' he sa d.
He turned to look at Mar lyn. There was s lence. No sound,
except Stone's ragged breath ng and the fa nt boom of the
bu ld ng. Hob e stared on at Mar lyn. She stared back at h m.
'Go ahead,' she sa d qu etly. 'Break h s damn leg. Why should
I care? He's made me penn less. He's ru ned my l fe. Break both
h s damn legs f you feel l ke t. But t won't get you what you
want any qu cker. Because there are compl cat ons, and the
sooner we
get to them, the better t s for you. And we won't get to them
unt l Sheryl s n the hosp tal.'
She leaned back on the w ndow ledge, palms down, arms
locked from the shoulder. She hoped t made her look relaxed
and casual, but she was do ng t to keep herself from fall ng on
the floor.
'The hosp tal f rst,' she sa d aga n. She was concentrat ng so
hard on her vo ce, t sounded l ke somebody else's. She was
pleased w th t. It sounded OK. A low, f rm vo ce, steady and
qu et n the s lent off ce.
'Then we deal,' she sa d. 'Your cho ce.'
The outf elder was leap ng, glove h gh, and the ball was
dropp ng. The glove was h gher than the fence. The trajectory of
the ball was too close to call. Hob e tapped h s hook on the
desk. The sound was loud. Stone was star ng at h m. Hob e
gnored h m and glanced up at Tony.
'Take the b tch to the hosp tal,' he sa d sourly.
'Chester goes w th them,' Mar lyn sa d. 'For ver f cat on. He
needs to see her go ns de to the ER, alone. I stay here, as
surety.'
Hob e stopped tapp ng. Looked at her and sm led. 'Don't you
trust me?'
'No, I don't trust you. We don't do t th s way, you'll just take
Sheryl out of here and lock her up someplace else.'
Hob e was st ll sm l ng. 'Farthest th ng from my thoughts. I
was go ng to have Tony shoot her and dump her n the sea.'
There was s lence aga n. Mar lyn was shak ng ns de.
'You sure you want to do th s?' Hob e asked her. 'She says
one word to the hosp tal people, she gets you k lled, you know
that, r ght?'
Mar lyn nodded. 'She won't say anyth ng to
anybody. Not know ng you've st ll got me here.'
'You better pray she doesn't.'
'She won't. Th s sn't about us. It's about her. She needs to
get help.'
She stared at h m, lean ng back, feel ng fa nt. She was
search ng h s face for a s gn of compass on. Some acceptance
of h s respons b l ty. He stared back at her. There was no
compass on n h s face. Noth ng there at all, except annoyance.
She swallowed and took a deep breath.
'And she needs a sk rt. She can't go out w thout one. It'll look
susp c ous. The hosp tal w ll get the pol ce nvolved. Ne ther of
us wants that. So Tony needs to go out and buy her a new sk rt.'
'Lend her your dress,' Hob e sa d. 'Take t off and g ve t to
her.'
There was a long s lence.
'It wouldn't f t her,' Mar lyn sa d.
'That's not the reason, s t?'
She made no reply. S lence. Hob e shrugged.
'OK,' he sa d.
She swallowed aga n. 'And shoes.'
'What?'
'She needs shoes,' Mar lyn sa d. 'She can't go w thout shoes.'
'Jesus,' Hob e sa d. 'What the hell next?'
'Next, we deal. Soon as Chester s back here and tells me he
saw her walk n alone and unharmed, then we deal.'
Hob e traced the curve of h s hook w th the f ngers of h s left
hand.
'You're a smart woman,' he sa d.
I know I am, Mar lyn thought. That's the f rst of your
compl cat ons.
Reacher placed the sports bag on the wh te sofa underneath
the Mondr an copy. He unz pped t and turned t over and sp lled
out the br cks of f ft es. Th rty-n ne thousand three hundred
dollars n cash. He spl t t n half by toss ng the br cks
alternately left and r ght to oppos te ends of the sofa. He
f n shed up w th two very mpress ve stacks.
'Four tr ps to the bank,' Jod e sa d. 'Under ten thousand
dollars, the report ng rules don't apply, and we don't want to be
answer ng any quest ons about where we got th s from, r ght?
We'll put t n my account and cut the Hob es a cash er's check
for n ne-teen-s x-f fty. Our half, we'll access through my gold
card, OK?'
Reacher nodded. 'We need a rfare to St Lou s, M ssour , plus
a hotel. N neteen grand n the bank, we can stay n decent
places and go bus ness class.'
'It's the only way to fly,' she sa d. She put her arms around h s
wa st and stretched up on t ptoes and k ssed h m on the mouth.
He k ssed her back, hard.
'Th s s fun, sn't t?' she sa d.
'For us, maybe,' he sa d. 'Not for the Hob es.'
They made three tr ps together to three separate banks and
wound up at a fourth, where she made the f nal depos t and
bought a cash er's check made out to Mr T. and Mrs M. Hob e n
the sum of $19,650. The bank guy put t n a creamy envelope
and she z pped t nto her pocketbook. Then they walked back
to Broadway together, hold ng hands, so she could pack for the
tr p. She put the bank envelope n her bureau and he got on the
phone and establ shed that Un ted from JFK was the best bet
for St Lou s, that t me of day.
'Cab?' she asked.
He shook h s head. 'We'll dr ve.'
The b g V-8 made a hell of a sound n the basement garage.
He bl pped the throttle a couple of t mes and gr nned. The
torque rocked the heavy veh cle, s de to s de on ts spr ngs.
'The pr ce of the r toys,' Jod e sa d.
He looked at her.
'You never heard that?' she sa d. 'D fference between the men
and the boys s the pr ce of the r toys?'
He bl pped the motor and gr nned aga n. 'Pr ce on th s was a
dollar.'
'And you just bl pped away two dollars n gas,' she sa d.
He shoved t n dr ve and took off up the ramp. Worked
around east to the M dtown Tunnel and took 495 to the Van
Wyck and down nto the sprawl of JFK.
'Park n short-term,' she sa d. 'We can afford t now, r ght?'
He had to leave the Steyr and the s lencer beh nd. No easy
way to get through the a rport secur ty hoops w th b g metal
weapons n your pocket. He h d them under the dr ver's seat.
They left the L ncoln n the lot r ght oppos te the Un ted bu ld ng
and f ve m nutes later were at the counter buy ng two bus nessclass one-ways to St Lou s. The expens ve t ckets ent tled them
to wa t n a spec al lounge, where a un formed steward served
them good coffee n ch na cups w th saucers, and where they
could read the Wall Street Journal w thout pay ng for t. Then
Reacher carr ed Jod e's bag down the jet way nto the plane.
The bus ness-class seats were two-on-a-s de, the f rst
half-dozen rows. W de, comfortable seats. Reacher sm led.
'I never d d th s before,' he sa d.
He sl d nto the w ndow seat. He had room to stretch out a
l ttle. Jod e was lost n her seat. There was room enough for
three of her, s de by s de. The attendant brought them ju ce
before the plane even tax ed. M nutes later they were n the a r,
wheel ng west across the southern t p of Manhattan.
Tony came back nto the off ce w th a sh ny red Talbot's bag
and a brown Bally carr er hang ng by the r rope handles from
h s clenched f st. Mar lyn carr ed them nto the bathroom and
f ve m nutes later Sheryl came out. The new sk rt was the r ght
s ze, but the wrong colour. She was smooth ng t down over her
h ps w th vague movements of her hands. The new shoes d dn't
match the sk rt and they were too b g. Her face looked awful.
Her eyes were blank and acqu escent, l ke Mar lyn had told her
they should be.
'What are you go ng to tell the doctors?' Hob e called to her.
Sheryl looked away and concentrated on Mar lyn's scr pt.
'I walked nto a door,' she sa d.
Her vo ce was low and nasal. Dull, l ke she was st ll n shock.
'Are you go ng to call the cops?'
She shook her head. 'No, I'm not go ng to do that.'
Hob e nodded. 'What would happen f you d d?'
'I don't know,' she repl ed. Blank and dull.
'Your fr end Mar lyn would d e, n terr ble pa n. You
understand that?'
He ra sed the hook and let her focus on t from
across the room. Then he came out from beh nd the desk.
Walked around and stood d rectly beh nd Mar lyn. Used h s left
hand to l ft her ha r as de. H s hand brushed her sk n. She
st ffened. He touched her cheek w th the curve of the hook.
Sheryl nodded, vaguely.
'Yes, I understand that,' she sa d.
It had to be done qu ckly, because although Sheryl was now
n her new sk rt and shoes, Chester was st ll n h s boxers and
undersh rt. Tony made them both wa t n recept on unt l the
fre ght elevator arr ved, and then he hustled them along the
corr dor and ns de. He stepped out n the garage and scanned
ahead. Hustled them over to the Tahoe and pushed Chester nto
the back seat and Sheryl nto the front. He f red t up and locked
the doors. Took off up the ramp and out to the street.
He could recall offhand maybe two dozen hosp tals n
Manhattan, and as far as he knew most of them had emergency
rooms. H s nst nct was to dr ve all the way north, maybe up to
Mount S na on 100th Street, because he felt t would be safer to
put some d stance between themselves and wherever Sheryl
was go ng to be. But they were t ght for t me. To dr ve all the
way Uptown and back was go ng to take an hour, maybe more.
An hour they couldn't spare. So he dec ded on St V ncent's on
Eleventh Street and Seventh Avenue. Bellevue, over on Twentyseventh and F rst, was better geograph cally, but Bellevue was
usually swarm ng w th cops, for one reason or another. That
was h s exper ence. They pract cally l ved there. So St V ncent's
t would be. And he knew St V ncent's had a b g w de area
fac ng the ER entrance, where
Greenw ch Avenue sl ced across Seventh. He remembered
the layout from when they had gone out to capture Costello's
secretary. A b g w de area, almost l ke a plaza. They could
watch her all the way ns de, w thout hav ng to stop too close.
The dr ve took e ght m nutes. He eased nto the kerb on the
west s de of Seventh and cl cked the button to unlock the
doors.
'Out,' he sa d.
She opened the door and sl d down to the s dewalk. Stood
there, uncerta n. Then she moved away to the crosswalk,
w thout look ng back. Tony leaned over and slammed the door
beh nd her. Turned n h s seat towards Stone.
'So watch her,' he sa d.
Stone was already watch ng her. He saw the traff c stop and
the walk l ght change. He saw her step forward w th the crowd,
dazed. She walked slower than the others, shuffl ng n her b g
shoes. Her hand was up at her face, mask ng t. She reached the
oppos te s dewalk well after the walk l ght changed back to
don't. An mpat ent truck pulled r ght and eased around her. She
walked on towards the hosp tal entrance. Across the w de
s dewalk. Then she was n the ambulance c rcle. A pa r of
double doors ahead of her. Scarred, floppy plast c doors. A tr o
of nurses stand ng next to them, on the r c garette break,
smok ng. She walked past the nurses, stra ght to the doors,
slowly. She pushed at them, tentat vely, both hands. They
opened. She stepped ns de. The doors fell shut beh nd her.
'OK, you see that?'
Stone nodded. 'Yes, I saw t. She's ns de.'
Tony checked h s m rror and fought h s way out
nto the traff c stream. By the t me he was a hundred yards
south, Sheryl was wa t ng n the tr age l ne, go ng over and over
n her head what Mar lyn had told her to do.
It was a short and cheap cab r de from the St Lou s a rport to
the Nat onal Personnel Records Center bu ld ng, and fam l ar
terr tory for Reacher. Most of h s States de tours of duty had
nvolved at least one tr p through the arch ves, search ng
backward n t me for one th ng or another. But th s t me, t was
go ng to be d fferent. He would be go ng n as a c v l an. Not the
same th ng as go ng n dressed n a major's un form. Not the
same th ng at all. He was clear on that.
Publ c access s controlled by the counter staff n the lobby.
The whole arch ve s techn cally part of the publ c record, but
the staff take a lot of trouble to keep that fact well obscured. In
the past Reacher had agreed w th that tact c, no hes tat on.
M l tary records can be very frank, and they need to be read and
nterpreted n str ct context. He'd always been very happy they
were kept away from the publ c. But now he was the publ c, and
he was wonder ng how t was go ng to play. There were m ll ons
of f les p led up n dozens of huge storerooms, and t would be
very easy to wa t days or weeks before anyth ng got found,
even w th the staff runn ng around l ke crazy and look ng
exactly l ke they were do ng the r absolute best. He had seen t
happen before, from the ns de, many t mes. It was a very
plaus ble act. He had watched t, w th a wry sm le on h s face.
So they paused n the hot M ssour sunsh ne after they pa d
off the cab and agreed on how to do t. They
walked ns de and saw the b g s gn: One F le at a T me. They
l ned up n front of the clerk and wa ted. She was a heavy
woman, m ddle-aged, dressed n a master sergeant's un form,
busy w th the sort of work des gned to ach eve noth ng at all
except make people wa t unt l t was done. After a long moment
she pushed two blank forms across the counter and po nted to
where a penc l was t ed down to a desk w th a p ece of str ng.
The forms were access requests. Jod e f lled n her last name
as Jacob and requested all and any nformat on on Major Jacknone-Reacher, US Army Cr m nal Invest gat on D v s on.
Reacher took the penc l from her and asked for all and any
nformat on on L eutenant General Leon Jerome Garber. He sl d
both forms back to the master sergeant, who glanced at them
and dropped them n her out-tray. She rang a bell at her elbow
and went back to work. The dea was some pr vate would hear
the bell, come p ck up the forms, and start the pat ent search for
the f les.
'Who's work ng superv sor today?' Reacher asked.
It was a d rect quest on. The sergeant looked for a way to
avo d answer ng t, but she couldn't f nd one.
'Major Theodore Conrad,' she sa d reluctantly.
Reacher nodded. Conrad? Not a name he recalled.
'Would you tell h m we'd l ke to meet w th h m, just br efly?
And would you have those f les del vered to h s off ce?'
The way he sa d t was exactly halfway between a pleasant,
pol te request and an unspoken command. It was a tone of
vo ce he had always found very useful w th master sergeants.
The woman p cked up the phone and made the call.
'He'll have you shown upsta rs,' she sa d, l ke n her
op n on she was amazed Conrad was do ng them such a
mass ve favour.
'No need,' Reacher sa d. 'I know where t s. I've been there
before.'
He showed Jod e the way, up the sta rs from the lobby to a
spac ous off ce on the second floor. Major Theodore Conrad
was wa t ng at the door. Hot-weather un form, h s name on an
acetate plate above h s breast pocket. He looked l ke a fr endly
guy, but maybe sl ghtly soured by h s post ng. He was about
forty-f ve, and to st ll be a major on the second floor of the
NPRC at forty-f ve meant he was go ng nowhere n a hurry. He
paused, because a pr vate was rac ng along the hallway
towards h m w th two th ck f les n h s hand. Reacher sm led to
h mself. They were gett ng the A-grade serv ce. When th s place
wanted to be qu ck, t could be real qu ck. Conrad took the f les
and d sm ssed the runner.
'So what can I do for you folks?' he asked. H s accent was
slow and muddy, l ke the M ss ss pp where t or g nated, but t
was hosp table enough.
'Well, we need your best help, Major,' Reacher sa d. 'And
we're hop ng f you read those f les, maybe you'll feel w ll ng to
g ve t up.'
Conrad glanced at the f les n h s hand and stood as de and
ushered them nto h s off ce. It was a qu et, panelled space. He
showed them to a matched pa r of leather armcha rs and
stepped around h s desk. Sat down and squared the f les on h s
blotter, one on top of the other. Opened the f rst, wh ch was
Leon's, and started sk mm ng.
It took h m ten m nutes to see what he needed. Reacher and
Jod e sat and gazed out of the w ndow. The c ty baked under a
wh te sun. Conrad f n shed
w th the f les and stud ed the names on the request forms.
Then he glanced up.
'Two very f ne records,' he sa d. 'Very, very mpress ve. And I
get the po nt. You're obv ously Jack-none-Reacher h mself, and
I'm guess ng Mrs Jod e Jacob here s the Jod e Garber referred
to n the f le as the general's daughter. Am I r ght?'
Jod e nodded and sm led.
'I thought so,' Conrad sa d. 'And you th nk be ng fam ly, so to
speak, w ll buy you better and faster access to the arch ve?'
Reacher shook h s head solemnly.
'It never crossed our m nds,' he sa d. 'We know all access
requests are treated w th absolute equal ty.'
Conrad sm led, and then he laughed out loud.
'You kept a stra ght face,' he sa d. 'Very, very good. You play
much poker? You damn well should, you know. So how can I
help you folks?'
'We need what you've got on a V ctor Truman Hob e,' Reacher
sa d.
'V etnam?'
'You fam l ar w th h m?' Reacher asked, surpr sed.
Conrad looked blank. 'Never heard of h m. But w th Truman
for a m ddle name, he was born somewhere between 1945 and
1952, wasn't he? Wh ch made h m too young for Korea and too
old for the Gulf.'
Reacher nodded. He was start ng to l ke Theodore Conrad. He
was a sharp guy. He would have l ked to pull h s f le to see what
was keep ng h m a major, beh nd a desk out n M ssour at the
age of forty-f ve.
'We'll work n here,' Conrad sa d. 'My pleasure.'
He p cked up the phone and called d rectly to the storerooms,
by-pass ng the master sergeant at the front desk. He w nked at
Reacher and ordered up the Hob e
f le. Then they sat n comfortable s lence unt l the runner
came n w th the folder f ve m nutes later.
'That was qu ck,' Jod e sa d.
'Actually t was a l ttle slow,' Conrad sa d back. 'Th nk about t
from the pr vate's po nt of v ew. He hears me say H for Hob e,
he runs to the H sect on, he locates the f le by f rst and m ddle
n t als, he grabs t, he runs up here w th t. My people are
subject to the Army's normal standards for phys cal f tness,
wh ch means he could probably run most of a m le n f ve
m nutes. And although th s s a very b g place, there was a lot
less than a m le to cover n the tr angle between h s desk and
the H sect on and th s off ce, bel eve me. So he was actually a
l ttle slow. I suspect the master sergeant nterrupted h m, just to
frustrate me.'
V ctor Hob e's f le jacket was old and furred, w th a pr nted
gr d on the cover where access requests were noted n neat
handwr t ng. There were only two. Conrad traced the names
w th a f nger.
'Requests by telephone,' he sa d. 'General Garber h mself, n
March of th s year. And somebody called Costello, call ng from
New York, beg nn ng of last week. Why all the sudden nterest?'
'That's what we hope to f nd out,' Reacher sa d.
A combat sold er has a th ck f le, espec ally a combat sold er
who d d h s f ght ng th rty years ago. Three decades s long
enough for every report and every note to end up n exactly the
r ght place. V ctor Hob e's paperwork was a compressed mass
about two nches deep. The old furred jacket was moulded t ght
around t. It rem nded Reacher of Costello's black leather wallet,
wh ch he'd seen n the Keys bar. He h tched h s cha r closer to
Jod e's and closer to the front edge of
Conrad's desk. Conrad la d the f le down and reversed t on
the sh ny wood and opened t up, l ke he was d splay ng a rare
treasure to nterested conno sseurs.
Mar lyn's nstruct ons had been prec se, and Sheryl followed
them to the letter. The f rst step was get treatment. She went to
the desk and then wa ted on a hard plast c cha r n the tr age
bay. The St V ncent's ER was less busy than t somet mes s
and she was seen w th n ten m nutes by a woman doctor young
enough to be her daughter.
'How d d th s happen?' the doctor asked.
'I walked nto a door,' Sheryl sa d.
The doctor led her to a curta n area and sat her down on the
exam nat on table. Started check ng the reflex responses n her
l mbs.
'A door? You absolutely sure about that?'
Sheryl nodded. Stuck to her story. Mar lyn was count ng on
her to do that.
'It was half-open. I turned around, just d dn't see t.'
The doctor sa d noth ng and shone a l ght nto Sheryl's left
eye, then her r ght.
'Any blurr ng of your v s on?'
Sheryl nodded. 'A l ttle.'
'Headache?'
'L ke you wouldn't bel eve.'
The doctor paused and stud ed the adm ss on form.
'OK, we need X-rays of the fac al bones, obv ously, but I also
want a full skull f lm and a CAT scan. We need to see what
exactly happened n there. Your nsurance s good, so I'm go ng
to get a surgeon to take a look at you r ght away, because f
you're go ng to need reconstruct ve work t's a lot better to start
on that sooner rather than later, OK? So you need to get
nto a gown and l e down. Then I'll put you on a pa nk ller to
help w th the headache.'
Sheryl heard Mar lyn ns st make the call before the pa nk ller,
or you'll fuzz out and forget.
'I need to get to a phone,' she sa d, worr ed.
'We can call your husband, f you want,' the doctor sa d,
neutrally.
'No, I'm not marr ed. It's a lawyer. I need to call somebody's
lawyer.'
The doctor looked at her and shrugged.
'OK, down the hall. But be qu ck.'
Sheryl walked to the bank of phones oppos te the tr age bay.
She called the operator and asked for collect, l ke Mar lyn had
told her to. Repeated the number she'd memor zed. The phone
was answered on the second r ng.
'Forster and Abelste n,' a br ght vo ce sa d. 'How may we help
you?'
'I'm call ng on behalf of Mr Chester Stone,' Sheryl sa d. 'I need
to speak w th h s attorney.'
'That would be Mr Forster h mself,' the br ght vo ce sa d.
'Please hold.'
Wh le Sheryl was l sten ng to the hold mus c, the doctor was
twenty feet away, at the ma n desk, also mak ng a call. Her call
featured no mus c. Her call was to the NYPD's Domest c
V olence Un t.
'Th s s St V ncent's,' she was say ng. 'I've got another one for
you. Th s one says she walked nto a damn door. Won't even
adm t she's marr ed, much less he's beat ng on her. You can
come on down and talk to her any t me you want.'
The f rst tem n the f le was V ctor Hob e's or g nal appl cat on
to jo n the Army. It was brown at the edges
and cr sp w th age, handwr tten n the same neat left-handed
schoolboy scr pt they had seen n the letters home to Br ghton.
It l sted a summary of h s educat on, h s des re to fly
hel copters, and not very much else. On the face of t, not an
obv ous r s ng star. But around that t me for every one boy
stepp ng up to volunteer, there were two dozen others buy ng
oneway t ckets on the Greyhound to Canada, so the Army
recru ters had grabbed Hob e w th both hands and sent h m
stra ght to the doctor.
He had been g ven a fl ght med cal, wh ch was a tougher
exam nat on than standard, espec ally concern ng eyes ght and
balance. He had passed A-l. S x feet one nch, 170 pounds,
20/20 v s on, good lung capac ty, free of nfect ous d seases.
The med cal was dated early n the spr ng, and Reacher could
p cture the boy, pale from the New York w nter, stand ng n h s
boxers on a bare wooden floor w th a tape measure t ght around
h s chest.
Next tem n the f le showed he was g ven travel vouchers and
ordered to report to Fort D x n two weeks' t me. The follow ng
batch of paperwork or g nated from down there. It started w th
the form he s gned on h s arr val, rrevocably comm tt ng
h mself to loyal serv ce n the Un ted States Army. Fort D x was
twelve weeks of bas c tra n ng. There were s x prof c ency
assessments. He scored well above average n all of them. No
comments were recorded.
Then there was a requ s t on for travel vouchers to Fort Polk,
and a copy of h s orders to report there for a month of
advanced nfantry tra n ng. There were notes about h s
progress w th weapons. He was rated good, wh ch meant
someth ng at Polk. At D x, you were rated good f you could
recogn ze a r fle at ten
paces. At Polk, such a rat ng spoke of excellent hand-to-eye
co-ord nat on, steady muscle control, calm temperament.
Reacher was no expert on fly ng, but he guessed the nstructors
would have been fa rly sangu ne about eventually lett ng th s
guy loose w th a hel copter.
There were more travel vouchers, th s t me to Fort Wolters n
Texas, where the US Army Pr mary Hel copter School was
located. There was a note attached from the Polk CO nd cat ng
Hob e had turned down a week's leave n favour of head ng
stra ght there. It was just a bald statement, but t carr ed an
approv ng resonance, even after all those years. Here was a guy
who was just about tch ng to get go ng. '
The paperwork th ckened up at Wolters. It was a f ve-month
stay, and t was ser ous stuff, l ke college. F rst came a month of
pre-fl ght tra n ng, w th heavy academ c concentrat on on
phys cs and aeronaut cs and nav gat on, taught n classrooms.
It was necessary to pass to progress. Hob e had creamed t. The
maths talent h s father had hoped to turn to accountancy ran
r ot through those textbook subjects. He passed out of prefl ght top of h s class. The only negat ve was a short note about
h s att tude. Some off cer was cr t c z ng h m for trad ng favours
for coach ng. Hob e was help ng some stragglers through the
complex equat ons and n return they were sh n ng h s boots
and clean ng h s k t. Reacher shrugged to h mself. The off cer
was clearly an asshole. Hob e was tra n ng to be a hel copter
p lot, not a damn sa nt.
The next four months at Wolters were a rborne for pr mary
fl ght tra n ng, n t ally on H-23 H llers. Hob e's f rst nstructor
was a guy called Lanark. H s
tra n ng notes were wr tten n a w ld scrawl, very anecdotal,
very un-m l tary. Somet mes very funny. He cla med learn ng to
fly a hel copter was l ke learn ng to r de a b ke as a k d. You
screwed t up, and you screwed t up, and you screwed t up,
and then all of a sudden t came r ght and you never aga n
forgot how to do t. In Lanark's op n on, Hob e had maybe taken
longer than he ought to master t, but thereafter h s progress
moved from excellent to outstand ng. He s gned h m off the
H ller and on to the H-19 S korsky, wh ch was l ke mov ng up to
a ten-speed Engl sh racer. He performed better on the S korsky
than he had on the H ller. He was a natural, and he got better the
more compl cated the mach nes became.
He f n shed Wolters overall second n h s class, rated
outstand ng, just beh nd an ace called A. A. DeW tt. More travel
vouchers had them head ng out together, over to Fort Rucker n
Alabama, for another four months n advanced fl ght tra n ng.
'Have I heard of th s guy DeW tt?' Reacher asked. 'The name
r ngs a bell.'
Conrad was follow ng progress ups de down.
'Could be General DeW tt,' he sa d. 'He runs the Hel copter
School back at Wolters now. That would be log cal, r ght? I'll
check t out.'
He called d rect to the storeroom and ordered up Major
General A. A. DeW tt. Checked h s watch as the phone went
back down. 'Should be faster, because the D sect on s nearer
h s desk than the H sect on. Unless the damn master sergeant
nterferes w th h m aga n.'
Reacher sm led br efly and rejo ned Jod e th rty years n the
past. Fort Rucker was the real th ng, w th brand-new frontl ne
assault hel copters replac ng the tra ners. Bell UH-1 Iroquo s,
n cknamed Hueys. B g,
f erce mach nes, gas turb ne eng nes, the unforgettable wopwop-wop sound of a rotor blade forty-e ght feet long and
twenty-one nches w de. Young V ctor Hob e had hurled one
around the Alabama sk es for seventeen long weeks, and then
he passed out w th cred ts and d st nct ons at the parade h s
father had photographed.
'Three m nutes forty seconds,' Conrad wh spered.
The runner was on h s way n w th the DeW tt jacket. Conrad
leaned forward and took t from h m. The guy saluted and went
back out.
'I can't let you see th s,' Conrad sa d. 'The general's st ll a
serv ng off cer, r ght? But I'll tell you f t's the same DeW tt.'
He opened the f le at the beg nn ng and Reacher saw flashes
of the same paper as n Hob e's. Conrad sk mmed and nodded.
'Same DeW tt. He surv ved the jungle and stayed onboard
afterward. Total hel copter nut. My guess s he'll serve out h s
t me down at Wolters.'
Reacher nodded. Glanced out of the w ndow. The sun was
fall ng away nto afternoon.
'You guys want some coffee?' Conrad asked.
'Great,' Jod e sa d. Reacher nodded aga n.
Conrad p cked up the phone and called the storeroom.
'Coffee,' he sa d. 'That's not a f le. It's a request for
refreshment. Three cups, best ch na, OK?'
The runner brought t n on a s lver tray, by wh ch t me
Reacher was up at Fort Belvo r n V rg n a, w th V ctor Hob e
and h s new pal A. A. DeW tt report ng to the 3rd Transportat on
Company of the F rst Cavalry D v s on. The two boys were there
two weeks, long enough for the Army to add a r-mob le to the r
un t des gnat on, and then to change t completely to
Company B, 229th Assault Hel copter Battal on. At the end of
the two weeks, the renamed company sa led away from the
Alabama coast, part of a seventeen-sh p convoy on a th rty-oneday sea voyage to Long Ma Bay, twenty m les south of Qu
Nhon and eleven thousand m les away n V etnam.
Th rty-one days at sea s a whole month, and the company
brass nvented make-work to keep boredom at bay. Hob e's f le
nd cated he s gned up for ma ntenance, wh ch meant endlessly
r ns ng and greas ng the d sassembled Hueys to beat the salt
a r down n the sh p's hold. The note was approv ng, and Hob e
stepped on to the Indoch na beach a f rst l eutenant, after
leav ng the States a second, and th rteen months after jo n ng
the Army as an off cer cand date. Mer ted promot ons for a
worthy recru t. One of the good k ds. Reacher recalled Ed
Steven's words, n the hot sunsh ne outs de the hardware store:
very ser ous, very earnest, but not really a whole lot out of the
ord nary.
'Cream?' Conrad asked.
Reacher shook h s head, n t me w th Jod e.
'Just black,' they sa d, together.
Conrad poured and Reacher kept on read ng. There were two
var ants of Huey n use at that t me: one was a gunsh p, and the
other was a transport chopper n cknamed a sl ck. Company B
was ass gned to fly sl cks, serv c ng the F rst Cavalry's
battlef eld transport needs. The sl ck was a transport hack, but
t was not unarmed. It was a standard Huey, w th the s de doors
str pped off and a heavy mach ne-gun hung on a bungee cord n
each open doorway. There were a p lot and a co-p lot, two
gunners, and a crew ch ef act ng as an all-purpose eng neer and
mechan c. The sl ck could
l ft as many grunts as could pack themselves nto the boxy
space between the two gunners' backs, or a ton of ammun t on,
or any comb nat on.
There was on-the-job tra n ng to reflect the fact that V etnam
was very d fferent from Alabama. There was no formal grad ng
attached to t, but Hob e and DeW tt were the f rst new p lots
ass gned to the jungle. Then the requ rement was to fly f ve
combat m ss ons as a co-p lot, and f you handled that, you took
the p lot's seat and got your own co-p lot. Then the ser ous
bus ness started, and t was reflected n the f le. The whole
second half of the jacket was stuffed w th m ss on reports on
fl msy on on-sk n paper. The language was dry and matter of
fact. They were not wr tten by Hob e h mself. They were the
work of the company despatch clerk.
It was very ep sod c f ght ng. The war was bo l ng all around
h m unabated, but Hob e spent a long t me on the ground,
because of the weather. For days at a t me, the fogs and m sts
of V etnam made t su c dal to fly a hel copter low-level nto the
jungle valleys. Then the weather would suddenly clear and the
reports would clump together all under the same date: three,
f ve, somet mes seven m ss ons a day, aga nst fur ous enemy
oppos t on, nsert ng, recover ng, supply ng and resupply ng
the ground troops. Then the m sts would roll back n, and the
Hueys would wa t nert once more n the r laagers. Reacher
p ctured Hob e, ly ng n h s hooch for days on end, frustrated or
rel eved, bored or tense, then burst ng back nto terr fy ng
act on for frant c exhaust ng hours of combat.
The reports were separated nto two halves by paperwork
document ng the end of the f rst tour, the rout ne award of the
medal, the long furlough back n
New York, the start of the second tour. Then more combat
reports. Same exact work, same exact pattern. There were fewer
reports from the second tour. The very last sheet n the f le
recorded L eutenant V ctor Hob e's 991st career combat
m ss on. Not rout ne F rst Cavalry bus ness. It was a spec al
ass gnment. He took off from Ple ku, head ng east for an
mprov sed land ng zone near the An Khe Pass. H s orders were
to fly n as one of two sl cks and exf ltrate the personnel wa t ng
on the land ng zone. DeW tt was fly ng backup. Hob e got there
f rst. He landed n the centre of the t ny land ng zone, under
heavy mach ne-gun f re from the jungle. He was seen to take
onboard just three men. He took off aga n almost mmed ately.
H s Huey was tak ng h ts to the a rframe from the mach neguns. H s own gunners were return ng f re bl nd through the
jungle canopy. DeW tt was c rcl ng as Hob e was head ng out.
He saw Hob e's Huey take a susta ned burst of heavy mach negun f re through the eng nes. H s formal report as recorded by
the despatch clerk sa d he saw the Huey's rotor stop and flames
appear n the fuel tank area. The hel copter crashed through the
jungle canopy four m les west of the land ng zone, at a low
angle and at a speed est mated by DeW tt to be n excess of
e ghty m les an hour. DeW tt reported a green flash v s ble
through the fol age, wh ch was normally nd cat ve of a fuel-tank
explos on on the forest floor. A search-and-rescue operat on
was mounted and aborted because of weather. No fragments of
wreckage were observed. Because the area four m les west of
the pass was cons dered naccess ble v rg n jungle, t was
procedure to assume there were no NVA troops on foot n the
mmed ate v c n ty. Therefore there had been no r sk
of mmed ate capture by the enemy. Therefore the e ght men
n the Huey were l sted as m ss ng n act on.
'But why?' Jod e asked. 'DeW tt saw the th ng blow up. Why
l st them as m ss ng? They were obv ously all k lled, r ght?'
Major Conrad shrugged.
'I guess so,' he sa d. 'But nobody knew t for sure. DeW tt saw
a flash through the leaves, s all. Could theoret cally have been
an NVA ammo dump, h t by a lucky shot from the mach ne as t
went down. Could have been anyth ng. They only ever sa d
k lled n act on when they knew for damn sure. When somebody
l terally eyeballed t happen ng. F ghter planes went down alone
two hundred m les out n the ocean, the p lot was l sted as
m ss ng, not k lled, because perhaps he could have swum away
somewhere. To l st them as k lled, someone had to see t
happen. I could show you a f le ten t mes th cker than th s one,
packed w th orders def n ng and redef n ng exactly how to
descr be casualt es.'
'Why?' Jod e asked aga n. 'Because they were afra d of the
press?'
Conrad shook h s head. 'No, I'm talk ng about nternal stuff
here. Any t me they were afra d of the press, they just told l es.
Th s all was for two reasons. F rst, they d dn't want to get t
wrong for the next of k n. Bel eve me, we rd th ngs happened. It
was a totally al en env ronment. People surv ved th ngs you
wouldn't expect them to surv ve. People turned up later. They
found people. There was a mass ve search-and-recover deal
runn ng, all the t me. People got taken pr soner, and Charl e
never ssued pr soner l sts, not unt l years later. And you
couldn't tell folks the r boy was k lled, only to have h m turn up
al ve later on.
So they were anx ous to keep on say ng m ss ng, just as long
as they could.'
Then he paused for a long moment.
'Second reason s yes, they were afra d. But not of the press.
They were afra d of themselves. They were afra d of tell ng
themselves they were gett ng beat, and beat bad.'
Reacher was scann ng the f nal m ss on report, p ck ng out
the co-p lot's name. He was a second l eutenant named F. G.
Kaplan. He had been Hob e's regular partner throughout most
of the second tour.
'Can I see th s guy's jacket?' he asked.
'K sect on?' Conrad sa d. 'Be about four m nutes.'
They sat n s lence w th the cold coffee unt l the runner
brought F.G. Kaplan's l fe story to the off ce. It was a th ck old
f le, s m lar s ze and v ntage as Hob e's. There was the same
pr nted gr d on the front cover, record ng access requests. The
only note less than twenty years old showed a telephone
enqu ry had been made last Apr l by Leon Garber. Reacher
turned the f le facedown and opened t up from the back.
Started w th the second-to-last sheet of paper. It was dent cal
to the last sheet n Hob e's jacket. The same m ss on report,
w th the same eyew tness account from DeW tt, wr tten up by
the same clerk n the same handwr t ng.
But the f nal sheet n Kaplan's f le was dated exactly two
years later than the f nal m ss on report. It was a formal
determ nat on made after due cons derat on of the
c rcumstances by the Department of the Army that F. G. Kaplan
had been k lled n act on four m les west of the An Khe Pass
when the hel copter he was co-p lot ng was brought down by
enemy ground-to-a r f re. No body had been recovered, but the
death was
to be cons dered as actual for purposes of memor al z ng and
payment of pens ons. Reacher squared the sheet of paper on
the desk. 'So why doesn't V ctor Hob e have one of these?'
Conrad shook h s head. 'I don't know.' 'I want to go to Texas,'
Reacher sa d.
No Ba A rport outs de Hano and H ckam F eld outs de
Honolulu share exactly the same lat tude, so the US A r Force
Starl fter flew ne ther north nor south. It just followed a pure
west-east fl ght path across the Pac f c, hold ng comfortably
between the Trop c of Cancer and the Twent eth Parallel. S x
thousand m les, s x hundred m les an hour, ten hours' fl ght
t me, but t was on approach seven hours before t took off, at
three o'clock n the afternoon of the day before. The A r Force
capta n made the usual announcement as they crossed the date
l ne and the tall s lver-ha red Amer can n the rear of the cockp t
wound h s watch back and added another bonus day to h s l fe.
H ckam F eld s Hawa 's ma n m l tary a r fac l ty, but t shares
runway space and a r-traff c control w th Honolulu Internat onal,
so the Starl fter had to turn a w de weary c rcle above the sea,
wa t ng for a JAL 747 from Tokyo to get down. Then t turned n
and flattened and came down beh nd t, tyres shr ek ng, eng nes
scream ng w th reverse thrust. The p lot was not concerned
w th the n cet es of c v l an fly ng, so she jammed the brakes on
hard and stopped short enough to get off the runway on the
f rst tax way. There was a stand ng request from the a rport to
keep the m l tary planes away from the tour sts. Espec ally the
Japanese tour sts. Th s p lot was from Connect cut and had no
real nterest n Hawa 's staple ndustry or Or ental
sens t v t es, but the f rst tax way gave her a shorter run to the
m l tary compound, wh ch s why she always a med to take t.
The Starl fter tax ed slowly, as was appropr ate, and stopped
f fty yards from a long low cement bu ld ng near the w re. The
p lot shut down her eng nes and sat n s lence. Ground crew n
full un form marched slowly towards the belly of the plane,
dragg ng a fat cable beh nd them. They latched t nto a port
under the nose and the plane's systems k cked n aga n under
the a rf eld's own power. That way, the ceremony could be
conducted n s lence.
The honour guard at H ckam that day was the usual e ght men
n the usual mosa c of four d fferent full-dress un forms, two
from the Un ted States Army, two from the Un ted States Navy,
two from the Un ted States Mar ne Corps, and two from the
Un ted States A r Force. The e ght slow-marched forward and
wa ted n s lent format on. The p lot h t the sw tch and the rear
ramp came wh n ng down. It settled. aga nst the hot blacktop of
Amer can terr tory and the guard slow-marched up ts exact
centre nto the belly of the plane. They passed between the tw n
l nes of s lent a rcrew and moved forward. The loadmaster
removed the rubber straps and the guard l fted the f rst casket
off the shelves and on to the r shoulders. They slow-marched
back w th t through the darkened fuselage and down the ramp
and out nto the blaz ng afternoon, the sh ned alum n um
w nk ng and the flag glow ng br ght n the sun aga nst the blue
Pac f c and the green h ghlands of Oahu. They r ght-wheeled on
the apron and slow-marched the f fty yards to the long, low
cement bu ld ng. They went ns de and bent
the r knees and la d the casket down. They stood n s lence,
hands folded beh nd them, heads bowed, and then they aboutturned and slow-marched back towards the plane.
It took an hour to unload all seven of the caskets. Only when
the task was complete d d the tall s lver-ha red Amer can leave
h s seat. He used the p lot's sta rway, and paused at the top to
stretch h s weary l mbs n the sun.
TWELVE
Stone had to wa t f ve m nutes beh nd the black glass n the
rear of the Tahoe, because the load ng dock under the World
Trade Center was busy. Tony lo tered near by, lean ng on a p llar
n the no sy dark, wa t ng unt l a del very truck moved out n a
blast of d esel and there was a moment before the next one
could move n. He used that moment to hustle Stone across the
garage to the fre ght elevator. He h t the button and they rode
up n s lence, heads down, breath ng hard, smell ng the strong
smell of the tough rubber floor. They came out n the back of
the e ghty-e ghth-floor lobby and Tony scanned ahead. The way
was clear to the door of Hob e's su te.
The th ckset man was at the recept on counter. They walked
stra ght past h m nto the off ce. It was dark, as usual. The
bl nds were pulled t ght and t was qu et. Hob e was at the desk,
s tt ng st ll and s lent, gaz ng at Mar lyn, who was on the sofa
w th her legs tucked underneath her.
'Well?' he asked. 'M ss on accompl shed?' Stone nodded.
'She got ns de OK.' 'Where?' Mar lyn asked. 'Wh ch hosp tal?'
'St V ncent's,' Tony sa d. 'Stra ght nto the ER.'
Stone nodded to conf rm t and he saw Mar lyn sm le a sl ght
sm le of rel ef.
'OK,' Hob e sa d nto the s lence, 'That's the good deed for the
day. Now we do bus ness. What are these compl cat ons I need
to know about?'
Tony shoved Stone around the coffee table to the sofa. He sat
down heav ly next to Mar lyn and stared stra ght ahead,
focus ng on noth ng.
'Well?' Hob e sa d aga n.
'The stock,' Mar lyn sa d. 'He doesn't own t outr ght.'
Hob e stared at her. 'Yes he damn well does. I checked t at
the Exchange.'
She nodded. 'Well, yes, he owns t. What I mean s, he doesn't
control t. He doesn't have free access to t.'
'Why the hell not?'
'There's a trust. Access s regulated by the trustees.'
'What trust? Why?'
'H s father set t up, before he d ed. He d dn't trust Chester to
handle t all outr ght. He felt he needed superv s on.'
Hob e stared at her.
'Any major stock d sposals need to be co-s gned,' she sa d.
'By the trustees.'
There was s lence.
'Both of them,' she sa d.
Hob e sw tched h s gaze to Chester Stone. It was l ke a
searchl ght beam fl ck ng s deways. Mar lyn watched h s good
eye. Watched h m th nk ng. Watched h m buy ng nto the l e, l ke
she knew he would, because t j bed w th what he thought he
already knew. Chester's bus ness was fa l ng, because he was a
bad bus nessman. A bad bus nessman would have been
spotted early by a close relat ve l ke a father.
And a respons ble father would have protected the fam ly
her tage w th a trust.
'It's unbreakable,' she sa d. 'God knows we've tr ed often
enough.'
Hob e nodded. Just a sl ght movement of h s head. Almost
mpercept ble. Mar lyn sm led ns de. Sm led w th tr umph. Her
f nal comment had done t to h m. A trust was a th ng to be
broken. It had to be fought. Therefore the attempts to f ght t
proved t ex sted.
'Who are the trustees?' he asked qu etly.
'I'm one of them,' she sa d. 'The other s the sen or partner at
h s law f rm.'
'Just two trustees?'
She nodded.
'And you're one of them?'
She nodded aga n. 'And you've already got my vote. I just
want to get r d of the whole damn th ng and get you off our
backs.'
Hob e nodded back to her. 'You're a smart woman.'
'Wh ch law f rm?' Tony asked.
'Forster and Abelste n,' she sa d. 'R ght here n town.'
'Who's the sen or partner?' Tony asked.
'A guy called Dav d Forster,' Mar lyn sa d.
'How do we set up the meet ng?' Hob e asked.
'I call h m,' Mar lyn sa d. 'Or Chester does, but I th nk r ght
now t would be better f I d d.'
'So call h m, set t up for th s afternoon.'
She shook her head. 'Won't be that qu ck. Could be a couple
of days.'
There was s lence. Just the boom and shudder of the g ant
bu ld ng breath ng. Hob e tapped h s hook on the desk. He
closed h s eyes. The damaged eyel d
stayed open a fract on. The eyeball rolled up and showed
wh te, l ke a crescent moon.
'Tomorrow morn ng,' he sa d qu etly. 'At the very latest. Tell
h m t's a matter of cons derable urgency to you.'
Then h s eyes snapped open.
'And tell h m to fax the trust deeds to me,' he wh spered.
'Immed ately. I need to know what the hell I'm deal ng w th.'
Mar lyn was shak ng ns de. She pushed down on the soft
upholstery, try ng to ground herself. 'There won't be a problem.
It's really just a formal ty.'
'So let's go make the call,' Hob e sa d.
Mar lyn was unsteady on her feet. She stood sway ng,
smooth ng the dress down over her th ghs. Chester touched her
elbow, just for a second. A t ny gesture of support. She
stra ghtened and followed Hob e out to the recept on counter.
'D al n ne for a l ne,' he sa d.
She moved beh nd the counter and the three men watched
her. The phone was a small console. She scanned across the
buttons and saw no speakerphone fac l ty. She relaxed a
fract on and p cked up the handset. Pressed n ne and heard a
d al tone.
'Behave yourself,' Hob e sa d. 'You're a smart woman,
remember, and r ght now you need to stay smart.'
She nodded. He ra sed the hook. It gl ttered n the art f c al
l ght. It looked heavy. It was beaut fully made and lov ngly
pol shed, mechan cally s mple and terr bly brutal. She saw h m
nv t ng her to mag ne the th ngs that could be done w th t.
'Forster and Abelste n,' a br ght vo ce sa d n her ear. 'How
may we help you?'
'Mar lyn Stone,' she sa d. 'For Mr Forster.'
Her throat was suddenly dry. It made her vo ce low and husky.
There was a snatch of electron c mus c and then the boomy
acoust c of a large off ce.
'Forster,' a deep vo ce sa d.
'Dav d, t's Mar lyn Stone.'
There was dead s lence for a second. In that second, she
knew Sheryl had done t r ght.
'Are we be ng overheard?' Forster asked qu etly.
'No, I'm f ne,' Mar lyn sa d, br ghtness n her vo ce. Hob e
rested the hook on the counter, the steel gl tter ng chest h gh,
e ghteen nches n front of her eyes.
'You need the pol ce for th s,' Forster sa d.
'No, t's just about a trustees meet ng. What's the soonest we
can do?'
'Your fr end Sheryl told me what you want,' Forster sa d. 'But
there are problems. Our staff people can't handle th s sort of
stuff. We're not equ pped for t. We're not that sort of law f rm.
I'll have to f nd you a pr vate detect ve.'
'Tomorrow morn ng would be good for us,' she sa d back.
'There's an element of urgency, I'm afra d.'
'Let me call the pol ce for you,' Forster sa d.
'No, Dav d, next week s really too late. We need to move fast,
f we can.'
'But I don't know where to look. We've never used pr vate
detect ves.'
'Hold on a moment, Dav d.' She covered the mouthp ece w th
the heel of her hand and glanced up at Hob e. 'If you want t
tomorrow, t's got to be at the r off ces.'
Hob e shook h s head. 'It has to be here, on my turf.'
She took her hand away. 'Dav d, what about the
day after tomorrow? It really needs to be here, I'm afra d. It's a
del cate negot at on.'
'You really don't want the pol ce? You absolutely sure about
that?'
'Well, there are compl cat ons. You know how th ngs can be
somet mes, sort of del cate?'
'OK, but I'm go ng to have to f nd somebody su table. It could
take me some t me. I'll have to ask around for
recommendat ons.'
'That's great, Dav d,' she sa d.
'OK,' Forster sa d aga n. 'If you're sure, I'll get on t r ght away.
But I'm really not clear exactly what you're hop ng to ach eve.'
'Yes, I agree,' she sa d. 'You know we've always hated the way
Dad set t up. Outs de nterference can change th ngs, can't t?'
'Two n the afternoon,' Forster sa d. 'Day after tomorrow. I
don't know who t'll be, but I'll get you someone good. W ll that
be OK?'
'Day after tomorrow, two n the afternoon,' she repeated. She
rec ted the address. 'That's great. Thanks, Dav d.'
Her hand was shak ng and the phone rattled n the cradle as
she hung t up.
'You d dn't ask for the trust deeds,' Hob e sa d.
She shrugged nervously.
'There was no need. It's a formal ty. It would have made h m
susp c ous.'
There was s lence. Then Hob e nodded.
'OK,' he sa d. 'Day after tomorrow. Two n the afternoon.'
'We need clothes,' she sa d. 'It's supposed to be a bus ness
meet ng. We can't be dressed l ke th s.'
Hob e sm led. 'I l ke you dressed l ke that. Both of
you. But I guess old Chester here can borrow my su t back for
the meet ng. You'll stay as you are.'
She nodded, vaguely. She was too dra ned to push t.
'Back n the bathroom,' Hob e sa d. 'You can come out aga n
day after tomorrow, two o'clock. Behave yourselves and you'll
eat tw ce a day.'
They walked s lently ahead of Tony. He closed the bathroom
door on them and walked back through the dark off ce and
rejo ned Hob e n the recept on area.
'Day after tomorrow s way too late,' he sa d. 'For God's sake,
Hawa s go ng to know today. Tomorrow, at the very latest,
r ght?'
Hob e nodded. The ball was dropp ng through the glare of the
l ghts. The outf elder was leap ng. The fence was loom ng.
'Yes, t's go ng to be t ght, sn't t?' he sa d.
'It's go ng to be crazy t ght. You should just get the hell out.'
'I can't, Tony. I've g ven my word on the deal, so I need that
stock. But t'll be OK. Don't you worry about t. Day after
tomorrow at two-th rty, the stock w ll be m ne, t'll be reg stered
by three, t'll be sold on by f ve, we'll be out of here by
suppert me. Day after tomorrow, t'll all be over.'
'But t's crazy. Involv ng a lawyer? We can't let a lawyer n
here.'
Hob e stared at h m.
'A lawyer,' he repeated slowly. 'You know what the bas s of
just ce s?'
'What?'
'Fa rness,' Hob e sa d. 'Fa rness, and equal ty. They br ng a
lawyer, we should br ng a lawyer, too, shouldn't we? Keep
th ngs fa r?'
'Chr st, Hob e, we can't have two lawyers n here.' 'We can,'
Hob e sa d. 'In fact, I th nk we should.' He walked around the
recept on counter and sat down where Mar lyn had sat. The
leather was st ll warm from her body. He took the Yellow Pages
from a cubbyhole and opened t up. P cked up the phone and h t
n ne for a l ne. Then he used the top of the hook n seven
prec se l ttle mot ons to d al the number.
'Spencer Gutman,' a br ght vo ce sa d n h s ear. 'How may we
help you?'
Sheryl was on her back on a bed, w th an IV needle taped nto
a ve n n her left hand. The IV was a square polythene bag
hang ng off a curled steel stand beh nd her. The bag conta ned
l qu d, and she could feel the pressure as t seeped down nto
her hand. She could feel t push ng her blood pressure h gher
than usual. There was h ss ng n her temples, and she could
feel the pulses beh nd her ears. The l qu d n the bag was clear,
l ke th ck water, but t was do ng the job. Her face had stopped
hurt ng. The pa n had just faded away, leav ng her feel ng calm
and sleepy. She had almost called out to the nurse that she
could manage w thout the pa nk ller now, because the pa n had
gone away anyhow, but then she caught herself and real zed t
was the drug that was tak ng t away, and t would come r ght
back f the IV stopped. She tr ed to g ggle at her confus on, but
her breath ng was too slow to get much of a sound out. So she
just sm led to herself and closed her eyes and swam down nto
the warm depths of the bed.
Then there was a sound somewhere n front of her. She
opened her eyes and saw the ce l ng. It was wh te and
llum nated from above. She sw velled her gaze
towards her feet. It was a b g effort. There were two people
stand ng at the end of the bed. A man, and a woman. They were
look ng at her. They were dressed n un forms. Short-sleeved
blue sh rts', long dark pants, b g comfortable shoes for walk ng.
The r sh rts were all covered n badges. Br ght embro dered
badges and metal s gns and plates. They had belts, all loaded
down w th equ pment. There were n ghtst cks and rad os and
handcuffs. Revolvers w th b g wooden handles were strapped
nto holsters. They were pol ce off cers. Both of them were old.
Qu te short. Qu te broad. The heavy loaded belts made them
unga nly.
They were look ng at her, pat ently. She tr ed to g ggle aga n.
They were look ng at the pat ent, pat ently. The man was
bald ng. The llum nated ce l ng was reflected n h s sh ny
forehead. The woman had a t ght perm, dyed orange, l ke a
carrot. She was older than he was. She must have been f fty.
She was a mother. Sheryl could tell that. She was gaz ng down
w th a k nd express on, l ke a mother would.
'Can we s t down?' the woman asked.
Sheryl nodded. The th ck l qu d was buzz ng n her temples,
and t was confus ng her. The woman scraped a cha r across
the floor and sat down on Sheryl's r ght, away from the IV stand.
The man sat d rectly beh nd her. The woman leaned towards the
bed, and the man leaned the other way, so h s head was v s ble
n a l ne beh nd hers. They were close, and t was a struggle to
focus on the r faces.
'I'm Off cer O'Hall nan,' the woman sa d.
Sheryl nodded aga n. The name su ted her. The g ngery ha r,
the heavy face, the heavy body, she needed an Ir sh name. And
a lot of New York cops were Ir sh. Sheryl knew that. Somet mes
t was l ke a
fam ly trade. One generat on would follow the other.
'I'm Off cer Sark,' the man sa d, from beh nd her.
He was pale. He had the sort of pale wh te sk n that looks
papery. He had shaved, but there was grey shadow show ng.
H s eyes were deep set, but k ndly. They were n a web of l nes.
He was an uncle. Sheryl was sure of that. He had nephews and
n eces who l ked h m.
'We want you to tell us what happened,' the woman called
O'Hall nan sa d.
Sheryl closed her eyes. She couldn't really remember what
happened. She knew she had stepped n through Mar lyn's
door. She remembered the smell of rug shampoo. She
remembered th nk ng that was a m stake. Maybe the cl ent
would wonder what needed cover ng up. Then she was
suddenly on her back on the hallway floor w th agony explod ng
from her nose.
'Can you tell us what happened?' the man called Sark asked.
'I walked nto a door,' she wh spered. Then she nodded, l ke
she was conf rm ng t to them. It was mportant. Mar lyn had
told her no pol ce. Not yet.
'Wh ch door?'
She d dn't know wh ch door. Mar lyn hadn't told her. It was
someth ng they hadn't talked about. Wh ch door? She pan cked.
'Off ce door,' she sa d.
'Is your off ce here n the c ty?' O'Hall nan asked.
Sheryl made no reply. She just stared blankly nto the
woman's k ndly face.
'Your nsurance carr er says you work up n Westchester,'
Sark sa d. 'At a real estate broker n Pound R dge.'
Sheryl nodded, caut ously.
'So you walked nto your off ce door n Westchester,'
O'Hall nan sa d. 'And now you're n the hosp tal f fty m les away
n New York C ty.'
'How d d that happen, Sheryl?' Sark asked.
She made no reply. There was s lence ns de the curta n area.
H ss ng and buzz ng n her temples.
'We can help, you know,' O'Hall nan sa d. 'That's why we're
here. We're here to help you. We can make sure th s doesn't
happen aga n.'
Sheryl nodded aga n, caut ously.
'But you have to tell us how t came about. Does he do th s
often?'
Sheryl stared at her, confused.
'Is that why you're down here?' Sark asked. 'You know, new
hosp tal, no records from the other t mes? If we were to ask up
n Mount K sco or Wh te Pla ns, what would we f nd? Would we
f nd they know you up there? From before, maybe? From the
other t mes he's done th s to you?'
'I walked nto a door,' Sheryl wh spered.
O'Hall nan shook her head. 'Sheryl, we know you d dn't.'
She stood up and peeled the X-ray f lms off the l ght box on
the wall. Held them up to the l ght from the ce l ng, l ke a doctor
would.
'Here's your nose,' she sa d po nt ng. 'Here's your
cheekbones, and here's your brow, and here's your ch n. See
here? Your nose s broken, and your cheekbones, Sheryl.
There's a depressed fracture. That's what the doctor s call ng
t. A depressed fracture. The bones are pushed down below the
level of your ch n and your brow. But your ch n and your brow
are OK. So th s was done by someth ng hor zontal, wasn't t?
Someth ng l ke a bat? Sw ng ng s deways?'
Sheryl stared at the f lms. They were grey and m lky. Her
bones looked l ke vague blurred shapes. Her eye sockets were
enormous. The pa nk ller buzzed n her head, and she felt weak
and sleepy.
'I walked nto a door,' she wh spered.
'The edge of a door s vert cal,' Sark sa d, pat ently. 'There
would be damage to your ch n and your brow as well, wouldn't
there? It stands to reason, doesn't t? If a vert cal th ng had
depressed your cheekbones, t would have h t your brow and
your ch n pretty hard as well, wouldn't t?'
He gazed at the X-rays, sadly.
'We can help you,' O'Hall nan sa d. 'You tell us all about t, and
we can keep t from happen ng aga n. We can keep h m from
do ng th s to you aga n.'
'I want to sleep now,' Sheryl wh spered.
O'Hall nan leaned forward and spoke softly. 'Would t help f
my partner left? You know, just you and me talk ng?'
'I walked nto a door,' Sheryl wh spered. 'Now I want to go to
sleep.'
O'Hall nan nodded, w sely and pat ently. 'I'll leave you my
card. So f you want to talk to me when you wake up, you can
just call me, OK?'
Sheryl nodded vaguely and O'Hall nan sl pped a card from her
pocket and bent down and placed t on the cab net next to the
bed.
'Don't forget, we can help you,' she wh spered.
Sheryl made no reply. She was e ther asleep, or pretend ng to
be. O'Hall nan and Sark pulled the curta n and walked away to
the desk. The doctor looked up at them. O'Hall nan shook her
head.
'Complete den al,' she sa d.
'Walked nto a door,' Sark sa d. 'A door who was
probably ju ced up, we ghs about two hundred pounds and
sw ngs a baseball bat.'
The doctor shook her head. 'Why on earth do they protect the
bastards?'
A nurse looked up. 'I saw her come n. It was really we rd. I
was on my c garette break. She got out of a car, way on the far
s de of the street. Walked herself all the way n. Her shoes were
too b g, you not ce that? There were two guys n the car,
watched her every step of the way, and then they took off n a
b g hurry.'
'What was the car?' Sark asked.
'B g black th ng,' the nurse sa d.
'You recall the plate?'
'What am I, Mr Memory?'
O'Hall nan shrugged and started to move away.
'But t'll be on the v deo,' the nurse sa d suddenly.
'What v deo?' Sark asked.
'Secur ty camera, above the doors. We stand r ght underneath
t, so the management can't clock how long we take out there.
So what we see, t sees too.'
The exact t me of Sheryl's arr val was recorded n the
paperwork at the desk. It took just a m nute to w nd the tape
back to that po nt. Then another m nute to run her slow walk n
reverse, backward across the ambulance c rcle, across the
plaza, across the s dewalk, through the traff c, nto the front of a
b g black car. O'Hall nan bent her head close to the screen.
'Got t,' she sa d.
Jod e chose the hotel for the n ght. She d d t by f nd ng the
travel sect on n the nearest bookstore to the NPRC bu ld ng.
She stood there and leafed through the local gu des unt l she
found a place recommended n three of them.
'It's funny, sn't t?' she sa d. 'We're n St Lou s here, and the
travel sect on has more gu des to St Lou s than anyplace else.
So how s that a travel sect on? Should be called the stay-athome sect on.'
Reacher was a l ttle nervous. Th s method was new to h m.
The sort of places he normally patron zed never advert sed n
books. They rel ed on neon s gns on tall poles, boast ng
attract ons that had stopped be ng attract ons and had become
bas c human r ghts about twenty years ago, l ke a r and cable
and a pool.
'Hold th s,' she sa d.
He took the book from her and kept h s thumb on the page
wh le she squatted down and opened her carry-on. She rooted
around and found her mob le phone. Took the book back from
h m and stood r ght there n the a sle and called the hotel. He
watched her. He had never called a hotel. The places he stayed
always had a room, no matter when. They were del r ous f the r
occupancy rates ever made t above 50 per cent. He l stened to
Jod e's end of the conversat on and heard her ment on ng sums
of money that would have bought h m a bed for a month, g ven
a l ttle haggl ng.
'OK,' she sa d. 'We're n. It's the r honeymoon su te. Fourposter bed. Is that neat, or what?'
He sm led. The honeymoon su te.
'We need to eat,' he sa d. 'They serve d nner there?'
She shook her head and thumbed through the book to the
restaurant sect on.
'More fun to go someplace else for d nner,' she sa d. 'You l ke
French?'
He nodded. 'My mother was French.'
She checked the book and used the mob le aga n and
reserved a table for two at a fancy place n the
h stor c sect on, near the hotel.
'E ght o'clock,' she sa d. 'G ves us t me to look around a l ttle.
Then we can check n at the hotel and get freshened up.'
'Call the a rport,' he sa d. 'We need early fl ghts out. DallasFort Worth should do t.'
'I'll do that outs de,' she sa d. 'Can't call the a rport from a
bookstore.'
He carr ed her bag and she bought a gaudy tour st map of St
Lou s and they stepped out nto the heat of the late-afternoon
sun. He looked at the map and she called the a rl ne from the
s dewalk and reserved two bus ness-class seats to Texas, e ght
th rty n the morn ng. Then they set out to walk the banks of the
M ss ss pp where t ran through the c ty.
They strolled arm n arm for n nety m nutes, wh ch took them
about four m les, all the way around to the h stor c part of town.
The hotel was a med um-s zed old mans on set on a w de qu et
street l ned w th chestnut trees. It had a b g door pa nted sh ny
black and oak floors the colour of honey. Recept on was an
ant que mahogany desk stand ng alone n the corner of the
hallway. Reacher stared at t. The places he normally stayed,
recept on was beh nd a w re gr lle or boxed n w th bulletproof
plex glas. An elegant lady w th wh te ha r ran Jod e's card
through the sw pe mach ne and the charge sl p came chatter ng
out. Jod e bent to s gn t and the lady handed Reacher a brass
key.
'Enjoy your stay, Mr Jacob,' she sa d.
The honeymoon su te was the whole of the att c. It had the
same honey oak floor, th ckly varn shed to a h gh sh ne, w th
ant que rugs scattered across t. The ce l ng was a compl cated
geometr c arrangement of
slopes and dormer w ndows. There was a s tt ng room at one
end w th two sofas n pale floral patterns. The bathroom was
next, and then the bedroom area. The bed was a g gant c fourposter, swathed n the same floral fabr c and h gh off the
ground. Jod e jumped up and sat there, her hands under her
knees, her legs sw ng ng n space. She was sm l ng and the sun
was n the w ndow beh nd her. Reacher put her bag down on the
floor and stood absolutely st ll, just look ng at her. Her sh rt was
blue, somewhere between the blue of a cornflower and the blue
of her eyes. It was made from soft mater al, maybe s lk. The
buttons looked l ke small pearls. The f rst two were undone. The
we ght of the collar was pull ng the sh rt open. Her sk n showed
through at the neck, paler honey than the oak floor. The sh rt
was small, but t was st ll loose around her body. It was tucked
deep nto her belt. The belt was black leather, c nched t ght
around her t ny wa st. The free end was long, hang ng down
outs de the loops on her jeans. The jeans were old, washed
many t mes and mmaculately pressed. She wore her shoes on
bare feet. They were small blue penny loafers, f ne leather, low
heels, probably Ital an. He could see the soles as she swung her
legs. The shoes were new. Barely worn at all.
'What are you look ng at?' she asked.
She held her head at an angle, shy and m sch evous.
'You,' he sa d.
The buttons were pearls, exactly l ke the pearls from a
necklace, taken off the str ng and sewn nd v dually on to the
sh rt. They were small and sl ppery under h s clumsy f ngers.
There were f ve of them. He f ddled four of them out through
the r buttonholes and gently tugged the sh rt out of the
wa stband of her jeans and
und d the f fth. She held up her hands, left and r ght n turn,
so he could undo the cuffs. He eased the sh rt backward off her
shoulders. She was wear ng noth ng underneath t.
She leaned forward and started on h s buttons. She started
from the bottom. She was dextrous. Her hands were small and
neat and qu ck. Qu cker than h s had been. H s cuffs were
already open. H s wr sts were too w de for any store-bought cuff
to close over them. She smoothed her hands up over the slab of
h s chest and pushed the sh rt away w th her forearms. It fell off
h s shoulders and she tugged t down over h s arms. It fell to
the floor w th the s gh of cotton and the lazy cl ck of buttons on
wood. She traced her f nger across the teardrop-shaped burn
on h s chest.
'You br ng the salve?'
'No,' he sa d.
She locked her arms around h s wa st and bent her head
down and k ssed the wound. He felt her mouth on t, f rm and
cool aga nst the tender sk n. Then they made love for the f fth
t me n f fteen years, n the four-poster bed at the top of the old
mans on wh le the sun n the w ndow fell away west towards
Kansas.
The NYPD's Domest c V olence Un t borrowed squad-room
space wherever t could f nd t, wh ch was currently n a large
upsta rs room above the adm n strat ve off ces at One Pol ce
Plaza. O'Hall nan and Sark got back there an hour before the
end of the r sh ft. That was the paperwork hour, and they went
stra ght to the r desks and opened the r notebooks to the start
of the day and began typ ng.
They reached the r v s t to the St V ncent's ER w th f fteen
m nutes to go. They wrote t up as a probable
nc dent w th a non-co-operat ve v ct m. O'Hall nan spooled
the form out of her typewr ter and not ced the Tahoe's plate
number scrawled at the bottom of her notebook page. She
p cked up the phone and called t n to the Department of Motor
Veh cles.
'Black Chevrolet Tahoe,' the clerk told her. 'Reg stered to
Cayman Corporate Trust w th an address n the World Trade
Center.'
O'Hall nan shrugged to herself and wrote t all down n her
notebook. She was debat ng whether to put the form back n the
typewr ter and add the nformat on to t when the DMV clerk
came back on the l ne.
'I've got another tag here,' he sa d. 'Same reg stered owner
abandoned a black Chevrolet Suburban on lower Broadway
yesterday. Three-veh cle mov ng traff c nc dent. F fteenth
Prec nct towed the wreck.'
'Who's deal ng w th t? You got a name at F fteenth?'
'Sorry, no.'
O'Hall nan hung up and called traff c n the F fteenth Prec nct,
but t was sh ft change at the end of the day and she got no
farther w th t. She scrawled a rem nder to herself and dropped
t n her n-tray. Then the clock t cked around to the top of the
hour and Sark stood up oppos te her.
'And we're out of here,' he sa d. 'All work and no play makes
us dull people, r ght?'
'R ght,' she sa d. 'You want to get a beer?'
'At least a beer,' Sark sa d. 'Maybe two beers.'
'Steady,' she sa d.
They took a long shower together n the honeymoon su te's
spac ous bathroom. Then Reacher sprawled n
h s towel on a sofa and watched her get ready. She went nto
her bag and came out w th a dress. It was the same l ne as the
yellow l nen sh ft she'd worn to the off ce, but t was m dn ght
blue and s lk. She sl pped t over her head and wr ggled t down
nto place. It had a s mple scoop neck and came just above the
knee. She wore t w th the same blue loafers. She patted her
ha r dry w th the towel and combed t back. Then she went nto
the bag aga n and came out w th the necklace he'd bought her
n Man la.
'Help me w th th s?'
She l fted her ha r away from her neck and he bent to fasten
the clasp. The necklace was a heavy gold rope. Probably not
real gold, not at the pr ce he'd pa d, although anyth ng was
poss ble n the Ph l pp nes. H s f ngers were w de and h s na ls
were scuffed and broken from the phys cal labour w th the
shovel. He held h s breath and needed two attempts to close the
catch. Then he k ssed her neck and she let her ha r fall back
nto place. It was heavy and damp and smelled l ke summer.
'Well, I'm ready at least,' she sa d.
She gr nned and tossed h m h s clothes from the floor and he
put them on, w th the cotton dragg ng aga nst h s damp sk n. He
borrowed her comb and ran t through h s ha r. In the m rror he
caught a gl mpse of her beh nd h m. She looked l ke a pr ncess
about to go out to d nner w th her gardener.
'They m ght not let me n,' he sa d.
She stretched up and smoothed the back of h s collar down
over the now exaggerated bulk of h s delto d muscle.
'How would they keep you out? Call the Nat onal Guard?'
It was a four-block walk to the restaurant. A June even ng n
M ssour , near the r ver. The a r was soft and damp. The stars
were out above them, n an nky sky the colour of her dress. The
chestnut trees rustled n a sl ght warm breeze. The streets got
bus er. There were the same trees, but cars were mov ng and
park ng under them. Some of the bu ld ngs were st ll hotels, but
some of them were smaller and lower, w th pa nted s gns
show ng restaurant names n French. The s gns were l t w th
a med spotl ghts. No neon anywhere. The place she'd p cked
was called La Prefecture. He sm led and wondered f lovers n a
m nor c ty n France were eat ng n a place called the Mun c pal
Off ces, wh ch was the l teral translat on, as far as he recalled.
But t was a pleasant enough place. A boy from somewhere n
the M dwest try ng a French accent greeted them warmly and
showed them to a table n a candlel t porch overlook ng the rear
garden. There was a founta n w th underwater l ght ng play ng
softly and the trees were l t w th spotlamps fastened to the r
trunks. The tablecloth was l nen and the s lverware was s lver.
Reacher ordered Amer can beer and Jod e ordered Pernod and
water.
'Th s s n ce, sn't t?' she sa d.
He nodded. The n ght was warm and st ll, and calm.
'Tell me how you feel,' he sa d.
She looked at h m, surpr sed. 'I feel good.'
'Good how?'
She sm led, shyly, 'Reacher, you're f sh ng.'
He sm led back. 'No, I'm just th nk ng about someth ng. You
feel relaxed?'
She nodded.
'Safe?'
She nodded aga n.
'Me too,' he sa d. 'Safe and relaxed. So what does that mean?'
The boy arr ved w th the dr nks on a s lver tray. The Pernod
was n a tall glass and he served t w th an authent c French
water jug. The beer was n a frosted mug. No long-neck bottles
n a place l ke th s.
'So what does t mean?' Jod e asked.
She splashed water nto the amber l qu d and t turned m lky.
She sw rled the glass to m x t. He caught the strong an seed
smell.
'It means whatever s happen ng s small,' he sa d. 'A small
operat on, based n New York. We felt nervous there, but we feel
safe here.'
He took a long s p of the beer.
'That's just a feel ng,' she sa d. 'Doesn't prove anyth ng.'
He nodded. 'No, but feel ngs are persuas ve. And there's
some hard ev dence. We were chased and attacked there, but
nobody out here s pay ng any attent on to us.'
'You been check ng?' she asked, alarmed.
'I'm always check ng,' he sa d. 'We've been walk ng around,
slow and obv ous. Nobody's been after us.'
'No manpower?'
He nodded aga n. 'They had the two guys who went to the
Keys and up to Garr son, and the guy dr v ng the Suburban. My
guess s that's all they've got, or they'd be out here look ng for
us. So t's a small un t, based n New York.'
She nodded.
'I th nk t's V ctor Hob e,' she sa d.
The wa ter was back, w th a pad and a penc l. Jod e ordered
pate and lamb, and Reacher ordered soup and porc aux
pruneaux, wh ch had always been h s Sunday
lunch as a k d, any t me h s mother could f nd pork and
prunes n the d stant places they were stat oned. It was a
reg onal d sh from the Lo re, and although h s mother was from
Par s she l ked to make t for her sons because she felt t was a
k nd of shorthand ntroduct on to her nat ve culture.
'I don't th nk t's V ctor Hob e,' he sa d.
'I th nk t s,' she sa d. 'I th nk he surv ved the war somehow,
and I th nk he's been h d ng out somewhere ever s nce, and I
th nk he doesn't want to be found.'
He shook h s head. 'I thought about that, too, r ght from the
start. But the psychology s all wrong. You read h s record. H s
letters. I told you what h s old buddy Ed Steven sa d. Th s was a
stra ght-arrow k d, Jod e. Totally dull, totally normal. I can't
bel eve he'd leave h s folks hang ng l ke that. For th rty years?
Why would he? It just doesn't j be w th what we know about
h m.'
'Maybe he changed,' Jod e sa d. 'Dad always used to say
V etnam changed people. Usually for the worse.'
Reacher shook h s head.
'He d ed,' he sa d. 'Four m les west of An Khe, th rty years
ago.'
'He's n New York,' Jod e sa d. 'R ght now, try ng to stay
h dden.'
He was on h s terrace, th rty floors up, lean ng on the ra l ng
w th h s back to the park. He had a cordless phone pressed to
h s ear, and he was sell ng Chester Stone's Mercedes to the guy
out n Queens.
'There's a BMW too,' he was say ng. 'E ght-ser es coupe. It's
up n Pound R dge r ght now. I'll take f fty cents on the dollar for
cash n a bag, tomorrow.'
He stopped and l stened to the guy suck ng n a r through h s
teeth, l ke car guys always do when you talk to them about
money.
'Call t th rty grand for the both of them, cash n a bag,
tomorrow.'
The guy grunted a yes, and Hob e moved on down h s mental
l st.
'There's a Tahoe and a Cad llac. Call t forty grand, you can
add e ther one of them to the deal. Your cho ce.'
The guy paused and p cked the Tahoe. More resale n a fourwheel dr ve, espec ally some way south, wh ch s where Hob e
knew he was go ng to move t. He cl cked the phone off and
went ns de through the sl ders to the l v ng room. He used h s
left hand to open h s l ttle leather d ary and kept t open by
flatten ng t down w th the hook. He cl cked the button aga n
and d alled a real-estate broker who owed h m ser ous money.
'I'm call ng the loan,' he sa d.
He l stened to the swallow ng sounds as the guy started
pan ck ng. There was desperate s lence for a long t me. Then he
heard the guy s t down, heav ly.
'Can you pay me?'
There was no reply.
'You know what happens to people who can't pay me?'
More s lence. More swallow ng.
'Don't worry,' he sa d. 'We can work someth ng out. I got two
propert es to sell. A mans on up n Pound R dge, and my
apartment on F fth. I want two m ll on for the house, and threepo nt-f ve for the apartment. You get me that and I'll wr te off the
loan aga nst your comm ss on, OK?'
The guy had no cho ce but to agree. Hob e had h m copy
down the bank deta ls n the Caymans and told h m to w re the
proceeds w th n a month.
'A month s pretty opt m st c,' the guy sa d.
'How are your k ds?' Hob e asked.
More swallow ng.
'OK, a month,' the guy sa d.
Hob e cl cked the phone off and wrote $5,540,000 on the page
where he had scored out three automob les and two res dences.
Then he called the a rl ne and enqu red about fl ghts to the
coast, even ng of the day after tomorrow. There was plenty of
ava lab l ty. He sm led. The ball was soar ng r ght over the
fence, head ng for the f fth row of the bleachers. The outf elder
was leap ng l ke crazy, but he was absolutely nowhere near t.
W th Hob e gone, Mar lyn felt safe enough to take a shower.
She wouldn't have done t w th h m out there n the off ce. There
was too much n h s leer. She would have felt he could see r ght
through the bathroom door. But the one called Tony was not
such a problem. He was anx ous and obed ent. Hob e had told
h m to make sure they d dn't come out of the bathroom. He
would do that, for sure, but noth ng more. He wouldn't come n
and hassle them. He would leave them alone. She was conf dent
of that. And the other guy, the th ckset one who had brought the
coffee, he was do ng what Tony told h m. So she felt safe
enough, but she st ll had Chester stand by the door w th h s
hand on the handle.
She leaned n and set the shower runn ng hot and str pped off
her dress and her shoes. She folded the dress neatly over the
curta n ra l, out of the water
stream, but near enough for the steam to take the creases
out. Then she stepped nto the stall and washed her ha r and
soaped herself from head to foot. It felt good. It was relax ng. It
took away the tens on. She stood face up and soaked for a long
t me. Then she left the water runn ng and stepped out and took
a towel and changed places w th Chester.
'Go ahead,' she sa d. 'It'll do you good.'
He was numb. He just nodded and let the door handle go.
Stood for a second and str pped off h s undersh rt and h s
boxers. Sat naked on the floor and took off h s shoes and
socks. She saw the yellow bru se on h s s de.
'They h t you?' she wh spered.
He nodded aga n. Stood up and stepped nto the stall. He
stood under the torrent w th h s eyes closed and h s mouth
open. Then the water seemed to rev ve h m. He found the soap
and the shampoo and washed h mself all over.
'Leave the water runn ng,' she sa d. 'It's warm ng the place
up.'
It was true. The hot water was mak ng the room comfortable.
He stepped out and took a towel. Dabbed h s face w th t and
wrapped t around h s wa st.
'And the no se means they can't hear us talk ng,' she sa d.
'And we need to talk, r ght?'
He shrugged, l ke there wasn't much to talk about. 'I don't
understand what you're do ng. There are no trustees. He's
go ng to f nd that out, and then he'll just get mad.'
She was towell ng her ha r. She stopped and looked at h m
through the gather ng cloud of steam. 'We need a w tness. Don't
you see that?'
'A w tness to what?'
'To what happens,' she sa d. 'Dav d Forster w ll send some
pr vate detect ve over here, and what can Hob e do? We'll just
adm t there s no trust, and then we'll all of us go down to your
bank, and we'll hand Hob e the stock. In a publ c place, w th a
w tness. A w tness, and a sort of bodyguard. Then we can just
walk away.'
'W ll that work?'
'I th nk so,' she sa d. 'He's n some k nd of a hurry. Can't you
see that? He's got some k nd of a deadl ne. He's pan ck ng. Our
best bet s to delay as long as we can, and then just sl p away,
w th a w tness watch ng the whole th ng and guard ng us. Hob e
w ll be too upt ght about t me to react.'
'I don't understand,' he sa d aga n. 'You mean th s pr vate d ck
w ll test fy we were act ng under duress? You mean so we can
sue Hob e to get the stock back?'
She was qu et for a beat. Amazed. 'No, Chester, we're not
go ng to sue anybody. Hob e gets the stock, and we forget all
about t.'
He stared at her through the steam. 'But that's no good. That
won't save the company. Not f t means Hob e gets the stock
and we've got no comeback.'
She stared back at h m. 'God's sake, Chester, don't you
understand anyth ng? The company s gone. The company s
h story, and you better face t. Th s s not about sav ng the
damn company. Th s s about sav ng our l ves.'
The soup was wonderful and the pork was even better. H s
mother would have been proud of t. They shared a half-bottle
of Cal forn an w ne and ate n contented s lence. The restaurant
was the sort of place that gave
you a long pause between the ma n course and the dessert.
No rush to get you out and recla m the table. Reacher was
enjoy ng the luxury. Not someth ng he was used to. He
sprawled back n h s cha r and stretched h s legs out. H s
ankles were rubb ng aga nst Jod e's, under the table.
'Th nk about h s parents,' he sa d. 'Th nk about h m, as a k d.
Open up the encycloped a to N for 'normal Amer can fam ly' and
you're go ng to see a p cture of the Hob es, all three of them,
star ng r ght out at you. I accept that 'Nam changed people. I
can see t k nd of expand ng h s hor zons a l ttle. They knew
that, too. They knew he wasn't go ng to come back and work for
some dumb l ttle pr nt shop n Br ghton. They saw h m go ng
down to the r gs, fly ng around the Gulf for the o l compan es.
But he would have kept n touch, r ght? To some extent? He
wouldn't have just abandoned them. That's real cruelty, cold
and cons stent for th rty stra ght years. You see anyth ng n h s
record that makes h m that k nd of a guy?'
'Maybe he d d someth ng,' she sa d. 'Someth ng shameful.
Maybe someth ng l ke My La , you know, a massacre or
someth ng? Maybe he was ashamed to go home. Maybe he's
h d ng a gu lty secret.'
He shook h s head mpat ently. 'It would be n h s record. And
he d dn't have the opportun ty, anyway. He was a hel copter
p lot, not an nfantryman. He never saw the enemy close up.'
The wa ter came back w th h s pad and penc l.
'Dessert?' he asked. 'Coffee?'
They ordered raspberry sorbet and black coffee. Jod e
dra ned the last of her w ne. It shone dull red n the glass n the
candlel ght.
'So what do we do?'
'He d ed,' Reacher sa d. 'We'll get the def n t ve ev dence,
sooner or later. Then we'll go back and tell the old folks they've
wasted th rty years frett ng about t.'
'And what do we tell ourselves? We were attacked by a
ghost?'
He shrugged and made no reply to that. The sorbet arr ved
and they ate t n s lence. Then the coffee came, and the check
n a padded leather folder bear ng the restaurant logo pr nted n
gold. Jod e la d her cred t card on t w thout look ng at the total.
Then she sm led.
'Great d nner,' she sa d.
He sm led back. 'Great company.'
'Let's forget all about V ctor Hob e for a wh le,' she sa d.
'Who?' he asked, and she laughed.
'So what shall we th nk about nstead?' she sa d.
He sm led. 'I was th nk ng about your dress.'
'You l ke t?'
'I th nk t's great,' he sa d.
'What?'
'But t could look better. You know, maybe thrown n a heap
on the floor.'
'You th nk so?'
'I'm pretty sure,' he sa d. 'But that's just a guess, r ght now. I'd
need some exper mental data. You know, a before-and-after
compar son.'
She s ghed n mock exhaust on. 'Reacher, we need to be up at
seven. Early fl ghts, r ght?'
'You're young,' he sa d. 'If I can take t, you sure as hell can.'
She sm led. Scraped her cha r back and stood up.
Stepped away from the table and turned a slow turn n the
a sle. The dress moved w th her. It was l ke a sheath, but not
t ght. It looked wonderful from the back. Her ha r was gold
aga nst t n the candlel ght. She stepped close and bent down
and wh spered n h s ear.
'OK, that's the before part. Let's go before you forget the
compar son.'
Seven o'clock n the morn ng n New York happened an hour
before seven o'clock n the morn ng n St Lou s, and O'Hall nan
and Sark spent that hour n the squad room plann ng the r sh ft.
The overn ght messages were stacked deep n the n-trays.
There were calls from the hosp tals, and reports from n ghtsh ft
beat cops who had gone out to domest c d sturbances. They all
needed s ft ng and evaluat ng, and an t nerary had to be
worked out, based on geography and urgency. It had been an
average n ght n New York C ty, wh ch meant O'Hall nan and
Sark comp led a l st of twenty-e ght brand new cases wh ch
requ red the r attent on, wh ch meant the call to the f fteenth
prec nct traff c squad got delayed unt l ten m nutes to e ght n
the morn ng.
O'Hall nan d alled the number and reached the desk sergeant
on the tenth r ng. 'You towed a black Suburban,' she sa d. 'It got
wrecked on lower Broadway couple of days ago. You do ng
anyth ng about t?'
There was the sound of the guy scrap ng through a p le of
paperwork.
'It's n the pound. You got an nterest n t?'
'We got a woman w th a busted nose n the hosp tal, got
del vered there n a Tahoe owned by the same people.'
'Maybe she was the dr ver. We had three veh cles nvolved,
and we only got one dr ver. There was the Suburban that
caused the acc dent, dr ver d sappeared. Then there was an
Olds Bravada wh ch drove away nto an alley, dr ver and
passenger d sappeared. The Suburban was corporate, some
f nanc al trust n the d str ct.'
'Cayman Corporate Trust?' O'Hall nan asked. 'That's who
owns our Tahoe.'
'R ght,' the guy sa d. 'The Bravada s down to a Mrs Jod e
Jacob, but t was reported stolen pr or. That's not your woman
w th the busted nose, s t?'
'Jod e Jacob? No, our woman s Sheryl somebody.'
'OK, probably the Suburban dr ver. Is she small?'
'Small enough, I guess,' O'Hall nan sa d. 'Why?'
'The a rbag deployed,' the guy sa d. 'Poss ble a small woman
could be njured that way, by the a rbag. It happens.'
'You want to check t out?'
'No, our way of th nk ng, we got the r veh cle, they want t,
they'll come to us.'
O'Hall nan hung up and Sark looked at her enqu r ngly.
'So what's that about?' he asked. 'Why would she say she
walked nto a door f t was really a car wreck?'
O'Hall nan shrugged. 'Don't know. And why would a realestate woman from Westchester be dr v ng for a f rm out of the
World Trade Center?'
'Could expla n the njur es,' Sark sa d. 'The a rbag, maybe the
r m of the steer ng wheel, that could have done t to her.'
'Maybe,' O'Hall nan sa d.
'So should we check t out?'
'We should try, I guess, because f t was a car
wreck t makes t a closed nstead of a probable.'
'OK, but don't wr te t down anywhere, because f t wasn't a
car wreck t'll make t open and pend ng aga n, wh ch w ll be a
total pa n n the ass later.'
They stood up together and put the r notebooks n the r
un form pockets. Used the sta rs and enjoyed the morn ng sun
on the way across the yard to the r cru ser.
The same sun rolled west and made t seven o'clock n St
Lou s. It came n through an att c dormer and played ts low
beam across the four-poster from a new d rect on. Jod e had
gotten up f rst, and she was n the shower. Reacher was, alone
n the warm bed, stretch ng out, aware of a muffled ch rp ng
sound somewhere n the room.
He checked the n ghtstand to see f the phone was r ng ng, or
f Jod e had set an alarm clock he hadn't not ced the n ght
before. Noth ng there. The ch rp ng kept on go ng, muffled but
ns stent. He rolled over and sat up. The new angle located the
sound ns de Jod e's carry-on bag. He sl d out of bed and
padded naked across the room. Unz pped the bag. The ch rp ng
sounded louder. It was her mob le telephone. He glanced at the
bathroom door and pulled out the phone. It was ch rp ng loudly
n h s hand. He stud ed the buttons on t and pressed send. The
ch rp ng stopped.
'Hello?' he sa d.
There was a pause. 'Who's that? I'm try ng to reach Mrs
Jacob.'
It was a man's vo ce, young, busy, harassed. A vo ce he knew.
Jod e's secretary at the law f rm, the guy who had d ctated
Leon's address.
'She's n the shower.'
'Ah,' the vo ce sa d.
There was another pause.
'I'm a fr end,' Reacher sa d.
'I see,' the vo ce sa d. 'Are you st ll up n Garr son?'
'No, we're n St Lou s, M ssour .'
'Goodness, that compl cates th ngs, doesn't t? May I speak
w th Mrs Jacob?'
'She's n the shower,' Reacher sa d aga n. 'She could call you
back. Or I could take a message, I guess.'
'Would you m nd?' the guy sa d. 'It's urgent, I'm afra d.'
'Hold on,' Reacher sa d. He walked back to the bed and
p cked up the l ttle pad and the penc l the hotel had placed on
the n ghtstand next to the telephone. Sat down and juggled the
mob le nto h s left hand.
'OK, shoot,' he sa d. The guy ran through h s message. It was
very non-spec f c. The guy was choos ng h s words carefully to
keep the whole th ng vague. Clearly a fr end couldn't be trusted
w th any secret legal deta ls. He put the pad and penc l down
aga n. He wasn't go ng to need them.
'I'll have her call you back f that's not clear,' he sa d
amb guously.
'Thank you, and I'm sorry to nterrupt, well, whatever t s I'm
nterrupt ng.'
'You're not nterrupt ng anyth ng,' Reacher sa d. 'L ke I told
you, she's n the shower r ght now. But ten m nutes ago m ght
have been a problem.'
'Goodness,' the guy sa d aga n, and the phone went dead.
Reacher sm led and stud ed the buttons aga n and pressed
end. He dropped the phone on the bed and heard the water cut
off n the bathroom. The door
opened and she came out, wrapped n a towel and a cloud of
steam.
'Your secretary just called on your mob le,' he sa d. 'I th nk he
was a l ttle shocked when I answered.'
She g ggled. 'Well, there goes my reputat on. It'll be all over
the off ce by luncht me. What d d he want?'
'You've got to go back to New York.'
'Why? He g ve you the deta ls?'
He shook h s head.
'No, he was very conf dent al, very proper, l ke a secretary
should be, I guess. But you're an ace lawyer, apparently. B g
demand for your serv ces.'
She gr nned. 'I'm the best there s. D dn't I tell you that? So
who needs me?'
'Somebody called your f rm. Some f nanc al corporat on w th
someth ng to handle. Asked for you personally. Presumably
because you're the best there s.'
She nodded and sm led. 'He say what the problem s?'
He shrugged. 'Your usual, I guess. Somebody owes
somebody else some money, sounds l ke they're all squabbl ng
over t. You have to go to a meet ng tomorrow afternoon and try
to talk some sense nto one s de or the other.'
Another of the thousands of phone calls tak ng place dur ng
the same m nute n the Wall Street area was a call from the law
off ces of Forster and Abelste n to the prem ses of a pr vate
detect ve called W ll am Curry. Curry was a twenty-year veteran
of the NYPD's detect ve squads, and he had taken h s pens on
at the age of forty-seven and was look ng to pay h s al mony by
work ng pr vate unt l h s ex-w fe
got marr ed aga n or d ed or forgot about h m. He had been n
bus ness for two lean years, and a personal call from the sen or
partner of a wh te-shoe Wall Street law f rm was a breakthrough
event, so he was pleased, but not too surpr sed. He had done
two years of good work at reasonable rates w th the exact a m
of creat ng some k nd of reputat on, so f the reputat on was
f nally spread ng and the b g h tters were f nally call ng, he was
pleased about t w thout be ng aston shed by t.
But he was aston shed by the nature of the job.
'I have to mpersonate you?' he repeated.
'It's mportant,' Forster told h m. 'They're expect ng a lawyer
called Dav d Forster, so that's what we have to g ve them. There
won't be any law nvolved. There probably won't be anyth ng
nvolved at all. Just be ng there w ll keep the l d on th ngs. It'll
be stra ghtforward enough. OK?'
'OK, I guess,' Curry sa d. He wrote down the names of the
part es nvolved and the address where the performance was
due to take place. He quoted double h s normal fee. He d dn't
want to look cheap, not n front of these Wall Street guys. They
were always mpressed by expens ve serv ces. He knew that.
And, g ven the nature of the job, he f gured he would be earn ng
t. Forster agreed the pr ce w thout hes tat on and prom sed a
cheque n the ma l. Curry hung up the phone and started
through h s closets n h s head, wonder ng what the hell he
could wear to make h mself look l ke the head of a b g Wall
Street f rm.
THIRTEEN
St Lou s to Dallas-Fort Worth s 568 m les by a r, and t took a
comfortable n nety m nutes, th rty of them cl mb ng hard, th rty
of them cru s ng fast, and th rty of them descend ng on
approach. Reacher and Jod e were together n bus ness class,
th s t me on the port s de of the plane, among a very d fferent
cl entele than had flown w th them out of New York. Most of the
cab n was occup ed by Texan bus nessmen n sharksk n su ts
n var ous shades of blue and grey, w th all gator boots and b g
hats. They were larger and rudd er and louder than the r East
Coast counterparts, and they were work ng the stewardesses
harder. Jod e was n a s mple rust-coloured dress l ke
someth ng Audrey Hepburn m ght have worn, and the
bus nessmen were steal ng glances at her and avo d ng
Reacher's eye. He was on the a sle, n h s crumpled khak s and
h s ten-year-old Engl sh shoes, and they were try ng to place
h m. He saw them go ng around n c rcles, look ng at h s tan
and h s hands and h s compan on, f gur ng h m for a roughneck
who got lucky w th a cla m, then f gur ng that doesn't really
happen any more, then start ng over w th new speculat ons. He
gnored them and drank the a rl ne's best
coffee from a ch na cup and started th nk ng about how to get
ns de Wolters and get some sense out of DeW tt.
A m l tary pol ceman try ng to get some sense out of a twostar general s l ke a guy toss ng a co n. Heads br ngs you a guy
who knows the value of co-operat on. Maybe he's had
d ff cult es n the past ns de some un t or another, and maybe
he's had them solved for h m by the MPs n an effect ve and
percept ve manner. Then he's a bel ever, and h s nst nct goes
w th you. You're h s fr end. But ta ls br ngs you a guy who has
maybe caused h s own d ff cult es. Maybe he's botched and
blundered h s way through some command and maybe the MPs
haven't been shy about tell ng h m so. Then you get noth ng
from h m except aggravat on. Heads or ta ls, but t's a bent co n,
because on top of everyth ng any nst tut on desp ses ts own
pol cemen, so t comes down ta ls a lot more than t comes up
heads. That had been Reacher's exper ence. And, worse, he
was a m l tary pol ceman who was now a c v l an. He had two
str kes aga nst h m before he even stepped up to the plate.
The plane tax ed to the gate and the bus nessmen wa ted and
ushered Jod e down the a sle ahead of them. E ther pla n Texan
courtesy or they wanted to watch her legs and her ass as she
walked, but Reacher couldn't mount any ser ous cr t c sm on
that ssue because he wanted to do exactly the same th ng. He
carr ed her bag and followed her down the jet way and nto the
term nal. He stepped alongs de her and put h s arm around her
shoulders and felt a dozen pa rs of eyes dr ll ng nto h s back.
'Cla m ng what's yours?' she asked.
'You not ced them?' he asked back.
She threaded her arm around h s wa st and pulled h m closer
as they walked.
'They were k nd of hard to m ss. I guess t would have been
easy enough to get a date for ton ght.'
'You'd have been beat ng them off w th a st ck.'
'It's the dress. Probably I should have worn trousers, but I
f gured t's k nd of trad t onal down here.'
'You could wear a Sov et tank dr ver's su t, all grey-green and
padded w th cotton, and they'd st ll have the r tongues hang ng
out.'
She g ggled. 'I've seen Sov et tank dr vers. Dad showed me
p ctures. Two hundred pounds, b g moustaches, smok ng
p pes, tattoos, and that was just the women.'
The term nal was ch lled w th a r cond t on ng and they were
h t w th a forty-degree jump n temperature when they stepped
out to the tax l ne. June n Texas, just after ten n the morn ng,
and t was over a hundred and hum d.
'Wow,' she sa d. 'Maybe the dress makes sense.'
They were n the shade of an overhead roadway, but beyond t
the sun was wh te and brassy. The concrete baked and
sh mmered. Jod e bent and found some dark glasses n her bag
and sl pped them on and looked more l ke a blonde Audrey
Hepburn than ever. The f rst tax was a new Capr ce w th the a r
go ng full blast and rel g ous artefacts hang ng from the
rearv ew m rror. The dr ver was s lent and the tr p lasted forty
m nutes, mostly over concrete h ghways that shone wh te n the
sun and started out busy and got empt er.
Fort Wolters was a b g permanent fac l ty n the m ddle of
nowhere w th low elegant bu ld ngs and landscap ng kept clean
and t dy n the ster le way only
the Army can ach eve. There was a h gh fence stretch ng
m les around the whole per meter, taut and level all the way, no
weeds at ts base. The nner kerb of the road was wh tewashed.
Beyond the fence nternal roads faced w th grey concrete
snaked here and there between the bu ld ngs. W ndows w nked
n the sun. The tax rounded a curve and revealed a f eld the
s ze of a stad um w th hel copters l ned up n neat rows. Squads
of fl ght tra nees moved about between them.
The ma n gate was set back from the road, w th tall wh te
flagpoles funnell ng down towards t. The r flags hung l mp n
the heat. There was a low square gatehouse w th a red-andwh te barr er controll ng access. The gatehouse was all
w ndows above wa st level and Reacher could see MPs ns de
watch ng the approach of the tax . They were n full serv ce
gear, nclud ng the wh te helmets. Regular Army MPs. He
sm led. Th s part was go ng to be no problem. They were go ng
to see h m as more the r fr end than the people they were
guard ng.
The tax dropped them n the turn ng c rcle and drove back
out. They walked through the bl nd ng heat to the shade of the
guardhouse eaves. An MP sergeant sl d the w ndow back and
looked at them enqu r ngly. Reacher felt the ch lled a r sp ll ng
out over h m.
'We need to get together w th General DeW tt,' he sa d. 'Is
there any chance of that happen ng, Sergeant?'
The guy looked h m over. 'Depends who you are, I guess.'
Reacher told h m who he was and who he had been, and who
Jod e was and who her father had been, and
a m nute later they were both ns de the cool of the
guardhouse. The MP sergeant was on the phone to h s oppos te
number n the command off ce.
'OK, you're booked n,' he sa d. 'General's free n half an
hour.'
Reacher sm led. The guy was probably free r ght now, and the
half-hour was go ng to be spent check ng that they were who
they sa d they were.
'What's the general l ke, Sergeant?' he asked.
'We'd rate h m SAS, s r,' the MP sa d, and sm led.
Reacher sm led back. The guardhouse felt surpr s ngly good
to h m. He felt at home n t. SAS was MP code for 'stup d
asshole somet mes', and t was a reasonably benevolent rat ng
for a sergeant to g ve a general. It was the k nd of rat ng that
meant f he approached t r ght, the guy m ght co-operate. On
the other hand, t meant he m ght not. It gave h m someth ng to
ponder dur ng the wa t ng t me.
After th rty-two m nutes a pla n green Chevy w th neat wh te
stenc ls pulled up ns de the barr er and the sergeant nodded
them towards t. The dr ver was a pr vate sold er who wasn't
about to speak a word. He just wa ted unt l they were seated
and turned the car around and headed slowly back through the
bu ld ngs. Reacher watched the fam l ar s ghts sl de by. He had
never been to Wolters, but he knew t well enough because t
was dent cal to dozens of other places he had been. The same
layout, the same people, the same deta ls, l ke t was bu lt to the
same master plan. The ma n bu ld ng was a long two-storey
br ck structure fac ng a parade ground. Its arch tecture was
exactly the same as the ma n bu ld ng on the Berl n base where
he was born. Only the weather was d fferent.
The Chevy eased to a stop oppos te the steps up nto
the bu ld ng. The dr ver moved the selector nto park and
stared s lently ahead through the w ndsh eld. Reacher opened
the door and stepped out nto the heat w th Jod e.
'Thanks for the r de, sold er,' he sa d.
The boy just sat n park w th the motor runn ng and stared
stra ght ahead. Reacher walked w th Jod e to the steps and n
through the door. There was an MP pr vate stat oned n the cool
of the lobby, wh te helmet, wh te ga ters, a gleam ng M-16 held
easy across h s chest. H s gaze was f xed on Jod e's bare legs
as they danced n towards h m.
'Reacher and Garber to see General DeW tt,' Reacher sa d.
The guy snapped the r fle upr ght, wh ch was symbol c of
remov ng a barr er. Reacher nodded and walked ahead to the
sta rcase. The place was l ke every other place, bu lt to a
spec f cat on po sed uneas ly somewhere between lav sh and
funct onal, l ke a pr vate school occupy ng an old mans on. It
was mmaculately clean, and the mater als were the f nest
ava lable, but the decor was nst tut onal and brutal. At the top
of the sta rs was a desk n the corr dor. Beh nd t was a portly
MP sergeant, swamped w th paperwork. Beh nd h m was an oak
door w th an acetate plate bear ng DeW tt's name, h s rank and
h s decorat ons. It was a large plate.
'Reacher and Garber to see the general,' Reacher sa d.
The sergeant nodded and p cked up h s telephone. He
pressed a button.
'Your v s tors, s r,' he sa d nto the phone.
He l stened to the reply and stood up and opened the door.
Stepped as de to allow them to walk past.
Closed the door beh nd them. The off ce was the s ze of a
tenn s court. It was panelled n oak and had a huge dark rug on
the floor, threadbare w th vacuum ng. The desk was large and
oak, and DeW tt was n the cha r beh nd t. He was somewhere
between f fty and f fty-f ve, dr ed out and str ngy, w th th nn ng
grey ha r shaved down close to h s scalp. He had half-closed
grey eyes and he was us ng them to watch the r approach w th
an express on Reacher read as halfway between cur os ty and
rr tat on.
'S t down,' he sa d. 'Please.'
There were leather v s tor cha rs drawn up near the desk. The
off ce walls were crowded w th mementoes, but they were all
battal on and d v s on mementoes, war-game troph es, battle
honours, old platoon photographs n faded monochrome. There
were p ctures and cutaway d agrams of a dozen d fferent
hel copters. But there was noth ng personal to DeW tt on
d splay. Not even fam ly snaps on the desk.
'How can I help you folks?' he asked.
H s accent was the bland Army accent that comes from
serv ng all over the world w th people from all over the country.
He was maybe a m dwesterner, or g nally. Maybe from
somewhere near Ch cago, Reacher thought.
'I was an MP major,' he sa d, and wa ted.
'I know you were. We checked.'
A neutral reply. Noth ng there at all. No host l ty. But no
approval, e ther.
'My father was General Garber,' Jod e sa d.
DeW tt nodded w thout speak ng.
'We're here n a pr vate capac ty,' Reacher sa d.
There was a short s lence.
'A c v l an capac ty, n fact,' DeW tt sa d slowly.
Reacher nodded. Str ke one.
'It's about a p lot called V ctor Hob e. You served w th h m n
V etnam.'
DeW tt looked del berately blank. He ra sed h s eyebrows.
'D d I?' he sa d. 'I don't remember h m.'
Str ke two. Unco-operat ve.
'We're try ng to f nd out what happened to h m.'
Another short s lence. Then DeW tt nodded, slowly, amused.
'Why? Was he your long-lost uncle? Or maybe he was
secretly your father? Maybe he had a br ef sad affa r w th your
mother when he was her pool boy. Or d d you buy h s old
ch ldhood home and f nd h s long-lost teenage d ar es h dden
beh nd the wa nscot ng w th a 1968 ssue of Playboy
magaz ne?'
Str ke three. Aggress vely unco-operat ve. The off ce went
s lent aga n. There was the thump ng of rotor blades
somewhere n the far d stance. Jod e h tched forward on her
cha r. Her vo ce was soft and low n the qu et room.
'We're here for h s parents, s r. They lost the r boy th rty years
ago, and they've never known what happened to h m. They're
st ll gr ev ng, General.'
DeW tt looked at her w th the grey eyes and shook h s head.
'I don't remember h m. I'm very sorry.'
'He tra ned w th you r ght here at Wolters,' Reacher sa d. 'You
went to Rucker together and you sa led to Qu Nhon together.
You served the best part of two tours together, fly ng sl cks out
of Ple ku.'
'Your old man n the serv ce?' DeW tt asked.
Reacher nodded. 'The Corps. Th rty years, Semper
F
'M ne was E ghth A r Force,' DeW tt sa d. 'World War Two,
fly ng bombers out of East Angl a n England all the way to
Berl n and back. You know what he told me when I s gned up for
hel copters?'
Reacher wa ted.
'He gave me some good adv ce,' DeW tt sa d. 'He told me,
don't make fr ends w th p lots. Because they all get k lled, and t
just makes you m serable.'
Reacher nodded aga n. 'You really can't recall h m?'
DeW tt just shrugged.
'Not even for h s folks?' Jod e asked. 'Doesn't seem r ght
they'll never know what happened to the r boy, does t?'
There was s lence. The d stant rotor blades faded to noth ng.
DeW tt gazed at Jod e. Then he spread h s small hands on the
desk and s ghed heav ly.
'Well, I guess I can recall h m a l ttle,' he sa d. 'Mostly from the
early days. Later on, when they all started dy ng, I took the old
man's adv ce to heart. K nd of closed n on myself, you know?'
'So what was he l ke?' Jod e asked.
'What was he l ke?' DeW tt repeated. 'Not l ke me, that's for
sure. Not l ke anybody else I ever knew, e ther. He was a walk ng
contrad ct on. He was a volunteer, you know that? I was too,
and so were a lot of the guys. But V c wasn't l ke the others.
There was a b g d v de back then between the volunteers and
the drafted guys. The volunteers were all rah-rah boys, you
know, go ng for t because they bel eved n t. But V c wasn't
l ke that. He volunteered, but he was about as mousy qu et as
the sulk est draftee you ever saw. But he could fly l ke he was
born w th a rotor blade up h s ass.'
'So he was good?' Jod e prompted.
'Better than good,' DeW tt repl ed. 'Second only to me n the
early days, wh ch s say ng someth ng, because I was def n tely
born w th a rotor blade up my ass. And V c was smart w th the
book stuff. I remember that. He had t all over everybody else n
the classroom.'
'D d he have an att tude problem w th that?' Reacher asked.
'Trad ng favours for help?'
DeW tt swung the grey eyes across from Jod e.
'You've done your research. You've been n the f les.'
'We just came from the NPRC,' Reacher sa d.
DeW tt nodded, neutrally. 'I hope you d dn't read my jacket.'
'Superv sor wouldn't let us,' Reacher sa d.
'We were anx ous not to poke around where we're not
wanted,' Jod e sa d.
DeW tt nodded aga n.
'V c traded favours,' he sa d. 'But they cla med he d d t n the
wrong way. There was a l ttle controversy about t, as I recall.
You were supposed to do t because you were glad to help your
fellow cand dates, you know? For the good of the un t, r ght?
You remember how that sh t went?'
He stopped and glanced at Reacher, amused. Reacher
nodded. Jod e's be ng there was help ng h m. Her charm was
nch ng h m back towards approval.
'But V c was cold about t,' DeW tt sa d. 'L ke t was all just
another math equat on. L ke jc amount of l ft moves the chopper
off the ground, l ke th s much help w th that compl cated
formula gets h s boots bulled up. They saw t as cold.'
'Was he cold?' Jod e asked.
DeW tt nodded. 'Emot onless, the coldest guy I ever saw. It
always amazed me. At f rst I f gured t was because he came
from some l ttle place where he'd never done anyth ng or seen
anyth ng. But later I real zed he just felt noth ng. Noth ng at all.
It was we rd. But t made h m a hell of a tremendous flyer.'
'Because he wasn't afra d?' Reacher asked.
'Exactly,' DeW tt sa d. 'Not courageous, because a
courageous guy s somebody who feels the fear but conquers
t. V c never felt t n the f rst place. It made h m a better war
flyer than me. I was the one passed out of Rucker head of the
class, and I've got the plaque to prove t, but when we got ncountry, he was better than me, no doubt about t.'
'In what k nd of way?'
DeW tt shrugged, l ke he couldn't expla n t. 'We learned
everyth ng as we went along, just made t all up. Fact s, our
tra n ng was sh t. It was l ke be ng shown a l ttle round th ng
and be ng told th s s a baseball and then gett ng sent stra ght
out to play n the major leagues. That's someth ng I'm try ng to
put r ght, now I'm here runn ng th s place. I never want to send
boys out as unprepared as we were.'
'Hob e was good at learn ng on the job?' Reacher asked.
'The best,' DeW tt sa d. 'You know anyth ng about hel copters
n the jungle?'
Reacher shook h s head. 'Not a lot.'
'F rst ma n problem s the LZ,' DeW tt sa d. 'LZ, land ng zone,
r ght? You got a desperate bunch of t red nfantry under f re
somewhere, they need ex-f ltrat ng, they get on the rad o and
our despatcher tells them, sure, make us an LZ and we'll be
r ght over to pull you out. So they use explos ves and saws and
whatever
the hell else they got and they blast a temporary LZ n the
jungle. Now a Huey w th the rotor turn ng needs a space exactly
forty-e ght feet w de and f fty-seven feet n ne-po nt-seven
nches long to land n. But the nfantry s t red and n a b g hurry
and Charl e s ra n ng mortars down on them and generally they
don't make the LZ b g enough. So we can't get them out. Th s
happened to us two or three t mes, and we're s ck about t, and
one n ght I see V c study ng the lead ng edge of the rotor blade
on h s Huey. So I say to h m, what are you look ng at? And he
says, these are metal. I'm th nk ng, l ke what else would they
be? Bamboo? But he's look ng at them. Next day, we're called
to a temporary LZ aga n, and sure enough the damn th ng s too
small, by a couple of feet all around. So I can't get n. But V c
goes down anyway. He sp ns the chopper around and around
and cuts h s way n w th the rotor. L ke a g gant c fly ng lawn
mower? It was awesome. B ts of tree fly ng everywhere. He
pulls out seven or e ght guys and the rest of us go down after
h m and get all the rest. That became SOP afterward, and he
nvented t, because he was cold and log cal and he wasn't
afra d to try. That manoeuvre saved hundreds of guys over the
years. L terally hundreds, maybe even thousands.'
'Impress ve,' Reacher sa d.
'You bet your ass mpress ve,' DeW tt sa d back. 'Second b g
problem we had was we ght. Suppose you were out n the open
somewhere, l ke a f eld. The nfantry would come swarm ng n
on you unt l the damn chopper was too heavy to take off. So
your own gunners would be beat ng them off and leav ng them
there n the f eld, maybe to d e. Not a n ce feel ng. So one day
V c lets them all onboard, and sure enough he
can't get off the ground. So he shoves the st ck forward and
sort of sk tters hor zontally along the f eld unt l the a rspeed
k cks n under the rotor and unst cks h m. Then he's up and
away. The runn ng jump. It became another SOP, and he
nvented t too. Somet mes he would do t downh ll, even down
the mounta ns des, l ke he was head ng for a certa n crash, and
then up he went. L ke I told you, we were just mak ng t up as
we went along, and the truth s a lot of the good stuff got made
up by V ctor Hob e.'
'You adm red h m,' Jod e sa d.
DeW tt nodded. 'Yes, I d d. And I'm not afra d to adm t t.'
'But you weren't close.'
He shook h s head. 'L ke my daddy told me, don't make
fr ends w th the other p lots. And I'm glad I d dn't. Too many of
them d ed.'
'How d d he spend h s t me?' Reacher asked. 'The f les show
a lot of days you couldn't fly.'
'Weather was a b tch. A real b tch. You got no dea. I want th s
fac l ty moved someplace else, maybe Wash ngton State, where
they get some m sts and fogs. No po nt tra n ng down n Texas
and Alabama f you want to go f ght ng someplace you get
weather.'
'So how d d you spend the down-t me?'
'Me? I d d all k nds of th ngs. Somet mes I part ed, somet mes
I slept. Somet mes I took a truck out and went scaveng ng for
th ngs we needed.'
'What about V c?' Jod e asked. 'What d d he do?'
DeW tt just shrugged aga n. 'I have no dea. He was always
busy, always up to someth ng, but I don't know what t was. L ke
I told you, I d dn't want to m x w th the other flyers.'
'Was he d fferent on the second tour?' Reacher asked.
DeW tt sm led br efly. 'Everybody was d fferent second t me
around.'
'In what way?' Jod e asked.
'Angr er,' DeW tt sa d. 'Even f you s gned up aga n r ght away
t was n ne months m n mum before you got back, somet mes a
whole year. Then you got back and you f gured the place had
gone to sh t wh le you were away. You f gured t had gotten
sloppy and half-assed. Fac l t es you'd bu lt would be all fall ng
down, trenches you'd dug aga nst the mortars would be half full
of water, trees you'd cleared away from the hel copter park ng
would be all sprout ng up aga n. You'd feel your l ttle doma n
had been ru ned by a bunch of know-noth ng d ots wh le you
were gone. It made you angry and depressed. And generally
speak ng t was true. The whole 'Nam th ng went stead ly
downh ll, r ght out of control. The qual ty of the personnel just
got worse and worse.'
'So you'd say Hob e got d s llus oned?' Reacher asked.
DeW tt shrugged. 'I really don't remember much about h s
att tude. Maybe he coped OK. He had a strong sense of duty, as
I recall.'
'What was h s f nal m ss on about?'
The grey eyes suddenly went blank, l ke the shutters had just
come down.
T can't remember.'
'He was shot down,' Reacher sa d. 'Shot out of the a r, r ght
alongs de you. You can't recall what the m ss on was?'
'We lost e ght thousand hel copters n 'Nam,' DeW tt sa d.
'E ght thousand, Mr Reacher, beg nn ng to end. Seems to me I
personally saw most of them go down. So how should I recall
any part cular one of them?'
'What was t about?' Reacher asked aga n.
'Why do you want to know?' DeW tt asked back.
'It would help me.'
'W th what?'
Reacher shrugged. 'W th h s folks, I guess. I want to be able
to tell them he d ed do ng someth ng useful.'
DeW tt sm led. A b tter, sardon c sm le, worn and softened at
the edges by th rty years of regular use. 'Well, my fr end, you
sure as hell can't do that.'
'Why not?'
'Because none of our m ss ons were useful. They were all a
waste of t me. A waste of l ves. We lost the war, d dn't we?'
'Was t a secret m ss on?'
There was a pause. S lence n the b g off ce.
'Why should t be secret?' DeW tt asked back, neutrally.
'He only took onboard three passengers. Seems l ke a spec al
sort of a deal to me. No runn ng jump requ red there.'
'I don't remember,' DeW tt sa d aga n.
Reacher just looked at h m, qu etly. DeW tt stared back.
'How should I remember? I hear about someth ng for the f rst
t me n th rty years and I'm supposed to remember every damn
deta l about t?'
'Th s sn't the f rst t me n th rty years. You were asked all
about t a couple of months ago. In Apr l of th s year.'
DeW tt was s lent.
'General Garber called the NPRC about Hob e,' Reacher sa d.
'It's nconce vable he d dn't call you afterward. Won't you tell us
what you told h m?'
DeW tt sm led. 'I told h m I d dn't remember.'
There was s lence aga n. D stant rotor blades, com ng closer.
'On behalf of h s folks, won't you tell us?' Jod e asked softly.
'They're st ll gr ev ng for h m. They need to know about t.'
DeW tt shook h s head. 'I can't.'
'Can't or won't?' Reacher asked.
DeW tt stood up slowly and walked to the w ndow. He was a
short man. He stood n the l ght of the sun and squ nted left,
across to where he could see the hel copter he could hear,
com ng n to land on the f eld.
'It's class f ed nformat on,' he sa d. 'I'm not allowed to make
any comment, and I'm not go ng to. Garber asked me, and I told
h m the same th ng. No comment. But I h nted he should maybe
look closer to home, and I'll adv se you to do the exact same
th ng, Mr Reacher. Look closer to home.'
'Closer to home?'
DeW tt put h s back to the w ndow. 'D d you see Kaplan's
jacket?'
'H s co-p lot?'
DeW tt nodded. 'D d you read h s last but one m ss on?'
Reacher shook h s head.
'You should have,' DeW tt sa d. 'Sloppy work from somebody
who was once an MP major. But don't tell anybody I suggested
t, because I'll deny t, and they'll bel eve me, net you.'
Reacher looked away. DeW tt walked back to h s desk and sat
down.
'Is t poss ble V ctor Hob e s st ll al ve?' Jod e asked h m.
The d stant hel copter shut off ts eng nes. There was total
s lence.
'I have no comment on that,' DeW tt sa d.
'Have you been asked that quest on before?' Jod e sa d.
'I have no comment on that,' DeW tt sa d aga n.
'You saw the crash. Is t poss ble anybody surv ved t?'
'I saw an explos on under the jungle canopy, s all. He was
way more than half-full w th fuel. Draw your own conclus on, Ms
Garber.'
'D d he surv ve?'
'I have no comment on that.'
'Why s Kaplan off c ally dead and Hob e sn't?'
'I have no comment on that.'
She nodded. Thought for a moment and regrouped exactly
l ke the lawyer she was, boxed n by some recalc trant w tness.
'Just theoret cally, then. Suppose a young man w th V ctor
Hob e's personal ty and character and background surv ved
such an nc dent, OK? Is t poss ble a man l ke that would never
even have made contact w th h s own parents aga n afterward?'
DeW tt stood up aga n. He was clearly uncomfortable.
'I don't know, Ms Garber. I'm not a damn psych atr st. And l ke
I told you, I was careful not to get to know h m too well. He
seemed l ke a real dut ful guy, but he was cold. Overall, I guess I
would rate t as very unl kely. But don't forget, V etnam changed
people. It sure as hell changed me, for nstance. I used to be a
n ce guy.'
Off cer Sark was forty-four years old, but he looked older. H s
phys que was damaged by a poor ch ldhood and gnorant
neglect through most of h s adult years. H s sk n was dull and
pale, and he had lost h s ha r
early. It left h m look ng sallow and sunken and old before h s
t me. But the truth was he had woken up to t and was f ght ng
t. He had read stuff the NYPD's med cal people were putt ng
about, concern ng d et and exerc se. He had el m nated most of
the fats from h s da ly ntake, and he had started sunbath ng a
l ttle, just enough to take the pallor off h s sk n w thout
provok ng the r sk of melanomas. He walked whenever he
could. Go ng home, he would get off the subway a stop short
and h ke the rest of the way, fast enough to get h s breath go ng
and h s heartbeat ra sed, l ke the stuff he'd read sa d he should.
And dur ng the workday, he would persuade O'Hall nan to park
the prowl car somewhere that would g ve them a short walk to
wherever t was they were headed.
O'Hall nan had no nterest n aerob c exerc se, but she was an
am able woman and happy enough to cooperate w th h m,
espec ally dur ng the summer months, when the sun was
sh n ng. So she put the car aga nst the kerb n the shadow of
Tr n ty Church and they approached the World Trade Center on
foot from the south. It gave them a br sk s x-hundred-yard walk
n the sun, wh ch made Sark happy, but t left the car exactly
equ d stant from a quarter of a m ll on separate postal
addresses, and w th noth ng on paper n the squad room t left
nobody w th any clue about wh ch one of them they were
head ng for.
'You want a r de back to the a rport?' DeW tt asked. Reacher
nterpreted the offer as a d sm ssal m xed n w th a gesture
des gned to soften the stonewall performance the guy had been
putt ng up. He nodded. The Army Chevrolet would get them
there faster than
a tax , because t was already wa t ng r ght outs de w th the
motor runn ng.
'Thanks,' he sa d.
'Hey, my pleasure,' DeW tt sa d back. '
He d alled a number from h s desk and spoke l ke he was
ssu ng an order.
'Wa t r ght here,' he sa d. 'Three m nutes.'
Jod e stood up and smoothed her dress down. Walked to the
w ndows and gazed out. Reacher stepped the other way and
looked at the mementoes on the wall. One of the photographs
was a glossy repr nt of a famous newspaper p cture. A
hel copter was l ft ng off from ns de the embassy compound n
Sa gon, w th a crowd of people underneath t, arms ra sed l ke
they were try ng to force t to come back down for them.
'You were that p lot?' Reacher asked, on a hunch.
DeW tt glanced over and nodded.
'You were st ll there n '75?'
DeW tt nodded aga n. 'F ve combat tours, then a spell on HQ
duty. Overall, I guess I preferred the combat.'
There was no se n the d stance. The bass thump ng of a
powerful hel copter, com ng closer. Reacher jo ned Jod e at the
w ndow. A Huey was n the a r, dr ft ng over the d stant
bu ld ngs from the d rect on of the f eld.
'Your r de,' DeW tt sa d.
'A hel copter?' Jod e sa d.
DeW tt was sm l ng. 'What d d you expect? Th s s the
hel copter school, after all. That's why these boys are down
here. It a n't dr ver's ed.'
The rotor no se was bu ld ng to a loud wop-wop-wop. Then t
slowly blended to a h gher-p tched
wh p-wh p-wh p as t came closer and the jet wh ne m xed n.
'B gger blade now,' DeW tt shouted. 'Compos te mater als. Not
metal any more. I don't know what old V c would have made of
t.'
The Huey was sl d ng s deways and hover ng over the parade
ground n front of the bu ld ng. The no se was shak ng the
w ndows. Then the hel copter was stra ghten ng and settl ng to
the ground.
'N ce meet ng you,' DeW tt shouted.
They shook h s hand and headed out. The MP sergeant at the
desk nodded to them through the no se and went back to h s
paperwork. They went down the sta rs and outs de nto the blast
of heat and dust and sound. The co-p lot was sl d ng the door
for them. They ran bent-over across the short d stance. Jod e
was gr nn ng and her ha r was blow ng everywhere. The co-p lot
offered h s hand and pulled her up ns de. Reacher followed.
They strapped themselves nto the bench seat n the back and
the co-p lot sl d the door closed and cl mbed through to the
cab n. The fam l ar shudder of v brat on started up as the craft
hauled tself nto the a r. The floor t lted and swung and the
bu ld ngs rotated n the w ndows, and then the r roofs were
v s ble, and then the outly ng grassland, w th the h ghways la d
through t l ke grey penc l l nes. The nose went down and the
eng ne no se bu lt to a roar as they swung on course and
settled to a hundred-m le-an-hour cru se.
The stuff Sark had read called t 'power walk ng', and the dea
was to push yourself towards a speed of four m les an hour.
That way your heartbeat was ra sed, wh ch was the key to the
aerob c benef t, but you
avo ded the mpact damage to your sh ns and knees that you
r sked w th proper jogg ng. It was a conv nc ng propos t on, and
he bel eved n t. Do ng t properly, s x hundred yards at four
m les an hour should have taken a fract on over f ve m nutes,
but t actually took nearer e ght, because he was walk ng w th
O'Hall nan at h s s de. She was happy to walk, but she wanted
to do t slowly. She was not an unf t woman, but she always
sa d I'm bu lt for comfort, not for speed. It was a comprom se.
He needed her cooperat on to get to walk at all, so he never
compla ned about her pace. He f gured t was better than
noth ng. It had to be do ng h m some k nd of good.
'Wh ch bu ld ng?' he asked.
'The south, I th nk,' she sa d.
They walked around to the ma n entrance of the south tower
and ns de to the lobby. There were guys n secur ty un forms
beh nd a counter, but they were t ed up w th a knot of fore gn
men n grey su ts, so Sark and O'Hall nan stepped over to the
bu ld ng d rectory and consulted t d rect. Cayman Corporate
Trust was l sted on the e ghty-e ghth floor. They walked to the
express elevator and stepped ns de w thout the secur ty force
be ng aware they had ever entered the bu ld ng.
The elevator floor pressed aga nst the r feet and sped them
upward. It slowed and stopped at e ghty-e ght. The door sl d
back and a muted bell sounded and they stepped out nto a
pla n corr dor. The ce l ngs were low and the space was narrow.
Cayman Corporate Trust had a modern oak door w th a small
w ndow and a brass handle. Sark pulled the door and allowed
O'Hall nan to go ns de ahead of h m. She was old enough to
apprec ate the courtesy.
There was an oak-and-brass recept on area w th a th ckset
man n a dark su t beh nd a chest-h gh counter. Sark stood back
n the centre of the floor, h s loaded belt emphas z ng the w dth
of h s h ps, mak ng h m seem large and command ng.
O'Hall nan stepped up to the counter, plann ng her approach.
She wanted to shake someth ng loose, so she tr ed the sort of
frontal attack she had seen detect ves use.
'We've come about Sheryl,' she sa d.
T have to go home, I guess,' Jod e sa d.
'No, you're com ng to Hawa , w th me.'
They were back ns de the freez ng term nal at Dallas-Fort
Worth. The Huey had put down on a remote apron and the cop lot had dr ven them over n a golf cart pa nted dull green. He
had shown them an unmarked door that led them up a fl ght of
sta rs nto the bustle of the publ c areas.
'Hawa ? Reacher, I can't go to Hawa . I need to be back n
New York.'
'You can't go back there alone. New York s where the danger
s, remember? And I need to go to Hawa . So you'll have to
come w th me, s mple as that.'
'Reacher, I can't,' she sa d aga n. 'I have to be n a meet ng
tomorrow. You know that. You took the call, r ght?'
'Tough, Jod e. You're not go ng back there alone.'
Check ng out of the St Lou s honeymoon su te that morn ng
had done someth ng to h m. The l zard part of h s bra n bur ed
deep beh nd the frontal lobes had shr eked the honeymoon s
over, pal. Your l fe s chang ng and the problems start now. He
had gnored t. But now he was pay ng attent on to t. For the
f rst t me n h s l fe, he had a hostage to fortune. He had
somebody to worry about. It was mostly a pleasure, but t was
also a burden.
'I have to go back, Reacher,' she sa d. 'I can't let them down.'
'Call them, tell them you can't make t. Tell them you're s ck or
someth ng.'
'I can't do that. My secretary knows I'm not s ck, r ght? And
I've got a career to th nk about. It's mportant to me.'
'You're not go ng back there alone,' he sa d aga n.
'Why do you need to go to Hawa anyway?'
'Because that's where the answer s,' he sa d.
He stepped away to a t cket counter and took a th ck
t metable from a small chrome rack. Stood n the cold
fluorescence and opened t up to D for the Dallas-Fort Worth
departures and ran h s f nger down the l st of dest nat ons as
far as H for Honolulu. Then he fl pped ahead to the Honolulu
departures and checked the fl ghts go ng back to New York. He
double-checked, and then he sm led w th rel ef.
'We can make t anyway, do both th ngs. Look at th s. There's
a twelve-f fteen out of here. Fl ght t me m nus the t me change
go ng west gets us to Honolulu at three o'clock. Then we get the
seven o'clock back to New York, fl ght t me plus the t me
change com ng back east gets us nto JFK at twelve noon
tomorrow. Your guy sa d t was an afternoon meet ng, r ght? So
you can st ll make t.'
'I need to get br efed n,' she sa d. 'I have no dea what t's
about.'
'You'll have a couple of hours. You're a qu ck study.'
'It's crazy. Only g ves us four hours n Hawa .'
'All we need. I'll call ahead, set t up.'
'We'll be on a plane all n ght. I'll be go ng to my meet ng after
a sleepless n ght on a damn plane.'
'So we'll go f rst class,' he sa d. 'Rutter's pay ng, r ght? We
can sleep n f rst class. The cha rs look comfortable enough.'
She shrugged and s ghed. 'Crazy.'
'Let me use your phone,' he sa d.
She handed h m the mob le from her bag and he called longd stance nformat on and asked for the number. D alled t and
heard t r ng s x thousand m les away. It rang e ght t mes and
the vo ce he wanted to hear answered t.
'Th s s Jack Reacher,' he sa d. 'You go ng to be n the off ce
all day?'
The answer was slow and sleepy, because t was very early n
the morn ng n Hawa , but t was the answer he wanted to hear.
He cl cked the phone off and turned back to Jod e. She s ghed
at h m aga n, but th s t me there was a sm le m xed n w th t.
She stepped to the counter and used the gold card to buy two
f rst-class t ckets, Dallas-Fort Worth to Honolulu to New York.
The guy at the counter made the seat ass gnment on the spot,
sl ghtly bew ldered n front of people pay ng the pr ce of a used
sportscar to buy twenty hours on a plane and four on the
ground on Oahu. He handed the wallets over and twenty
m nutes later Reacher was settl ng nto an enormous leatherand-sheepsk n cha r w th Jod e safely a yard away at h s s de.
There was a rout ne to be followed n th s s tuat on. It had
never before been employed, but t had been rehearsed often
and thoroughly. The th ckset man at the chest-h gh counter
moved h s hand casually s deways and used h s ndex f nger on
one button and h s
m ddle f nger on another. The f rst button locked the oak door
out to the elevator lobby. There was an electromagnet c
mechan sm that sn cked the steel tongue nto place, s lently
and unobtrus vely. Once t was act vated, the door stayed
locked unt l the mechan sm was released aga n, no matter what
anybody d d w th the latch or the key. The second button set a
red l ght flash ng n the ntercom un t on Hob e's desk. The red
l ght was br ght and the off ce was always dark, and t was
mposs ble to m ss t.
'Who?' the th ckset guy sa d.
'Sheryl,' O'Hall nan repeated.
'I'm sorry,' the guy sa d. 'There's nobody called Sheryl
work ng here. Currently we have a staff of three, and they're all
men.'
He moved h s hand to the left and rested t on a button
marked talk, wh ch act vated the ntercom.
'You operate a black Tahoe?' O'Hall nan asked h m.
He nodded. 'We have a black Tahoe on the corporate fleet.'
'What about a Suburban?'
'Yes, I th nk we have one of those too. Is th s about a traff c
v olat on?'
'It's about Sheryl be ng n the hosp tal,' O'Hall nan sa d.
'Who?' the guy asked aga n.
Sark came up beh nd O'Hall nan. 'We need to speak w th your
boss.'
'OK,' the guy sa d. 'I'll see f that can be arranged. May I have
your names?'
'Off cers Sark and O'Hall nan, C ty of New York Pol ce
Department.'
Tony opened the nner off ce door, and stood there,
enqu r ngly.
'May I help you, Off cers?' he called.
In the rehearsals, the cops would turn away from the counter
and look at Tony. Maybe take a couple of steps towards h m.
And that s exactly what happened. Sark and O'Hall nan turned
the r backs and walked towards the m ddle of the recept on
area. The th ckset man at the counter leaned down and opened
a cupboard. Uncl pped the shotgun from ts rack and held t low,
out of s ght.
'It's about Sheryl,' O'Hall nan sa d aga n.
'Sheryl who?' Tony asked.
'The Sheryl n the hosp tal w th the busted nose,' Sark sa d.
'And the fractured cheekbones and the concuss on. The Sheryl
who got out of your Tahoe outs de St V ncent's ER.'
'Oh, I see,' Tony sa d. 'We d dn't get her name. She couldn't
speak a word, because of the njur es to her face.'
'So why was she n your car?' O'Hall nan asked.
'We were up at Grand Central, dropp ng a cl ent there. We
found her on the s dewalk, k nd of lost. She was off the tra n
from Mount K sco, and just k nd of wander ng about. We offered
her a r de to the hosp tal, wh ch seemed to be what she needed.
So we dropped her at St V ncent's, because t's on the way back
here.'
'Bellevue s nearer Grand Central,' O'Hall nan sa d.
'I don't l ke the traff c over there,' Tony sa d neutrally. 'St
V ncent's was more conven ent.'
'And you d dn't wonder about what had happened to her?'
Sark asked. 'How she came by the njur es?'
'Well, naturally we wondered,' Tony sa d. 'We asked her about
t, but she couldn't speak, because of the njur es. That's why
we d dn't recogn ze the name.'
O'Hall nan stood there, unsure. Sark took a step forward.
'You found her on the s dewalk?'
Tony nodded. 'Outs de Grand Central.' '
'She couldn't speak?'
'Not a word.'
'So how do you know she was off the K sco tra n?'
The only grey area n the rehearsals had been p ck ng the
exact moment to drop the defence and start the offence. It was
a subject ve ssue. They had trusted that when t came, they
would recogn ze t. And they d d. The th ckset man stood up
and crunched a round nto the shotgun's chamber and levelled
t across the counter.
'Freeze!' he screamed.
A n ne-m ll metre p stol appeared n Tony's hand. Sark and
O'Hall nan stared at t and glanced back at the shotgun and
jerked the r arms upward. Not a rueful l ttle gesture l ke n the
mov es. They stretched them v olently upward l ke the r l ves
depended on touch ng the acoust c t le d rectly above the r
heads. The guy w th the shotgun came up from the rear and
jammed the muzzle hard nto Sark's back and Tony stepped
around beh nd O'Hall nan and d d the same th ng w th h s p stol.
Then a th rd man came out from the darkness and paused n the
off ce doorway.
'I'm Hook Hob e,' he sa d.
They stared at h m. Sa d noth ng. The r gazes started on h s
d sf gured face and travelled slowly down to the empty sleeve.
'Wh ch of you s wh ch?' Hob e asked.
No reply. They were star ng at the hook. He ra sed t and let t
catch the l ght.
'Wh ch of you s O'Hall nan?'
O'Hall nan ducked her head n acknowledgement. Hob e
turned.
'So you're Sark.'
Sark nodded. Just a fract onal ncl nat on of h s head.
'Undo your belts,' Hob e sa d. 'One at a t me. And be qu ck.'
Sark went f rst. He was qu ck. He dropped h s hands and
wrestled w th h s buckle. The heavy belt thumped to the floor at
h s feet. He stretched up aga n for the ce l ng.
'Now you,' Hob e sa d to O'Hall nan.
She d d the same th ng. The heavy belt w th the revolver and
the rad o and the handcuffs and the n ghtst ck thumped on the
carpet. She stretched her hands back up, as far as they would
go. Hob e used the hook. He leaned down and swept the po nt
through both buckles and swung the belts up n the a r, pos ng
l ke a f sherman at the end of a successful day on the r verbank.
He reached around and used h s good hand to pull the two sets
of handcuffs out of the r worn leather cups.
'Turn around.'
They turned and faced the guns head-on.
'Hands beh nd you.'
It s poss ble for a one-armed man to put handcuffs on a
v ct m, f the v ct m stands st ll, wr sts together. Sark and
O'Hall nan stood very st ll ndeed. Hob e cl cked one wr st at a
t me, and then t ghtened all four cuffs aga nst the r ratchets
unt l he heard gasps of pa n from both of them. Then he swung
the belts h gh enough not to drag on the floor and walked back
ns de the off ce.
'Come n,' he called.
He walked around beh nd the desk and la d the belts on t l ke
tems for close exam nat on. He sat heav ly n h s cha r and
wa ted wh le Tony l ned up the pr soners n front of h m. He left
them n s ler ce wh le he empt ed the r belts. He unstrapped
the r revolvers and dropped them n a drawer. Took out the r
rad os and f ddled w th the volume controls unt l they were
h ss ng and crackl ng loudly. He squared them together at the
end of the desktop w th the r antennas po nted towards the wall
of w ndows. He ncl ned h s head for a moment and l stened to
the squelch of rad o atmospher cs. Then he turned back and
pulled both n ghtst cks out of the loops on the belts. He placed
one on the desk and hefted the other n h s left hand and
exam ned t closely. It was the modern k nd, w th a handle, and
a telescop c sect on below. He peered at t, nterested.
'How does th s work, exactly?'
Ne ther Sark nor O'Hall nan repl ed. Hob e played w th the
st ck for a second, and then he glanced at the th ckset guy, who
jabbed the shotgun forward and h t Sark n the k dney.
'I asked you a quest on,' Hob e sa d to h m.
'You sw ng t,' he muttered. 'Sw ng t, and sort of fl ck t.'
He needed space, so he stood up. Swung the st ck and fl cked
t l ke he was crack ng a wh p. The telescop c sect on snapped
out and locked nto place. He gr nned w th the unburned half of
h s face. Collapsed the mechan sm and tr ed aga n. Gr nned
aga n. He took to pac ng b g c rcles around the desk, sw ng ng
the st ck and crack ng t open. He d d t vert cally, and then
hor zontally. He used more and more force. He spun t ght
c rcles, flash ng the st ck. He wh pped t
backhanded and the mechan sm sprang open and he wh rled
and smashed t nto O'Hall nan's face.
'I l ke th s th ng,' he sa d.
She was sway ng backward, but Tony jabbed her
upr ght w th h s p stol. Her knees gave way and she fell
forward n a heap, pressed up aga nst the front of the
desk, arms cuffed t ght beh nd her, bleed ng from
the mouth and nose.
'What d d Sheryl tell you?' Hob e asked.
Sark was star ng down at O'Hall nan.
'She sa d she walked nto a door,' he muttered.
'So why the hell are you bother ng me? Why are you here?'
Sark moved h s gaze upward. Looked Hob e full n the face.
'Because we d dn't bel eve her. It was clear somebody beat on
her. We followed up on the Tahoe plate, and t looks l ke t led us
to the r ght place.'
The off ce went s lent. Noth ng except the h ss and the
squelch from the pol ce rad os on the end of the desk. Hob e
nodded.
'Exactly the r ght place,' he sa d. 'There was no door
nvolved.'
Sark nodded back. He was a reasonably courageous man.
The Domest c V olence Un t was no k nd of safe refuge for
cowards. By def n t on t nvolved deal ng w th men who had the
capac ty for brutal v olence. And Sark was as good at deal ng
w th them as anybody.
'Th s s a b g m stake,' he sa d qu etly.
'In what way?' Hob e asked nterested.
'Th s s about what you d d to Sheryl, s all. It doesn't have to
be about anyth ng else. You really shouldn't m x anyth ng else
n w th t. It's a b g step
up to v olence aga nst pol ce off cers. It m ght be poss ble to
work someth ng out about the Sheryl ssue. Maybe there was
provocat on there, you know, some m t gat ng c rcumstance.
But you keep on' mess ng w th us, then we can't work anyth ng
out. Because you're just d gg ng yourself nto b gger trouble.'
He paused and watched carefully for the response. The
approach often worked. Self- nterest on the part of the
perpetrator often made t work. But there was no response from
Hob e. He sa d noth ng. The off ce was s lent. Sark was shap ng
the next gamb t on h s l ps when the rad os crackled and some
d stant despatcher came over the a r and sentenced h m to
death.
'F ve one and f ve two, please conf rm your current locat on.'
Sark was so cond t oned to respond that h s hand jerked
towards where h s belt had been. It was stopped short by the
handcuff. The rad o call d ed nto s lence. Hob e was star ng
nto space.
'F ve one, f ve two, I need your current locat on, please.'
Sark was star ng at the rad os n horror. Hob e followed h s
gaze and sm led.
'They don't know where you are,' he sa d.
Sark shook h s head. Th nk ng fast. A courageous man.
'They know where we are. They know we're here. They want
conf rmat on, s all. They check we're where we're supposed to
be, all the t me.'
The rad os crackled aga n. 'F ve one, f ve two, respond,
please.'
Hob e stared at Sark. O'Hall nan was struggl ng to her knees
and star ng towards the rad os. Tony moved h s p stol to cover
her.
'F ve one, f ve two, do you copy?'
The vo ce sl d under the sea of stat c and then came back
stronger.
'F ve one, f ve two, we have a v olent domest c emergency at
Houston and Avenue D. Are you anywhere near that v c n ty?'
Hob e sm led.
'That's two m les from here,' he sa d. 'They have absolutely no
dea where you are, do they?'
Then he gr nned. The left s de of h s face folded nto
unaccustomed l nes, but on the r ght the scar t ssue stayed
t ght, l ke a r g d mask.
FOURTEEN
For the f rst t me n h s l fe, Reacher was truly comfortable n
a plane. He had been fly ng s nce b rth, f rst as a sold er's k d
and then as a sold er h mself, m ll ons of m les n total, but all of
them hunched n roar ng spartan m l tary transports or folded
nto hard c v l an seats narrower than h s shoulders. Travell ng
f rst class on a scheduled a rl ne was a completely new luxury.
The cab n was dramat c. It was a calculated nsult to the
passengers who f led down the jet way and glanced nto t
before shuffl ng along the a sle to the r own mean
accommodat ons. It was cool and pastel n f rst class, w th four
seats to a row where there were ten n coach. Ar thmet cally,
Reacher f gured that made each seat two and a half t mes as
w de, but they felt better than that. They felt enormous. They felt
l ke sofas, w de enough for h m to squ rm left and r ght w thout
bru s ng b s h ps aga nst the arms. And the leg room was
amaz ng. He could sl de r ght down and stretch r ght out
w thout touch ng the seat n front. He could h t the button and
recl ne almost hor zontal w thout bother ng the guy beh nd. He
operated the mechan sm a couple of t mes l ke a k d w th a toy,
and
then he settled on a sens ble halfway pos t on and opened the
n-fl ght magaz ne, wh ch was cr sp and new and not creased
and st cky l ke the ones they were read ng forty rows back.
Jod e was lost n her own seat, w th her shoes off and her feet
tucked up under her, the same magaz ne open on her lap and a
glass of ch lled champagne at her elbow. The cab n was qu et.
They were a long way forward of the eng nes, and the r no se
was muted to a h ss no louder than the h ss of the a r com ng
through the vents n the overhead. There was no v brat on.
Reacher was watch ng the sparkl ng gold w ne n Jod e's glass,
and he saw no tremor on ts surface.
'I could get accustomed to th s,' he sa d.
She looked up and sm led.
'Not on your wages,' she sa d.
He nodded and went back to h s ar thmet c. He f gured a day's
earn ngs from d gg ng sw mm ng pools would buy h m f fty
m les of f rst-class a r travel. Cru s ng speed, that was about
f ve m nutes' worth of progress. Ten hours of work, all gone n
f ve m nutes. He was spend ng money 120 t mes faster than he
had been earn ng t.
'What are you go ng to do?' she asked. 'When th s s all over?'
'I don't know,' he sa d.
The quest on had been n the back of h s m nd ever s nce she
told h m about the house. The house tself sat there n h s
mag nat on, somet mes ben gn, somet mes threaten ng, l ke a
tr ck p cture that changed depend ng on how you t lted t
aga nst the l ght. Somet mes t sat there n the glow of the sun,
comfortable, low and spread ng, surrounded by ts am able
jungle of a yard, and t looked l ke home. Other t mes,
t looked l ke a g gant c m llstone, requ r ng h m to run and
run and run just to stay level w th the start ng l ne. He knew
people w th houses. He had talked to them, w th the same k nd
of detached nterest he would talk to a person who kept snakes
as pets or entered ballroom danc ng compet t ons. Houses
forced you nto a certa n l festyle. Even f somebody gave you
one for noth ng, l ke Leon had, t comm tted you to a whole lot
of d fferent th ngs. There were property taxes. He knew that.
There was nsurance, n case the place burned down or was
blown away n a h gh w nd. There was ma ntenance. People he
knew w th houses were always do ng someth ng to them. They
would be replac ng the heat ng system at the start of the w nter,
because t had fa led. Or the basement would be leak ng water,
and compl cated th ngs w th excavat ons would be requ red.
Roofs were a problem. He knew that. People had told h m.
Roofs had a f n te l fe span, wh ch surpr sed h m. The sh ngles
needed str pp ng off and replac ng w th new. S d ng, also.
W ndows, too. He had known people who had put new w ndows
n the r houses. They had del berated long and hard about what
type to buy.
'Are you go ng to get a job?' Jod e asked.
He stared out through the oval w ndow at southern Cal forn a,
dry and brown seven m les below h m. What sort of a job? The
house was go ng to cost h m maybe ten thousand dollars a year
n taxes and prem ums and ma ntenance. And t was an solated
house, so he would have to keep Rutter's car, too. It was a free
car, l ke the house, but t would cost h m money just to own.
Insurance, o l changes, nspect ons, t tle, gasol ne. Maybe
another three grand a year. Food and clothes and ut l t es were
on top of all
that. And f he had a house, he would want other th ngs. He
would want a stereo. He would want Wynonna Judd's record,
and a whole lot of others, too. He thought back to old Mrs
Hob e's handwr tten calculat ons. She had settled on a certa n
sum of money she needed every year, and he couldn't see
gett ng t any lower than she had got t. The whole deal added
up to maybe th rty thousand dollars a year, wh ch meant
earn ng maybe f fty, to take account of ncome taxes and the
cost of f ve days a week travell ng back and forth to wherever
the hell he was go ng to earn t.
'I don't know,' he sa d aga n.
'Plenty of th ngs you could do.'
'L ke what?'
'You've got talents. You're a hell of an nvest gator, for
nstance. Dad always used to say you're the best he ever saw.'
'That was n the Army,' he sa d. 'That's all over now.'
'Sk lls are portable, Reacher. There's always demand for the
best.'
Then she looked up, a b g dea n her face. 'You could take
over Costello's bus ness. He's go ng to leave a vo d. We used
h m all the t me.'
'That's great. F rst I get the guy k lled, then I steal h s
bus ness.'
'It wasn't your fault,' she sa d. 'You should th nk about t.'
So he looked back down at Cal forn a and thought about t.
Thought about Costello's well-worn leather cha r and h s
age ng, comfortable body. Thought about s tt ng n h s pastel
room w th ts pebble-glass w ndows, spend ng h s whole l fe on
the telephone.
Thought about the cost of runn ng the Greenw ch Avenue
off ce and h r ng a secretary and prov d ng her w th new
computers and telephone consoles and health nsurance and
pa d vacat ons. All 'on top of runn ng the Garr son place. He
would be work ng ten months of the year before he got ahead
by a s ngle dollar.
'I don't know,' he sa d aga n. 'I'm not sure I want to th nk
about t.'
'You're go ng to have to.'
'Maybe,' he sa d. 'But not necessar ly r ght now.'
She sm led l ke she understood and they lapsed back nto
s lence. The plane h ssed onward and the stewardess came
back w th the dr nks cart. Jod e got a ref ll of champagne and
Reacher took a can of beer. He fl pped through the a rl ne
magaz ne. It was full of bland art cles about noth ng much n
part cular. There were advert sements for f nanc al serv ces and
small compl cated gadgets, all of wh ch were black and ran on
batter es. He arr ved at the sect on where the a rl ne's
operat onal fleet was p ctured n l ttle coloured draw ngs. He
found the plane they were on and read about ts passenger
capac ty and ts range and the power of ts eng nes. Then he
arr ved at the crossword n the back. It f lled a page and looked
pretty hard. Jod e was already there n her own copy, ahead of
h m.
'Look at eleven down,' she sa d.
He looked.
'They can we gh heavy,' he read. 'S xteen letters.'
'Respons b l t es,' she sa d.
Mar lyn and Chester Stone were huddled together on the lefthand sofa n front of the desk, because Hob e
was n the bathroom, alone w th the two cops. The th ckset
man n the dark su t sat on the oppos te sofa w th the shotgun
rest ng n h s lap. Tony was sprawled out next to h m w th h s
feet on the coffee table. Chester was nert, just star ng nto the
gloom. Mar lyn was cold and hungry, and terr f ed. Her eyes
were dart ng all around the room. There was total s lence from
the bathroom.
'What's he do ng n there w th them?' she wh spered.
Tony shrugged. 'Probably just talk ng to them r ght now.'
'About what?'
'Well, ask ng them quest ons about what they l ke and what
they don't. In terms of phys cal pa n, you understand. He l kes
to do that.'
'God, why?'
Tony sm led. 'He feels t's more democrat c, you know, lett ng
the v ct ms dec de the r own fate.'
Mar lyn shuddered. 'Oh God, can't he just let them go? They
thought Sheryl was a battered w fe, that's all. They d dn't know
anyth ng about h m.'
'Well, they'll know someth ng about h m soon,' Tony sa d. 'He
makes them p ck a number. They never know whether to p ck
h gh or low, because they don't know what t's for. They th nk t
m ght please h m, you know, f they p ck r ght. They spend for
ever try ng to f gure t out.'
'Can't he just let them go? Maybe later?'
Tony shook h s head.
'No,' he sa d. 'He's very tense r ght now. Th s w ll relax h m.
L ke therapy.'
Mar lyn was s lent for a long moment. But then she had to
ask.
'What s the number for?' she wh spered.
'How many hours t takes them to d e,' Tony sa d. 'The ones
who p ck h gh get real p ssed when they f nd out.'
'You bastards.'
'Some guy once p cked a hundred, but we let h m off w th ten.'
'You bastards.'
'But he won't make you p ck a number. He's got other plans
for you.'
Total s lence from the bathroom.
'He's nsane,' Mar lyn wh spered.
Tony shrugged. 'A l ttle, maybe. But I l ke h m. He's had a lot
of pa n n h s l fe. I th nk that's why he's so nterested n t.'
Mar lyn stared at h m n horror. Then the buzzer sounded at
the oak door out to the elevator lobby. Very loud n the awful
s lence. Tony and the th ckset man w th the shotgun spun
around and stared n that d rect on.
'Check t out,' Tony sa d.
He went nto h s jacket and came out w th h s gun. He held t
steady on Chester and Mar lyn. H s partner w th the shotgun
jacked h mself up out of the low sofa and stepped around the
table to the door. He closed t beh nd h m and the off ce went
qu et aga n. Tony stood up and walked to the bathroom door.
Knocked on t w th the butt of h s gun and opened t a fract on
and ducked h s head ns de.
'V s tors,' he wh spered.
Mar lyn glanced left and r ght. Tony was twenty feet from her,
and he was the nearest. She jumped to her feet and snatched a
deep breath. Hurdled the coffee table and scrambled around the
oppos te sofa and made t all the way to the off ce door. She
wrenched t open. The th ckset man n the dark su t was on
the far s de of the recept on area, talk ng to a short man framed
n the doorway out to the elevator lobby.
'Help us!' she screamed to h m.
The man stared over at her. He was dressed n dark blue
pants and a blue sh rt, w th a short jacket open over t, the same
blue as the pants. Some k nd of un form. There was a small
des gn on the jacket, left s de of the chest. He was carry ng a
brown grocery sack cradled n h s arms.
'Help us!' she screamed aga n.
Two th ngs happened. The th ckset man n the dark su t
darted forward and bundled the v s tor all the way ns de and
slammed the door after h m. And Tony grabbed Mar lyn from
beh nd w th a strong arm around her wa st. He dragged her
backward nto the off ce. She arched forward aga nst the
pressure of h s arms. She was bend ng herself double and
f ght ng.
'God's sake, help us!'
Tony l fted her off her feet. H s arm was bunch ng under her
breasts. The short dress was r d ng up over her th ghs. She was
k ck ng and struggl ng. The short man n the blue un form was
star ng. Her shoes came off. Then the short man was sm l ng.
He walked forward nto the off ce after her, stepp ng carefully
over her abandoned shoes, carry ng h s grocery sack.
'Hey, I'd l ke to get me a p ece of that,' he sa d.
'Forget t,' Tony gasped from beh nd her. 'Th s one's off l m ts,
t me be ng.'
'P ty,' the new guy sa d. 'Not every day you see a th ng l ke
that.'
Tony struggled w th her all the way back to the sofa. Dumped
her down next to Chester. The new guy
shrugged w stfully and empt ed the grocery sack on the desk.
Br cks of cash money thumped out on the wood. The bathroom
door opened and Hob e stepped nto the room. H s jacket was
off and h s sh rt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. On the left
was a forearm. It was knotted w th muscle and th ck w th dark
ha r. On the r ght was a heavy leather cup, dark brown," worn
and sh ny, w th straps r veted to t runn ng away up nto the
sh rt sleeve. The bottom of the cup was narrowed to a neck,
w th the br ght steel hook com ng down out of t, runn ng
stra ght for s x or e ght nches and then curv ng around to the
po nt.
'Count the money, Tony,' Hob e sa d.
Mar lyn jerked upr ght. Turned to face the new guy.
'He's got two cops n there,' she sa d urgently. 'He's go ng to
k ll them.'
The guy shrugged at her.
'Su ts me,' he sa d. 'K ll them all, s what I say.'
She stared at h m blankly. Tony moved beh nd the desk and
sorted through the br cks of money. He stacked them neatly and
counted out loud, mov ng them from one end of the desk to the
other.
'Forty thousand dollars.'
'So where are the keys?' the new guy asked.
Tony rolled open the desk drawer. These are for the Benz.'
He tossed them to the guy and went nto h s pocket for
another bunch.
'And these are for the Tahoe. It's n the garage downsta rs.'
'What about the BMW?' the guy asked.
'St ll up n Pound R dge,' Hob e called across the room.
'Keys?' the guy asked.
'In the house, I guess,' Hob e sa d. 'She d dn't br ng a
pocketbook, and t doesn't look l ke she's conceal ng them
about her person, does t?'
The guy stared at Mar lyn's dress and sm led an ugly sm le,
all l ps and tongue.
'There's someth ng n there, that's for damn sure. But t don't
look l ke keys.'
She looked at h m n d sgust. The des gn on h s jacket sa d
Mo's Motors. It was embro dered n red s lk. Hob e walked
across the room and stood d rectly beh nd her. He leaned
forward and brought the hook around nto her l ne of v s on.
She stared at t, close up. She shuddered.
'Where are the keys?' he asked.
'The BMW s m ne,' she sa d.
'Not any more t sn't.'
He moved the hook closer. She could smell the metal and the
leather.
'I could search her,' the new guy called. 'Maybe she s
conceal ng them after all. I can th nk of a couple of nterest ng
places to look.'
She shuddered.
'Keys,' Hob e sa d to her softly.
'K tchen counter,' she wh spered back.
Hob e took the hook away and walked around n front of her,
sm l ng. The new guy looked d sappo nted. He nodded to
conf rm he'd heard the wh sper and walked slowly to the door,
j ngl ng the Benz keys and the Tahoe keys n h s hands.
'Pleasure do ng bus ness,' he sa d as he walked.
Then he paused at the door and looked back, stra ght at
Mar lyn.
'You completely sure that's off l m ts, Hob e?
See ng as how we're old fr ends and all? Done a lot of
bus ness together?'
Hob e shook h s head l ke he meant t. 'Forget about t. Th s
one's m ne.'
The guy shrugged and walked out of the off ce, sw ng ng the
keys. The door closed beh nd h m and they heard the second
thump of the lobby door a moment later. Then there was
elevator wh ne and the off ce fell s lent aga n. Hob e glanced at
the stacks of dollar b lls on the desk and headed back to the
bathroom. Mar lyn and Chester were kept s de by s de on the
sofa, cold, s ck and hungry. The l ght com ng n through the
ch nks n the bl nds faded away to the yellow dullness of
even ng, and the s lence from the bathroom cont nued unt l a
po nt Mar lyn guessed was around e ght o'clock n the even ng.
Then t was shattered by scream ng.
The plane chased the sun west but lost t me all the way and
arr ved on Oahu three hours n arrears, n the m ddle of the
afternoon. The f rst-class cab n was empt ed ahead of bus ness
class and coach, wh ch meant Reacher and Jod e were the f rst
people outs de the term nal and nto the tax l ne. The
temperature and the hum d ty out there were s m lar to Texas,
but the damp had a sal ne qual ty to t because of the Pac f c
close by. And the l ght was calmer. The jagged green mounta ns
and the blue of the sea bathed the sland w th the jewelled glow
of the Trop cs. Jod e put her dark glasses on aga n and gazed
beyond the a rport fences w th the m ld cur os ty of somebody
who had passed through Hawa a dozen t mes n her father's
serv ce days w thout ever really stopp ng there. Reacher d d the
same. He had used t as a Pac f c
stepp ng-stone more t mes than he could count, but he had
never served n Hawa .
The tax wa t ng at the head of the l ne was a repl ca of the
one they'd used at Dallas-Fort Worth, a clean Capr ce w th the
a r roar ng full blast and the dr ver's compartment decorated
halfway between a rel g ous shr ne and a l v ng room. They
d sappo nted the guy by ask ng h m for the shortest r de
ava lable on Oahu, wh ch was the half-m le hop around the
per meter road to the H ckam A r Force Base entrance. The guy
glanced backward at the l ne of cars beh nd h m, and Reacher
saw h m th nk ng about the better fares the other dr vers would
get.
'Ten-dollar t p n t for you,' he sa d.
The guy gave h m the same look the t cket clerk at Dallas-Fort
Worth had used. A fare that was go ng to leave the meter stuck
on the bas c m n mum, but a ten-dollar t p? Reacher saw a
photograph of what he guessed was the guy's fam ly, taped to
the v nyl of the dash. A b g fam ly, dark sm l ng ch ldren and a
dark sm l ng woman n a cheerful pr nt dress, all stand ng n
front of a clean s mple home w th someth ng v gorous grow ng
n a d rt patch to the r ght. He thought about the Hob es, alone
n the dark s lence up n Br ghton w th the h ss of the oxygen
bottle and the squeak of the worn wooden floors. And Rutter, n
the dusty squalor of h s Bronx storefront.
'Twenty dollars,' he sa d. 'If we get go ng r ght now, OK?'
'Twenty dollars?' the guy repeated, amazed.
'Th rty. For your k ds. They look n ce.'
The guy gr nned n the m rror and touched h s f ngers to h s
l ps and la d them gently on the sh ny surface of the
photograph. He swung the cab through
the lane changes on to the per meter track and came off aga n
more or less mmed ately, e ght hundred yards nto the journey,
outs de a m l tary gate wh ch looked dent cal to the one
front ng Fort 'Wolters. Jod e opened the door and stepped out
nto the heat and Reacher went nto h s pocket and came out
w th h s roll of cash. Top b ll was a f fty, and he peeled t off and
pushed t through the l ttle h nged door n the Plex glas.
'Keep t.'
Then he po nted at the photograph. 'That your house?'
The dr ver nodded.
'Is t hold ng up OK? Anyth ng need f x ng on t?'
The guy shook h s head. 'T p-top cond t on.'
'The roof OK?'
'No problems at all.'
Reacher nodded. 'Just check ng.'
He sl d across the v nyl and jo ned Jod e on the blacktop. The
tax moved off through the haze, back towards the c v l an
term nal. There was a fa nt breeze com ng off the ocean. Salt n
the a r. Jod e pushed the ha r off her face and looked around.
'Where are we go ng?'
'CIL-HI,' Reacher sa d. 'It's r ght ns de here.'
He pronounced t phonet cally, and t made her sm le.
'S lly?' she repeated. 'So what's that?'
'C, I, L, H, I,' he sa d. 'Central Ident f cat on Laboratory, Hawa .
It's the Department of the Army's ma n fac l ty.'
'For what?'
'I'll show you for what,' he sa d.
Then he paused. 'At least I hope I w ll.'
They walked up to the gatehouse and wa ted at the w ndow.
There was a sergeant ns de, same un form, same ha rcut, same
susp c ous express on on h s face as the guy at Wolters. He
made them wa t n the heat for a second, and then he sl d the
w ndow back. Reacher stepped forward and gave the r names.
'We're here to see Nash Newman,' he sa d.
The sergeant looked surpr sed and p cked up a cl pboard and
peeled th n sheets of paper back. He sl d a th ck f nger along a
l ne and nodded. P cked up a phone and d alled a number. Four
d g ts. An nternal call. He announced the v s tors and l stened
to the reply, and then he looked puzzled. He covered the phone
w th h s palm and turned back to Jod e.
'How old are you, m ss?' he asked.
'Th rty,' Jod e sa d, puzzled n turn.
'Th rty,' the MP repeated nto the phone. Then he l stened
aga n and hung t up and wrote someth ng on the cl pboard.
Turned back to the w ndow.
'He'll be r ght out, so come on through.'
They squeezed through the narrow gap between the
gatehouse wall and the heavy counterwe ght on the end of the
veh cle barr er and wa ted on the hot pavement s x feet away
from where they had started, but now t was m l tary pavement,
not Hawa Department of Transportat on pavement, and that
made a lot of d fference to the look on the sergeant's face. The
susp c on was all gone, replaced by frank cur os ty about why
the legendary Nash Newman was n such a b g hurry to get
these two c v l ans ns de the base.
There was a low concrete bu ld ng maybe s xty yards away
w th a pla n personnel door set n the blank end wall. The door
opened up and a s lver-ha red man stepped out. He turned back
to close t and
lock t and then set out at a fast walk towards the gatehouse.
He was n the pants and the sh rt of an Army trop cal- ssue
un form, w th a wh te lab coat flapp ng open over them. There
was enough metal punched through the collar of the sh rt to
nd cate he was a h gh-rank ng off cer, and noth ng n h s
d st ngu shed bear ng to contrad ct that mpress on. Reacher
moved to meet h m and Jod e followed. The s lver-ha red guy
was maybe f fty-f ve, and up close he was tall, w th a handsome
patr c an face and a natural athlet c grace n h s body that was
just beg nn ng to y eld to the st ffness of age.
'General Newman,' Reacher sa d. 'Th s s Jod e Garber.'
Newman glanced at Reacher and took Jod e's hand, sm l ng.
'Pleased to meet you, General,' she sa d.
'We already met,' Newman sa d.
'We d d?' she sa d, surpr sed.
'You wouldn't recall t,' he sa d. 'At least I'd be terr bly
surpr sed f you d d. You were three years old at the t me, I
guess. In the Ph l pp nes. It was n your father's backyard. I
remember you brought me a glass of planter's punch. It was a
b g glass, and a b g yard, and you were a very l ttle g rl. You
carr ed t n both hands, w th your tongue st ck ng out,
concentrat ng. I watched you all the way, w th my heart n my
mouth n case you dropped t.'
She sm led. 'Well, you're r ght, I'm afra d I don't recall t. I was
three? That's an awful long t me ago now.'
Newman nodded. 'That's why I checked how old you looked. I
d dn't mean for the sergeant to come r ght out and ask you
stra ght. I wanted h s subject ve
mpress on, s all. It's not the sort of th ng one should ask a
lady, s t? But I was wonder ng f you could really be Leon's
daughter, come to v s t me.'
He squeezed her hand and let t go. Turned to Reacher and
punched h m l ghtly on the shoulder.
'Jack Reacher,' he sa d. 'Damn, t's good to see you aga n.'
Reacher caught Newman's hand and shook t hard, shar ng
the pleasure.
'General Newman was my teacher,' he sa d to Jod e. 'He d d a
spell at staff college about a m ll on years ago. Advanced
forens cs, taught me everyth ng I know.'
'He was a pretty good student,' Newman sa d to her. 'Pa d
attent on at least, wh ch s more than most of them d d.'
'So what s t you do, General?' she asked.
'Well, I do a l ttle forens c anthropology,' Newman sa d.
'He's the best n the world,' Reacher sa d.
Newman waved away the compl ment. 'Well, I don't know
about that.'
'Anthropology?' Jod e sa d. 'But sn't that study ng remote
tr bes and th ngs? How they l ve? The r r tuals and bel efs and
so on?'
'No, that's cultural anthropology,' Newman sa d. 'There are
many d fferent d sc pl nes. M ne s forens c anthropology,'
wh ch s a part of phys cal anthropology.'
'Study ng human rema ns for clues,' Reacher sa d.
'A bone doctor,' Newman sa d. 'That's about what t amounts
to.'
They were dr ft ng down the s dewalk as they talked, gett ng
nearer the pla n door n the blank wall.
It opened up and a younger man was stand ng there wa t ng
for them n the entrance corr dor. A nondescr pt guy, maybe
th rty years old, n a l eutenant's un form under a wh te lab coat.
Newman nodded towards h m. 'Th s s L eutenant S mon. He
runs the lab for me. Couldn't manage w thout h m.'
He ntroduced Reacher and Jod e and they shook hands all
around. S mon was qu et and reserved. Reacher f gured h m for
a typ cal lab guy, annoyed at the d srupt on to the measured
rout ne of h s work. Newman led them ns de and down the
corr dor to h s off ce, and S mon nodded s lently to h m and
d sappeared.
'S t down,' Newman sa d. 'Let's talk.'
'So you're a sort of patholog st?' Jod e asked h m.
Newman took h s place beh nd h s desk and rocked h s hand
from s de to s de, nd cat ng a d spar ty. 'Well, a patholog st has
a med cal degree, and we anthropolog sts don't. We stud ed
anthropology, pure and s mple. The phys cal structure of the
human body, that's our f eld. We both work post-mortem, of
course, but generally speak ng f a corpse s relat vely fresh, t's
a patholog st's job, and f there's only a skeleton left, then t's
our job. So I'm a bone doctor.'
Jod e nodded.
'Of course, that's a sl ght s mpl f cat on,' Newman sa d. 'A
fresh corpse can ra se quest ons concern ng ts bones.
Suppose there's a d smemberment nvolved? The patholog st
would refer to us for help. We can look at the saw marks on the
bones and help out. We can say how weak or strong the
perpetrator was, what k nd of saw he used, was he left-handed
or r ght-handed, th ngs l ke that. But n nety-n ne t mes out of a
hundred, I'm work ng on skeletons. Dry old bones.'
Then he sm led aga n. A pr vate, amused sm le. 'And
patholog sts are useless w th dry old bones. Really, really
hopeless. They don't know the f rst th ng about them.
Somet mes I wonder what the hell they teach them n med cal
school.'
The off ce was qu et and cool. No w ndows, nd rect l ght ng
from concealed f xtures, carpet on the floor. A rosewood desk,
comfortable leather cha rs for the v s tors. And an elegant clock
on a low shelf, t ck ng qu etly, already show ng three th rty n
the afternoon. Just three and a half hours unt l the return fl ght.
'We're here for a reason, General,' Reacher sa d. 'Th s sn't
ent rely a soc al call, I'm afra d.'
'Soc al enough to stop call ng me General and start call ng me
Nash, OK? And tell me what's on your m nd.'
Reacher nodded. 'We need your help, Nash.'
Newman looked up. 'W th the MIA l sts?'
Then he turned to Jod e, to expla n.
'That's what I do here,' he sa d. 'Twenty years I've done
noth ng else.'
She nodded. 'It's about a part cular case. We sort of got
nvolved n t.'
Newman nodded back, slowly, but th s t me the l ght was
gone from h s eyes.
'Yes, I was afra d of that,' he sa d. 'There are e ghty-n ne
thousand one hundred twenty MIA cases here, but I bet I know
wh ch one you're nterested n.'
'E ghty-n ne thousand?' Jod e repeated, surpr sed.
'And a hundred twenty. Two thousand, two hundred m ss ng
from V etnam, e ght thousand, one hundred seventy m ss ng
from Korea, and seventy-e ght thousand, seven hundred f fty
m ss ng from World War Two. We haven't g ven up on any
s ngle
one of them, and I prom se you we never w ll.'
'God, why so many?'
Newman shrugged, a b tter sadness suddenly there n h s
face.
'Wars,' he sa d. 'H gh explos ve, tact cal movement, a rplanes.
Wars are fought, some combatants l ve, some d e. Some of the
dead are recovered, some of them aren't. Somet mes there's
noth ng left to recover. A d rect h t on a man by an art llery shell
w ll reduce h m to h s const tuent molecules. He's just not there
any more. Maybe a f ne red m st dr ft ng through the a r, maybe
not even that, maybe he's completely bo led off to vapour. A
near m ss w ll blow h m to p eces. And f ght ng s about
terr tory, sn't t? So even f the p eces of h m are relat vely
large, enemy tank movement or fr endly tank movement back
and forth across the d sputed terr tory w ll plough the p eces of
h m nto the earth, and then he's gone for ever.'
He sat n s lence, and the clock t cked slowly around.
'And a rplanes are worse. Many of our a r campa gns have
been fought over oceans. A plane goes down n the ocean and
the crew s m ss ng unt l the end of t me, no matter how much
effort we expend n a
place l ke th s.'
He waved h s hand n a vague gesture that took n the off ce
and all the unseen space beyond and ended up rest ng towards
Jod e, palm up, l ke a mute appeal.
'E ghty-n ne thousand,' she sa d. 'I thought the MIA stuff was
just about V etnam. Two thousand
or so.'
'E ghty-n ne thousand, one hundred twenty,' Newman sa d
aga n. 'We st ll get a few from Korea, the occas onal one from
World War Two, the
Japanese slands. But you're r ght, th s s mostly about
V etnam. Two thousand, two hundred m ss ng. Not so very
many, really. They lost more than that n a s ngle morn ng
dur ng World War One, every morn ng for four long years. Men
and boys blown apart and mashed nto the mud. But V etnam
was d fferent. Partly because of th ngs l ke World War One. We
won't take that wholesale slaughter any more, and qu te r ghtly.
We've moved on. The populat on just won't stand for those old
att tudes now.'
Jod e nodded, qu etly.
'And partly because we lost the war n V etnam,' Newman sa d
qu etly. 'That makes t very d fferent. The only war we ever lost.
Makes t all feel a hell of a lot worse. So we try harder to resolve
th ngs.'
He made the gesture w th h s hand aga n, nd cat ng the
unseen complex beyond the off ce door, and h s vo ce ended on
a br ghter note.
'So that's what you do here?' Jod e asked. 'Wa t for skeletons
to be d scovered overseas and then br ng them back here to
dent fy? So you can f nally t ck the names off the m ss ng
l sts?'
Newman rocked h s hand aga n, equ vocat ng. 'Well, we don't
wa t, exactly. Where we can, we go out search ng for them. And
we don't always dent fy them, although we sure as hell try
hard.'
'It must be d ff cult,' she sa d.
He nodded. 'Techn cally, t can be very challeng ng. The
recovery s tes are usually a mess. The f eld workers send us
an mal bones, local bones, anyth ng. We sort t all out here.
Then we go to work w th what we've got. Wh ch somet mes sn't
very much. Somet mes all that's left of an Amer can sold er s
just a handful of bone fragments you could f t n a c gar box.'
one of them, and I prom se you we never w ll.' 'God, why so
many?'
Newman shrugged, a b tter sadness suddenly there n h s
face.
'Wars,' he sa d. 'H gh explos ve, tact cal movement, a rplanes.
Wars are fought, some combatants l ve, some d e. Some of the
dead are recovered, some of them aren't. Somet mes there's
noth ng left to recover. A d rect h t on a man by an art llery shell
w ll reduce h m to h s const tuent molecules. He's just not there
any more. Maybe a f ne red m st dr ft ng through the a r, maybe
not even that, maybe he's completely bo led off to vapour. A
near m ss w ll blow h m to p eces. And f ght ng s about
terr tory, sn't t? So even f the p eces of h m are relat vely
large, enemy tank movement or fr endly tank movement back
and forth across the d sputed terr tory w ll plough the p eces of
h m nto the earth, and then he's gone for ever.'
He sat n s lence, and the clock t cked slowly around.
'And a rplanes are worse. Many of our a r campa gns have
been fought over oceans. A plane goes down n the ocean and
the crew s m ss ng unt l the end of t me, no matter how much
effort we expend n a place l ke th s.'
He waved h s hand n a vague gesture that took n the off ce
and all the unseen space beyond and ended up rest ng towards
Jod e, palm up, l ke a mute appeal. 'E ghty-n ne thousand,' she
sa d. 'I thought the MIA stuff was just about V etnam. Two
thousand or so.'
'E ghty-n ne thousand, one hundred twenty,' Newman sa d
aga n. 'We st ll get a few from Korea, the occas onal one from
World War Two, the
Japanese slands. But you're r ght, th s s mostly about
V etnam. Two thousand, two hundred m ss ng. Not so very
many, really. They lost more than that n a s ngle morn ng
dur ng World War One, every morn ng for four long years. Men
and boys blown apart and mashed nto the mud. But V etnam
was d fferent. Partly because of th ngs l ke World War One. We
won't take that wholesale slaughter any more, and qu te r ghtly.
We've moved on. The populat on just won't stand for those old
att tudes now.'
Jod e nodded, qu etly.
'And partly because we lost the war n V etnam,' Newman sa d
qu etly. 'That makes t very d fferent. The only war we ever lost.
Makes t all feel a hell of a lot worse. So we try harder to resolve
th ngs.'
He made the gesture w th h s hand aga n, nd cat ng the
unseen complex beyond the off ce door, and h s vo ce ended on
a br ghter note.
'So that's what you do here?' Jod e asked. 'Wa t for skeletons
to be d scovered overseas and then br ng them back here to
dent fy? So you can f nally t ck the names off the m ss ng
l sts?'
Newman rocked h s hand aga n, equ vocat ng. 'Well, we don't
wa t, exactly. Where we can, we go out search ng for them. And
we don't always dent fy them, although we sure as hell try
hard.'
'It must be d ff cult,' she sa d.
He nodded. 'Techn cally, t can be very challeng ng. The
recovery s tes are usually a mess. The f eld workers send us
an mal bones, local bones, anyth ng. We sort t all out here.
Then we go to work w th what we've got. Wh ch somet mes sn't
very much. Somet mes all that's left of an Amer can sold er s
just a handful of bone fragments you could f t n a c gar box.'
'Imposs ble,' she sa d.
'Often,' he sa d back. 'We've got a hundred part-skeletons
here r ght now, un dent f ed. The Department of the Army can't
afford m stakes. They demand a very h gh standard of certa nty,
and somet mes we just can't meet t.'
'Where do you start?' she asked.
He shrugged. 'Well, wherever we can. Med cal records,
usually. Suppose Reacher here was an MIA? If he'd broken h s
arm as a boy, we'd be able to match the old X-ray aga nst a
healed break n the bones we found. Maybe. Or f we found h s
jaw, we could match the work on h s teeth w th h s dental
charts.'
Reacher saw her look ng at h m, mag n ng h m reduced to
dry yellow ng bones on a jungle floor, scraped out of the d rt
and compared to br ttle fad ng X-rays taken th rty years earl er.
The off ce went s lent aga n, and the clock t cked around.
'Leon came here n Apr l,' Reacher sa d.
Newman nodded. 'Yes, he v s ted w th me. Fool sh of h m,
really, because he was a very s ck man. But t was good to see
h m.'
Then he turned to Jod e, sympathy on h s face.
'He was a f ne, f ne man. I owed h m a lot.'
She nodded. It wasn't the f rst t me she'd heard t, and t
wouldn't be the last.
'He asked you about V ctor Hob e,' Reacher sa d.
Newman nodded aga n. 'V ctor Truman Hob e.'
'What d d you tell h m?'
'Noth ng,' Newman sa d. 'And I'm go ng to tell you noth ng,
too.'
The clock t cked on. A quarter to four.
'Why not?' Reacher asked.
'Surely you know why not.'
'It's class f ed?'
'Tw ce over,' Newman sa d.
Reacher moved n the s lence, restless w th frustrat on.
'You're our last hope, Nash. We've already been all over
everyth ng else.'
Newman shook h s head. 'You know how t s, Reacher. I'm an
off cer n the US Army, damn t. I'm not go ng to reveal
class f ed nformat on.'
'Please, Nash,' Reacher sa d. 'We came all th s way.'
'I can't,' Newman sa d.
'No such word,' Reacher sa d.
S lence.
'Well, I guess you could ask me quest ons,' Newman sa d. 'If a
former student of m ne comes n here and asks me quest ons
based on h s own sk lls and observat ons, and I answer them n
a purely academ c fash on, I don't see that any harm can come
to anybody.'
It was l ke the clouds l ft ng away from the sun. Jod e glanced
at Reacher. He glanced at the clock. Seven m nutes to four.
Less than three hours to go.
'OK, Nash, thanks,' he sa d. 'You're fam l ar w th th s case?'
'I'm fam l ar w th all of them. Th s one espec ally, s nce Apr l.'
'And t's class f ed tw ce over?'
Newman just nodded.
'At a level that kept Leon out of the loop?'
'That's a pretty h gh level,' Newman h nted. 'Wouldn't you
agree?'
Reacher nodded. Thought hard. 'What d d Leon want you to
do?'
'He was n the dark,' Newman sa d. 'You need to bear that n
m nd, r ght?'
'OK,' Reacher sa d. 'What d d he want you to do?'
'He wanted us to f nd the crash s te.'
'Four m les west of An Khe.'
Newman nodded. 'I felt badly for Leon'. No real reason for h m
to be out of the loop on th s, and there was noth ng I could do
to alter the class f cat on code. But I owed that man a lot, way
more than I can tell you about, so I agreed to f nd the s te.'
Jod e leaned forward. 'But why wasn't t found before? People
seem to know roughly where t s.'
Newman shrugged. 'It's all ncred bly d ff cult. You have no
dea. The terra n, the bureaucracy. We lost the war, remember.
The V etnamese d ctate the terms over there. We run a jo nt
recovery effort, but they control t. The whole th ng s constant
man pulat on and hum l at on. We're not allowed to wear our
un forms over there, because they say the s ght of a US Army
un form w ll traumat ze the v llage populat ons. They make us
rent the r own hel copters to get around, m ll ons and m ll ons
of dollars a year for ratty old rust-buckets w th half the
capab l ty of our own mach nes. Truth s, we're buy ng those old
bones back, and they set the pr ce and the ava lab l ty. Bottom
l ne r ght now s the Un ted States s pay ng more than three
m ll on dollars for every s ngle dent f cat on we make, and t
burns me up.'
Four m nutes to four. Newman s ghed aga n, lost n thought.
'But you found the s te?' Reacher prompted. 'It was
scheduled for some t me n the future,' Newman sa d. 'We knew
roughly where t was, and we knew exactly what we'd f nd when
we got there, so t wasn't much of a h gh pr or ty. But as a
favour to Leon, I went over there and barga ned to move t up
the schedule. I wanted t next tem on the l st. It was a real
b tch to negot ate. They get w nd you want someth ng n
part cular, they go stubborn as all hell. You've got no dea.
Inscrutable? Tell me about t.'
'But you found t?' Jod e asked.
'It was a b tch, geograph cally,' Newman sa d. 'We talked to
DeW tt over at Wolters, and he helped us p n down the exact
locat on, more or less. Remotest place you ever saw.
Mounta nous and naccess ble. I can guarantee you no human
be ng has ever set foot there, no t me n the h story of the
planet. It was a n ghtmare tr p. But t was a great s te.
Completely naccess ble, so t wasn't m ned.'
'M ned?' Jod e repeated. 'You mean they booby-trap the
s tes?'
Newman shook h s head. 'No, m ned, as n excavated.
Anyth ng access ble, the populat on was all over t th rty years
ago. They took dog tags, ID cards, helmets, souven rs, but
mostly they were after the metals. F xed-w ng s tes, mostly,
because of the gold and plat num.'
'What gold?' she asked.
'In the electr cal c rcu ts,' Newman sa d. 'The F-4 Phantoms,
for nstance, they had about f ve thousand dollars' worth of
prec ous metals n the connect ons. Populat on used to hack t
all out and sell t. You buy cheap jewellery n Bangkok, probably
t's made out of old US f ghters-bomber electron cs.'
'What d d you f nd up there?' Reacher asked.
'A relat vely good state of preservat on,' Newman sa d. 'The
Huey was smashed up and rusted, but t was recogn zable. The
bod es were completely skeleton zed, of course. Cloth ng was
rotted and gone, long ago. But noth ng else was m ss ng. They
all had dog
tags. We packed them up and hel coptered them to Hano .
Then we flew them back here n the Starl fter, full honours. We
only just got back. Three months, beg nn ng to end, one of the
best we've ever done n terms of t me scale. And the IDs are
go ng to be a total formal ty, because we've got the dog tags. No
role for a bone doctor on th s one. Open and shut. I'm just sorry
Leon d dn't l ve to see t. It would have put h s m nd at rest.'
'The bod es are here?' Reacher asked. Newman nodded.
'R ght next door.' 'Can we see them?' Reacher asked. Newman
nodded aga n. 'You shouldn't, but you need to.'
The off ce went qu et and Newman stood up and gestured
towards the door w th both hands. L eutenant S mon walked
past. He nodded a greet ng. 'We're go ng nto the lab,' Newman
sa d to h m. 'Yes, s r,' S mon sa d back. He moved away nto h s
own off ce cub cle and Reacher and Jod e and Newman walked
n the other d rect on and paused n front of a pla n door set n a
blank c nder-block wall. Newman took keys from h s pocket and
unlocked t. He pulled t open and repeated the same formal
gesture w th both h s hands. Reacher and Jod e preceded h m
nto the lab.
S mon watched them go ns de from h s cub cle. When the
door closed and locked beh nd them, he p cked up h s phone
and d alled n ne for a l ne and then a ten-f gure number start ng
w th the New York C ty area code. The number rang for a long
t me because t was already the m ddle of the even ng s x
thousand m les to the east. Then t was answered.
'Reacher's here,' S mon wh spered. 'R ght now, w th a woman.
They're n the lab, r ght now. Look ng.'
Hob e's vo ce came back low and controlled. 'Who's the
woman?'
'Jod e Garber,' S mon sa d. 'General Garber's daughter.'
'Al as Mrs Jacob.'
'What do you want me to do?'
There was s lence on the l ne. Just the wh stle of the longd stance satell te.
'You could g ve them a r de back to the a rport, maybe. The
woman's got an appo ntment n New York tomorrow afternoon,
so I guess they'll be try ng to make the seven o'clock fl ght. Just
make sure they don't m ss t.'
'OK,' S mon sa d, and Hob e broke the connect on.
The lab was a w de low room, maybe forty feet by f fty. There
were no w ndows. The l ght ng was the bland wash of
fluorescent tubes. There was the fa nt h ss of eff c ent a r
c rculat on, but there was a smell n the room, somewhere
between the sharp tang of strong d s nfectant and the warm
odour of earth. At the far end of the space was an alcove f lled
w th racks. On the racks were rows of cardboard boxes, marked
w th reference numbers n black. Maybe a hundred boxes.
'The un dent f ed,' Reacher sa d.
Newman nodded at h s s de.
'As of now,' he sa d qu etly. 'We won't g ve up on them.'
Between them and the d stant alcove was the ma n body of
the room. The floor was t le, swabbed to a sh ne. Stand ng on t
were twenty neat wooden tables set n prec se rows. The tables
were wa st h gh and
topped w th heavy pol shed slabs. Each table was a l ttle
shorter and a l ttle narrower than an Army cot. They looked l ke
sturdy vers ons of the tables decorators use for wallpaper
past ng. S x of them were completely empty. Seven of them had
the l ds of seven pol shed alum n um caskets la d across them.
The f nal seven tables held the seven alum n um caskets
themselves, n neat alternate rows, each one adjacent to the
table bear ng ts l d. Reacher stood s lent w th h s head bowed,
and then he drew h mself up to attent on and held a long s lent
salute for the f rst t me n more than two years.
'Awful,' Jod e wh spered.
She was stand ng w th her hands clasped beh nd her, head
bowed, l ke she was at a graves de ceremony. Reacher released
h s salute and squeezed her hand.
'Thank you,' Newman sa d qu etly. 'I l ke people to show
respect n here.'
'How could we not?' Jod e wh spered.
She was star ng at the caskets, w th tears start ng n
her eyes.
'So, Reacher, what do you see?' Newman asked n
the s lence.
Reacher's eyes were wander ng around the br ght room. He
was too shocked to move.
'I see seven caskets,' he sa d qu etly. 'Where I expected to see
e ght. There were e ght people n that Huey. Crew of f ve, and
they p cked up three. It's n DeW tt's report. F ve and three make
e ght.'
'And e ght m nus one makes seven,' Newman sa d.
'D d you search the s te? Thoroughly?'
Newman shook h s head. 'No.'
'Why not?'
'You'll have to f gure that out.'
Reacher shook h mself and took a step forward. 'May I?'
'Be my guest,' Newman repl ed. 'Tell me what you see.
Concentrate hard, and we'll see what you've remembered, and
what you've forgotten.'
Reacher walked to the nearest casket and turned so that he
was look ng down nto t along ts length. The casket held a
rough wooden box, s x nches smaller n every d mens on than
the casket tself.
'That's what the V etnamese make us use,' Newman sa d.
'They sell those boxes to us and make us use them. We put
them n our own caskets n the hangar at the a rf eld n Hano .'
The wooden box had no l d. It was just a shallow tray. There
was a jumble of bones n t. Somebody had arranged them n
roughly the correct anatom cal sequence. There was a skull at
the top, yellowed and old. It gr nned up w th a grotesque sm le.
There was a gold tooth n the mouth. The empty eye sockets
stared. The vertebrae of the neck were l ned up neatly. Below
them the shoulder blades and the collarbones and the r bs were
la d out n the r correct places above the pelv s. The arm bones
and the leg bones were stacked to the s des. There was the dull
gl nt of a metal cha n draped over the vertebrae of the neck,
runn ng away under the flatness of the left shoulder blade.
'May I?' Reacher asked aga n.
Newman nodded. 'Please.'
Reacher stood s lent for a long moment and then leaned n
and hooked h s f nger under the cha n and eased t out. The
bones st rred and cl cked and moved as the dog tags caught.
He pulled them out and brought them up and rubbed the ball of
h s thumb across the r faces. Bent down to read the stamped
name.
'Kaplan,' he sa d. 'The co-p lot.' 'How d d he d e?' Newman
asked. Reacher draped the tags back across the bony r bs and
looked hard for the ev dence. The skull was OK. No trace of
damage to the arms or legs or chest. But the pelv s was
smashed. The vertebrae towards the bottom of the sp ne were
crushed. And the r bs at the back were fractured, e ght of them
on both s des, count ng upward from the bottom.
'Impact, when the Huey h t the ground. He took a b g h t n the
lower back. Mass ve nternal trauma and haemorrhage.
Probably fatal w th n a m nute.'
'But he was strapped n h s seat,' Newman sa d. 'Head-on
crash nto the ground, how does that njure h m from beh nd?'
Reacher looked aga n. He felt the way he had years before n
the classroom, nervous about screw ng up n front of the
legendary Nash Newman. He looked hard, and he put h s hands
l ghtly on the dry bones, feel ng them. But he had to be r ght.
Th s was a crush ng mpact to the lower back. There was no
other explanat on.
'The Huey spun,' he sa d. 'It came n at a shallow angle and
the trees spun t around. It separated between the cab n and the
ta l and the cab n h t the ground travell ng backward.'
Newman nodded. 'Excellent. That's exactly how we found t. It
h t backward. Instead of h s harness sav ng h m, h s cha r k lled
h m.'
Reacher moved on to the next casket. There was the same
shallow wooden tray, the same jumble of yellow bones. The
same grotesque, accus ng, gr nn ng skull. Below t, the neck
was broken. He eased the dog tags out from between the
shards of cracked bone.
'Tardell ,' he read.
'The starboard-s de gunner,' Newman sa d.
Tardell 's skeleton was a mess. The gunners on a sl ck stand
n the open doorway, bas cally unsecured, juggl ng w th the
heavy mach ne-gun sw ng ng on a bungee cord. When the Huey
went down, Tardell had been thrown all over the cab n.
'Broken neck,' Reacher sa d. 'Crush ng to the upper chest.'
He turned the awful yellow skull over. It was fractured l ke an
eggshell.
'Head trauma also. I'd say he d ed nstantaneously. Wouldn't
l ke to say wh ch exact njury k lled h m.'
'Ne ther would I,' Newman sa d. 'He was n neteen years old.'
There was s lence. Noth ng n the a r except the fa nt sweet
aroma of loam.
'Look at the next one,' Newman sa d.
The next one was d fferent. There was a s ngle njury to the
chest. The dog tags were tangled nto spl ntered bones.
Reacher couldn't free them. He had to bend h s head to get the
name.
'Bamford.'
'The crew ch ef,' Newman sa d. 'He would have been s tt ng
on the cab n bench, fac ng the rear, oppos te the three guys
they p cked up.'
Bamford's bony face gr nned up at h m. Below t, h s skeleton
was complete and undamaged, except for the narrow crush ng
njury s deways across the upper body. It was l ke a three- nch
trench n h s chest. The sternum had been punched down to the
level of the sp ne and had gone on and knocked three vertebrae
out of l ne. Three r bs had gone w th t.
'So what do you th nk?' Newman asked.
Reacher put h s hand nto the box and felt the d mens ons of
the njury. It was narrow and hor zontal. Three f ngers wouldn't
f t nto t, but two would.
'Some k nd of an mpact,' he sa d. 'Someth ng between a
sharp nstrument and a blunt nstrument. H t h m s deways n
the chest, obv ously. It would have stopped h s heart
mmed ately. Was t the rotor
blade?'
Newman nodded. 'Very good. The way t looked, the rotor
folded up aga nst the trees and came down nto the cab n. It
must have struck h m across the upper body. As you say, a
blow l ke that would have stopped h s heart nstantaneously.'
In the next casket, the bones were very d fferent. Some of
them were the same dull yellow, but most of them were wh te
and br ttle and eroded. The dog tags were bent and blackened.
Reacher turned them to throw the emboss ng nto rel ef aga nst
the ce l ng l ghts and read: Soper.
"The port-s de gunner,' Newman sa d.
'There was a f re,' Reacher sa d.
'How can you tell?' Newman asked, l ke the teacher he was.
'Dog tags are burned.'
'And?'
'The bones are calc nated,' Reacher sa d. 'At least, most of
them are.'
'Calc nated?' Newman repeated.
Reacher nodded and went back f fteen years to h s textbooks.
'The organ c components burned off, leav ng only the
norgan c compounds beh nd. Burn ng leaves the bones
smaller, wh ter, ve ned, br ttle and eroded.'
'Good,' Newman nodded.
'The explos on DeW tt saw,' Jod e sa d. 'It was the fuel tank.'
Newman nodded. 'Class c ev dence. Not a slow f re. A fuel
explos on. It sp lls randomly and burns qu ckly, wh ch expla ns
the random nature of the burned bones. Looks to me l ke Soper
caught the fuel across h s lower body, but h s upper body was
ly ng outs de of the f re.'
H s qu et words d ed to s lence and the three of them were
lost n mag n ng the terror. The bellow ng eng nes, the host le
bullets smash ng nto the a r-frame, the sudden loss of power,
the spurt of sp ll ng fuel, the f re, the tear ng smash ng mpact
through the trees, the scream ng, the rotor scyth ng down, the
shudder ng crash, the screech ng of metal, the smash ng of fra l
human bod es nto the nd fferent jungle floor where no person
had ever walked s nce the dawn of t me. Soper's empty eye
sockets stared up nto the l ght, challeng ng them to mag ne.
'Look at the next one,' Newman sa d.
The next casket held the rema ns of a man called Allen. No
burn ng. Just a yellow skeleton w th br ght dog tags around the
broken neck. A noble, gr nn ng skull. Even wh te teeth. A h gh,
round, undamaged cran um. The product of good nutr t on and
careful upbr ng ng n the Amer ca of the F ft es. H s whole back
was smashed, l ke a dead crab.
'Allen was one of the three they p cked up,' Newman sa d.
Reacher nodded, sadly. The s xth casket was a burn v ct m.
H s name was Zabr nsk . H s bones were calc nated and small.
'He was probably a b g guy n l fe,' Newman sa d.
'Burn ng can shr nk your bones by f fty per cent, somet mes.
So don't wr te h m off as a m dget.'
Reacher nodded aga n. St rred through the bones w th h s
hand. They were l ght and br ttle. L ke husks. The ve n ng left
them sharp w th m croscop c r bb ng. 'Injur es?' Newman asked.
Reacher looked aga n, but he found noth ng. 'He burned to
death,' he sa d. Newman nodded. 'Yes, I'm afra d he d d,' he
sa d. 'Awful,' Jod e wh spered.
The seventh and f nal casket held the rema ns of a man
named Gunston. They were terr ble rema ns. At f rst Reacher
thought there was no skull. Then he saw t was ly ng n the
bottom of the wooden box. It was smashed nto a hundred
p eces. Most of them were no b gger than h s thumbna l.
'What do you th nk?' Newman asked. Reacher shook h s
head.
'I don't want to th nk,' he wh spered. 'I'm all done th nk ng.'
Newman nodded, sympathet c. 'Rotor blade h t h m n the
head. He was one of the three they p cked up. He was s tt ng
oppos te Bamford.'
'F ve and three,' Jod e sa d qu etly. 'So the crew was Hob e
and Kaplan, p lot and co-p lot, Bamford the crew ch ef, Soper
and Tardell the gunners, and they went down and p cked up
Allen and Zabr nsk and Gunston.'
Newman nodded. 'That's what the f les tell us.' 'So where's
Hob e?' Reacher asked. 'You're m ss ng someth ng,' Newman
sa d. 'Sloppy work, Reacher, for somebody who used to be
good at th s.'
Reacher glanced at h m. DeW tt had sa d someth ng s m lar.
He had sa d sloppy work for somebody who was once an MP
major. And he had sa d look closer to home.
'They were MPs, r ght?' he sa d suddenly.
Newman sm led. 'Who were?'
'Two of them,' Reacher sa d. 'Two out of Allen and Zabr nsk
and Gunston. Two of them were arrest ng the other one. It was a
spec al m ss on. Kaplan had put two MPs n the f eld the day
before. H s last but one m ss on, fly ng solo, the one I d dn't
read. They were go ng back to p ck them up, plus the guy they'd
arrested.'
Newman nodded. 'Correct.'
'Wh ch was wh ch?'
'Pete Zabr nsk and Joey Gunston were the cops. Carl Allen
was the bad guy.'
Reacher nodded. 'What had he done?'
'The deta ls are class f ed,' Newman sa d. 'Your guess?'
'In and out l ke that, a qu ck arrest? Fragg ng, I suppose.'
'What's fragg ng?' Jod e asked.
'K ll ng your off cer,' Reacher sa d. 'It happened, t me to t me.
Some gung-ho l eutenant, probably new n-country, gets all
keen on advanc ng nto dangerous pos t ons. The grunts don't
l ke t, f gure he's after a medal, f gure they'd rather keep the r
asses n one p ece. So he says charge and somebody shoots
h m n the back, or throws a grenade at h m, wh ch was more
eff c ent, because t d dn't need a m ng and t d sgu sed the
whole th ng better. That's where the name comes from,
fragg ng, fragmentat on dev ce, a grenade.'
'So was t fragg ng?' Jod e asked.
'The deta ls are class f ed,' Newman sa d aga n. 'But certa nly
there was fragg ng nvolved, at the end of a long and v c ous
career. Accord ng to the f les, Carl Allen was def n tely not the
flavour of the month.'
Jod e nodded. 'But why on earth s that class f ed? Whatever
he d d, he's been dead th rty years. Just ce s done, r ght?'
Reacher had stepped back to Allen's casket. He was star ng
down nto t.
'Caut on,' he sa d. 'Whoever the gung-ho l eutenant was, h s
fam ly was told he d ed a hero, f ght ng the enemy. If they ever
f nd out any d fferent, t's a scandal. And the Department of the
Army doesn't l ke scandals.'
'Correct,' Newman sa d aga n. 'But where's Hob e?' Reacher
asked aga n. 'You're st ll m ss ng someth ng. One step at a t me,
OK?'
'But what s t?' Reacher asked. 'Where s t?' 'In the bones,'
Newman sa d. The clock on the laboratory wall showed f veth rty. Not much more than an hour to go. Reacher took a breath
and walked back around the caskets n reverse order. Gunston,
Zabr nsk , Allen, Soper, Bamford, Tardell , Kaplan. S x gr nn ng
skulls and one headless bony set of shoulders stared back up
at h m. He d d the round aga n. The clock t cked on. He stopped
next to each casket and gr pped the cold alum n um s des and
leaned over and stared n, desperate to spot what he was
m ss ng. In the bones. He started each search at the top. The
skull, the neck, the collarbones, the r bs, the arms, the pelv s,
the legs, the feet. He took to rummag ng through the boxes,
l ghtly, del cately sort ng the dry bones, look ng for t. A quarter
to s x.
Ten to s x. Jod e was watch ng h m, anx ously. He d d the
round for the th rd t me, start ng aga n w th Gunston, the cop.
He moved on to Zabr nsk , the other cop. On to Allen, the
cr m nal. On to Soper, the gunner. On to Bamford, the crew
ch ef. He found t r ght there n Bamford's box. He closed h s
eyes. It was obv ous. It was so obv ous t was l ke t was pa nted
n Day-Glo pa nt and l t up w th a searchl ght. He ran back
around the other s x boxes, count ng, double check ng. He was
r ght. He had found t. S x o'clock n the even ng n Hawa .
'There are seven bod es,' he sa d. 'But there are f fteen
hands.'
S x o'clock n the even ng n Hawa s eleven o'clock at n ght
n New York C ty, and Hob e was alone n h s apartment, th rty
floors above F fth Avenue, n the bedroom, gett ng ready to go
to sleep. Eleven o'clock was earl er than h s normal bedt me.
Usually he would stay awake, read ng a book or watch ng a f lm
on cable unt l one or two n the morn ng. But ton ght he was
t red. It had been a fat gu ng day. There had been a certa n
amount of phys cal act v ty, and some mental stra n.
He was s tt ng on the edge of h s bed. It was a k ng-s ze bed,
although he slept alone, and always had. There was a th ck
comforter n wh te. The walls were wh te and the Venet an
bl nds were wh te. Not because he had wanted any k nd of
art st c cons stency n h s decor, but because wh te th ngs were
always the cheapest. Whatever you were deal ng w th, bed l nen
or pa nt or w ndow cover ngs, the wh te opt on was always
pr ced lowest. There was no art on the walls. No photographs,
no ornaments, no souven rs, no
hang ngs. The floor was pla n oak str ps. No rug.
H s feet were planted squarely on the floor. H s shoes were
black Oxfords, pol shed to a h gh sh ne, planted exactly at r ght
angles to the oak str ps. He reached down w th h s good hand
and und d the laces, one at a t me. Eased the shoes off, one at a
t me. Pushed them together w th h s feet and p cked them up
both together and squared them away under the bed. He sl d h s
thumb nto the top of h s socks, one at a t me, and eased them
off h s feet. Shook them out and dropped them on the floor. He
unknotted h s t e. He always wore a t e. It was a source of great
pr de to h m that he could knot a t e w th one hand.
He p cked up the t e and stood and walked barefoot to h s
closet. Sl d the door open and worked the th n end of the t e
down beh nd the l ttle brass bar where t hung at n ght. Then he
dropped h s left shoulder and let h s jacket sl de off h s arm.
Used the left hand to pull t off on the r ght. He reached nto the
closet and came out w th a hanger and sl d the jacket on to t,
one-handed. He hung t up on the ra l. Then he unbuttoned h s
pants and dropped the z p. Stepped out of them and crouched
and stra ghtened them on the sh ny oak floor. No other way for
a one-armed man to fold trousers. He put the cuffs together one
on top of the other and trapped them under h s foot and pulled
the legs stra ght. Then he stood up and took a second hanger
from the closet and bent down and fl pped the bar under the
cuffs and sl d t along the floor to the knees. Then he stood up
aga n and shook the hanger and the pants fell nto perfect
shape. He hung them alongs de the jacket.
He curled h s left wr st around the starched buttonholes and
und d h s sh rt. He opened the r ght cuff. He
shrugged the sh rt off h s shoulders and used h s left hand to
pull t down over h s hook. Then he leaned s deways and let t
fall down h s left arm. Trapped the ta l under h s foot and pulled
h s arm up through the sleeve. The sleeve turned ns de out as
t always d d and h s good hand squeezed through the cuff. The
only mod f cat on he had been forced to make n h s ent re
wardrobe was to move the cuff buttons on h s sh rts to allow
them to pass over h s left hand wh le they were st ll done up.
He left the sh rt on the floor and pulled at the wa stband of h s
boxers and wr ggled them down over h s h ps. Stepped out of
them and grasped the hem of h s undersh rt. Th s was the
hardest part. He stretched the hem and ducked and wh pped t
up over h s head. Changed h s gr p to the neck and pulled t up
over h s face. He pulled t down on the r ght and eased h s hook
out through the armhole. Then he cracked h s left arm l ke a
wh p unt l the undersh rt came off t and landed on the floor. He
bent and scooped t up w th the sh rt and the boxers and the
socks and carr ed them nto the bathroom and dumped them all
n the basket.
He walked naked back to the bed and sat down aga n on the
edge. Reached across h s chest w th h s left hand and
unbuckled the heavy leather straps around h s r ght b cep.
There were three straps, and three buckles. He eased the
leather corset apart and squeezed t backward off h s upper
arm. It creaked n the s lence as t moved. The leather was th ck
and heavy, much th cker and heav er than any shoe leather. It
was bu lt up n shaped layers. It was brown and sh ny w th wear.
Over the years t had moulded tself l ke steel to h s shape. It
crushed the muscle as he eased t back. He f ddled the r veted
straps clear of h s
elbow. Then he took the cold curve of the hook n h s left
hand and pulled gently. The cup sucked off the stump and he
pulled t away. Clamped t vert cally between h s knees, the
hook po nt ng downward to the floor and the cup fac ng
upward. He leaned over to h s n ghtstand and took a wad of
t ssues from a box and a can of talc from a drawer. He crushed
the t ssues n h s left palm and pushed them down nto the cup,
tw st ng the wad l ke a screw to w pe away the sweat of the day.
Then he shook the can of talc and powdered all around the
ns de. He took more t ssues and pol shed the leather and the
steel. Then he la d the whole assembly on the floor, parallel w th
the bed.
He wore a th n sock on the stump of h s r ght forearm. It
was'there to stop the leather chaf ng the sk n. It was not a
spec al st med cal dev ce. It was a ch ld's sock. Just tubular, no
heel, the sort of th ng mothers choose before the r bab es can
walk. He bought them a dozen pa rs at a t me from department
stores. He always bought wh te ones. They were cheaper. He
eased the sock off the stump and shook t out and la d t next to
the box of t ssues on the n ght-stand.
The stump tself was shr velled. There was some muscle left,
but w th no work to do t had wasted to noth ng. The bones
were f led smooth on the cut ends, and the sk n had been sewn
t ght down over them. The sk n was wh te, and the st tches were
red. They looked l ke Ch nese wr t ng. There was black ha r
grow ng on the bottom of the stump, because the sk n there had
been stretched down from the outs de of h s forearm. He stood
up aga n and walked to the bathroom. A prev ous owner had
nstalled a wall of m rror above the s nk. He looked at h mself n
t, and hated what he
saw. H s arm d dn't bother h m. It was just m ss ng. It was h s
face he hated. The burns. The arm was a wound, but the face
was a d sf gurement. He turned half s deways so he d dn't have
to look at t. He cleaned h s teeth and carr ed a bottle of lot on
back to the bed. Squeezed a drop on to the sk n of the stump
and worked t n w th h s f ngers. Then he placed the lot on next
to the baby's sock on the n ghtstand and rolled under the
covers and cl cked the l ght off.
'Left or r ght?' Jod e asked. 'Wh ch d d he lose?'
Reacher was stand ng over Bamford's br ght casket, sort ng
through bones.
'H s r ght,' he sa d. 'The extra hand s a r ght hand.'
Newman moved across to Reacher's shoulder and leaned n
and separated two spl ntered shards of bone, each one about
f ve nches n length.
'He lost more than h s hand,' he sa d. 'These are the rad us
and the ulna from h s r ght arm. It was severed below the elbow,
probably by a fragment of the rotor blade. There would have
been enough left to make a decent stump.'
Reacher p cked up the bones and ran h s f ngers across the
spl ntered ends.
'I don't understand, Nash,' he sa d. 'Why d dn't you search the
area?'
'Why should we?' Newman sa d back, neutrally.
'Because why just assume he surv ved? He was gr evously
njured. The mpact, the severed arm? Maybe other njur es,
maybe nternal? Mass ve blood loss at least? Maybe he was
burned, too. There was burn ng fuel everywhere. Th nk about t,
Nash. Probab l ty s he crawled out from the wreck, bleed ng
from h s arter es, maybe on f re, he dragged h mself
twenty yards away and collapsed n the undergrowth and
d ed. Why the hell d dn't you look for h m?'
'Ask yourself the quest on,' Newman sa d. 'Why d dn't we look
for h m?'
Reacher stared at h m. Nash Newman, one of the smartest
guys he had ever known. A man so p cky and prec se he could
take a fragment of skull an nch w de and tell you who t had
belonged to, how he had l ved, how he had d ed. A man so
profess onal and met culous he had run the longest-last ng and
most compl cated forens c nvest gat on ever known n h story
and had rece ved noth ng but pra se and plaud ts all the way.
How could Nash Newman have made such an elementary
m stake? Reacher stared at h m, and then he breathed out and
closed h s eyes.
'Chr st, Nash,' he sa d slowly. 'You know he surv ved, don't
you? You actually know t. You d dn't look for h m because you
know t for sure.' Newman nodded. 'Correct.' 'But how do you
know?'
Newman glanced around the lab. Lowered h s vo ce. 'Because
he turned up afterward,' he sa d. 'He crawled nto a f eld
hosp tal f fty m les away and three weeks later. It's all n the r
med cal f les. He was racked w th fever, ser ous malnutr t on,
terr ble burns to one s de of h s face, no arm, maggots n the
stump. He was ncoherent most of the t me, but they dent f ed
h m by h s dog tags. Then he came around after treatment and
told the story, no other surv vors but h mself. That's why I sa d
we knew exactly what we were go ng to f nd up there. That's
why t was such a low pr or ty, unt l Leon got all ag tated about
t.'
'So what happened?' Jod e asked. 'Why all the secrecy?'
'The hosp tal was way north,' Newman sa d. 'Charl e was
push ng south and we were retreat ng. The hosp tal was gett ng
ready for evacuat on.'
'And?' Reacher asked.
'He d sappeared the n ght before they were due to move h m
to Sa gon.'
'He d sappeared?'
Newman nodded. 'Just ran away. Got h mself out of h s cot
and l t out. Never been seen s nce.'
'Sh t,' Reacher sa d.
'I st ll don't understand the secrecy,' Jod e sa d.
Newman shrugged. 'Well, Reacher can expla n t. More h s
area than m ne.'
Reacher st ll had hold of Hob e's bones. The rad us and the
ulna from h s r ght arm, neatly socketed on the lower end l ke
nature ntended, savagely smashed and spl ntered at the upper
end by a fragment of h s own rotor blade. Hob e had stud ed the
lead ng edge of that blade and seen that t was capable of
smash ng through tree l mbs as th ck as a man's arm. He had
used that nsp rat on to save other men's l ves, over and over
aga n. Then that same blade had come fold ng and wh rl ng
down nto h s own cockp t and taken h s hand away.
'He was a deserter,' he sa d. 'Techn cally, that's what he was.
He was a serv ng sold er and he ran away. But a dec s on was
taken not to go after h m. Had to be that way. Because what
could the Army do? If they caught h m, what next? They would
be prosecut ng a guy w th an exemplary record, n ne hundred
n nety-one combat m ss ons, a guy who deserted after the
trauma of a horrendous njury and d sf gurement. They couldn't
do that. The war was unpopular. You can't send a d sf gured
hero to Leavenworth for
desert ng under those c rcumstances. But equally you can't
send out the message that you're lett ng deserters get away
w th t. That would have been a scandal of a d fferent sort. They
were st ll bust ng plenty of guys for desert ng. The undeserv ng
ones. They couldn't reveal they had d fferent strokes for
d fferent folks. So Hob e's f le was closed and sealed and
class f ed secret. That's why the personnel record ends w th the
last m ss on. All the rest of t s n a vault, somewhere n the
Pentagon.' Jod e nodded.
'And that's why he's not on the Wall,' she sa d. 'They know
he's st ll al ve.'
Reacher was reluctant to put the arm bones down. He held
them, and ran h s f ngers up and down the r length. The good
ends were smooth and perfect, ready to accept the subtle
art culat on of the human wr st.
'Have you logged h s med cal records?' he asked Newman.
'H s old X-rays and dental charts and all that stuff?'
Newman shook h s head. 'He's not MIA. He surv ved and
deserted.'
Reacher turned back to Bamford's casket and la d the two
yellow shards gently n one corner of the rough wooden box. He
shook h s head. 'I just can't bel eve t, Nash. Everyth ng about
th s guy says he d dn't have a deserter's mental ty. H s
background, h s record, everyth ng. I know about deserters. I
hunted plenty of
them.'
'He deserted,' Newman sa d. 'It's a fact, t's n the f les from
the hosp tal.'
'He surv ved the crash,' Reacher sa d. 'I guess I can't d spute
that any more. He was n the hosp tal. Can't d spute that, e ther.
But suppose t wasn't really
desert on? Suppose he was just confused, or groggy from the
drugs or someth ng? Suppose he just wandered away and got
lost?'
Newman shook h s head. 'He wasn't confused.'
'But how do you know that? Loss of blood, malnutr t on,
fever, morph ne?'
'He deserted,' Newman sa d.
'It doesn't add up,' Reacher sa d.
'War changes people,' Newman sa d.
'Not that much,' Reacher sa d back.
Newman stepped closer and lowered h s vo ce aga n.
'He k lled an orderly,' he wh spered. 'The guy spotted h m on
the way out and tr ed to stop h m. It's all n the f le. Hob e sa d
I'm not go ng back and h t the guy n the head w th a bottle.
Broke h s skull. They put the guy n Hob e's bed and he d dn't
surv ve the tr p back to Sa gon. That's what the secrecy s all
about, Reacher. They d dn't just let h m get away w th desert ng.
They let h m get away w th murder.'
There was total s lence n the lab. The a r h ssed and the
loamy smell of the old bones dr fted. Reacher la d h s hand on
the sh ny l p of Bamford's casket, just to keep h mself stand ng
upr ght.
'I don't bel eve t,' he sa d.
'You should,' Newman sa d back. 'Because t's true.'
'I can't tell h s folks that,' Reacher sa d. 'I just can't. It would
k ll them.'
'Hell of a secret,' Jod e sa d. 'They let h m get away w th
murder?'
'Pol t cs,' Newman sa d. 'The pol t cs over there stunk to h gh
heaven. St ll do, as a matter of fact.'
'Maybe he d ed later,' Reacher sa d. 'Maybe he got
away nto the jungle and d ed there later. He was st ll very
s ck, r ght?'
'How would that help you?' Newman asked.
'I could tell h s folks he was dead, you know, gloss over the
exact deta ls.'
'You're clutch ng at straws,' Newman sa d.
'We have to go,' Jod e sa d. 'We need to make the
plane.'
'Would you run h s med cal records?' Reacher asked. 'If I got
hold of them from h s fam ly? Would you do that for me?' There
was a pause.
'I've already got them,' Newman sa d. 'Leon brought them w th
h m. The fam ly released them to h m.'
'So w ll you run them?' Reacher asked. 'You're clutch ng at
straws,' Newman sa d aga n. Reacher turned around and
po nted at the hundred cardboard boxes stacked n the alcove
at the end of the room. 'He could already be here, Nash.'
'He's n New York," Jod e sa d. 'Don't you see that?'
'No, I want h m to be dead,' Reacher sa d. 'I can't
go back to h s folks and tell them the r boy s a deserter
and a murderer and has been runn ng around all th s
t me w thout contact ng them. I need h m to be dead.'
'But he sn't,' Newman sa d.
'But he could be, r ght?' Reacher sa d. 'He could
have d ed later. Back n the jungle, someplace else,
maybe far away, on the run? D sease, malnutr t on?
Maybe h s skeleton was found already. W ll you run
h s records? As a favour to me?'
'Reacher, we need to go now,' Jod e sa d.
'W ll you run them?' Reacher asked aga n.
'I can't,' Newman sa d. 'Chr st, th s whole th ng s
class f ed, don't you understand that? I shouldn't have told
you anyth ng at all. And I can't add another name to the MIA
l sts now. The Department of the Army wouldn't stand for t.
We're supposed to be reduc ng the numbers here, not add ng to
them.'
'Can't you do t unoff c ally? Pr vately? You can do that, r ght?
You run th s place, Nash. Please? For me?'
Newman shook h s head. 'You're clutch ng at straws, s all.'
'Please, Nash,' Reacher sa d.
There was a s lence. Then Newman s ghed.
'OK, damn t,' he sa d. 'For you, I'll do t, I guess.'
'When?' Reacher asked.
Newman shrugged. 'F rst th ng tomorrow morn ng, OK?'
'Call me as soon as you've done t?'
'Sure, but you're wast ng your t me. Number?'
'Use the mob le,' Jod e sa d.
She rec ted the number. Newman wrote t on the cuff of h s
lab coat.
'Thanks, Nash,' Reacher sa d. 'I really apprec ate th s.'
'Waste of t me,' Newman sa d aga n.
'We need to go,' Jod e called.
Reacher nodded vaguely and they all moved towards the
pla n door n the c nder-block wall. L eutenant S fnon was
wa t ng on the other s de of t w th the offer of a r de around the
per meter road to the passenger term nals.
FIFTEEN
F rst class or not, the fl ght back was m serable. It was the
same plane, go ng east to New York along the second leg of a
g ant tr angle. It was cleaned and perfumed and checked and
refuelled, and t had a new crew onboard. Reacher and Jod e
were n the same seats they had left four hours earl er. Reacher
took the w ndow aga n, but t felt d fferent. It was st ll two and a
half t mes as w de as normal, st ll sumptuously upholstered n
leather and sheepsk n, but he took no pleasure n s tt ng n t
aga n.
The l ghts were d mmed, to represent n ght. They had taken
off nto an outrageous trop cal sunset bo l ng away beyond the
slands and then they had turned away to fly towards darkness.
The eng nes settled to a muted h ss. The fl ght attendants were
qu et and unobtrus ve. There was only one other passenger n
the cab n. He was s tt ng two rows ahead, across the a sle. He
was a tall spare man, dressed n a seersucker short-sleeve sh rt
pr nted w th pale str pes. H s r ght forearm was la d gently on
the arm of the cha r, and h s hand hung down, l mp and relaxed.
H s eyes were closed.
'How tall s he?' Jod e wh spered.
Reacher leaned over and glanced ahead. 'Maybe s x one.'
'Same as V ctor Hob e,' she sa d. 'Remember the f le?'
Reacher nodded. Glanced d agonally across at the pale
forearm rest ng along the seat. The guy was th n, and he could
see the prom nent knob of bone at the wr st, stand ng out n the
d mness. There was sl m muscle and freckled sk n and
bleached ha r. The rad us bone was v s ble, runn ng all the way
back to the elbow. Hob e had left s x nches of h s rad us bone
beh nd at the crash s te. Reacher counted w th h s eyes, up
from the guy's wr st jo nt. S x nches took h m halfway to the
elbow.
'About half and half, r ght?' Jod e sa d.
'A l ttle more than half,' Reacher sa d. 'The stump would have
needed tr mm ng. They'd have f led t down where t was
spl ntered, I guess. If he surv ved.'
The guy two rows ahead turned sleep ly and pulled h s arm n
close to h s body and out of s ght, l ke he knew they were
talk ng about t.
'He surv ved,' Jod e sa d. 'He's n New York, try ng to stay
h dden.'
Reacher leaned the other way and rested h s forehead on the
cold plast c of the porthole.
'I would have bet my l fe he sn't,' he sa d.
He kept h s eyes open, but there was noth ng to see out of the
w ndow. Just black n ght sky all the way down to the black n ght
ocean, seven m les below.
'Why does t bother you so much?' she asked, n the qu et.
He turned forward and stared at the empty seat s x feet n
front of h m.
'Lots of reasons,' he sa d.
'L ke what?'
He shrugged. 'L ke everyth ng, l ke a great b g depress ng
sp ral. It was a profess onal call. My gut told me someth ng, and
t looks l ke I was wrong.'
She la d her hand gently on h s forearm, where the muscle
narrowed a l ttle above h s wr st. 'Be ng wrong sn't the end of
the world.'
He shook h s head. 'Somet mes t sn't, somet mes t s.
Depends on the ssue, r ght? Somebody asks me who's go ng
to w n the ser es, and I say the Yankees, that doesn't matter,
does t? Because how can I know stuff l ke that? But suppose I
was a sportswr ter who was supposed to know stuff l ke that?
Or a profess onal gambler? Suppose baseball was my l fe?
Then t's the end of the world f I start to screw up.'
'So what are you say ng?'
'I'm say ng judgements l ke that are my l fe. It's what I'm
supposed to be good at. I used to be good at t. I could always
depend on be ng r ght.'
'But you had noth ng to go on.'
'Bullsh t, Jod e. I had a whole lot to go on. A whole lot more
than I somet mes used to have. I met w th the guy's folks, I read
h s letters, I talked w th h s old fr end, I saw h s record, I talked
w th h s old comrade- n-arms, and everyth ng told me th s was a
guy who def n tely could not behave the way he clearly d d
behave. So I was just pla n wrong, and that burns me up,
because where does t leave me now?'
'In what sense?'
'I've got to tell the Hob es,' he sa d. 'It'll k ll them stone dead.
You should have met them. They worsh pped that boy. They
worsh pped the m l tary, the patr ot sm of t all, serv ng your
country, the whole damn th ng. Now I've got to walk n there and
tell
them the r boy s a murderer and a deserter. And a cruel son
who left them tw st ng n the w nd for th rty long years. I'll be
walk ng n there and k ll ng them stone dead, Jod e. I should call
ahead for an ambulance.'
He lapsed nto s lence and turned back to the black porthole.
'And?' she sa d.
He turned back to face her. 'And the future. What am I go ng
to do? I've got a house, I need a job. What k nd of a job? I can't
put myself about as an nvest gator any more, not f I've started
gett ng th ngs completely ass-backward all of a sudden. The
t m ng s wonderful, r ght? My profess onal capab l t es have
turned to mush r ght at the exact t me I need to f nd work. I
should go back to the Keys and d g pools the rest of my l fe.'
'You're be ng too hard on yourself. It was a feel ng, was all. A
gut feel ng that turned out wrong.'
'Gut feel ngs should turn out r ght,' he sa d. 'M ne always d d
before. I could tell you about a dozen t mes when I stuck to gut
feel ngs, no other reason than I felt them. They saved my l fe,
t me to t me.'
She nodded, w thout speak ng.
'And stat st cally I should have been r ght,' he sa d. 'You know
how many men were off c ally unaccounted for after 'Nam? Only
about f ve. Twenty-two hundred m ss ng, but they're dead, we
all know that. Eventually Nash w ll f nd them all, and t ck them
all off. But there were f ve guys left we can't categor ze. Three of
them changed s des and stayed on n the v llages afterward,
gone nat ve. A couple d sappeared n Tha land. One of them
was l v ng n a hut under a br dge n Bangkok. F ve loose ends
out of a
m ll on men, and V ctor Hob e s one of them, and I was wrong
about h m.'
'But you weren't really wrong,' she sa d. 'You were judg ng the
old V ctor Hob e, s all. All that stuff was about V ctor Hob e
before the war and before the crash. War changes people. The
only w tness to the change was DeW tt, and he went out of h s
way not to not ce t.'
He shook h s head aga n. 'I took that nto account, or at least I
tr ed to. I d dn't f gure t could change h m that much.'
'Maybe the crash d d t,' she sa d. 'Th nk about t, Reacher.
What was he, twenty-one years old? Twenty-two, someth ng l ke
that? Seven people d ed, and maybe he felt respons ble. He was
the capta n of the sh p, r ght? And he was d sf gured. He lost
h s arm, and he was probably burned, too. That's a b g trauma
for a young guy, phys cal d sf gurement, r ght? And then n the
f eld hosp tal, he was probably woozy w th drugs, terr f ed of
go ng back.'
'They wouldn't have sent h m back to combat,' Reacher sa d.
Jod e nodded. 'Yes, but maybe he wasn't th nk ng stra ght.
The morph ne, t's l ke be ng h gh, r ght? Maybe he thought they
were go ng to send h m stra ght back. Maybe he thought they
were go ng to pun sh h m for los ng the hel copter. We just don't
know h s mental state at the t me. So he tr ed to get away, and
he h t the orderly on the head. Then later he woke up to what
he'd done. Probably felt terr ble about t. That was my gut
feel ng, all along. He's h d ng out, because of a gu lty secret. He
should have turned h mself n, because nobody was go ng to
conv ct h m of anyth ng. The m t gat ng c rcumstances
were too obv ous. But he h d out, and the longer t went on,
the worse t got. It k nd of snowballed.'
'St ll makes me wrong,' he sa d. 'You've just descr bed an
rrat onal guy. Pan cky, unreal st c, a l ttle hyster cal. I had h m
down as a plodder. Very sane, very rat onal, very normal. I'm
los ng my touch.'
The g ant plane h ssed on mpercept bly. S x hundred m les
an hour through the th n a r of alt tude, and t felt l ke t was
suspended mmob le. A spac ous pastel cocoon, hang ng there
seven m les up n the n ght sky, go ng nowhere at all.
'So what are you go ng to do?' she asked.
'About what?'
'The future?'
He shrugged aga n. 'I don't know.'
'What about the Hob es?'
'I don't know,' he sa d aga n.
'You could try to f nd h m,' she sa d. 'You know, conv nce h m
no act on would be taken now. Talk some sense nto h m. Maybe
you could get h m to meet w th h s folks aga n.'
'How could I f nd h m? The way I feel r ght now, I couldn't f nd
the nose on my face. And you're so keen on mak ng me feel
better, you're forgett ng someth ng.'
'What?'
'He doesn't want to be found. L ke you f gured, he wants to
stay h dden. Even f he started out real confused about t, he
ev dently got the taste for t later. He had Costello k lled, Jod e.
He sent people after us. So he could stay h dden.'
Then the stewardess d mmed the cab n l ghts r ght down to
darkness, and Reacher gave up and la d h s seat back and tr ed
to sleep, w th h s last thought
uppermost n h s m nd: V ctor Hob e had Costello k lled, so he
could stay h dden.
Th rty floors above F fth Avenue, he woke up just after s x
o'clock n the morn ng, wh ch for h m was about normal,
depend ng on how bad the f re dream had been. Th rty years s
nearly eleven thousand days, and eleven thousand days have
eleven thousand n ghts attached to them, and dur ng every
s ngle one of those n ghts he had dreamed about f re. The
cockp t broke away from the ta l sect on, and the treetops
fl pped t backward. The fracture n the a rframe spl t the fuel
tank. The fuel hurled tself out. He saw t com ng at h m every
n ght, n appall ng slow mot on. It gleamed and sh mmered n
the grey jungle a r. It was l qu d and globular and formed tself
nto sol d shapes l ke g ant d storted ra ndrops. They tw sted
and changed and grew, l ke l v ng th ngs float ng slowly through
the a r. The l ght caught them and made them strange and
beaut ful. There were ra nbows n them. They got to h m before
the rotor blade h t h s arm. Every n ght he turned h s head n the
exact same convuls ve jerk, but every n ght they st ll got to h m.
They splashed on h s face. The l qu d was warm. It puzzled h m.
It looked l ke water. Water should be cold. He should feel the
thr ll of cold. But t was warm. It was st cky. Th cker than water.
It smelled. A chem cal smell. It splashed across the left s de of
h s head. It was n h s ha r. It plastered the ha r to h s forehead
and ran slowly down nto h s eye.
Then he turned h s head back, and he saw that the a r was on
f re. There were f ngers of flame po nt ng down the float ng
r vulets of fuel l ke accusat ons. Then the f ngers were mouths.
They were eat ng the
float ng l qu d shapes. They ate fast, and they left the shapes
b gger and blaz ng w th heat. Then the separate globules n the
a r were burst ng nto flames ahead of each other. There was no
connect on any more. No sequence. They were just explod ng.
He jerked h s head down eleven thousand separate t mes, but
the f re always h t h m. It smelled hot, l ke burn ng, but t felt
cold, l ke ce. A sudden ce-cold shock on the s de of h s face, n
h s ha r. Then the black shape of the rotor blade, arc ng down. It
broke aga nst the chest of the guy called Bamford and a
fragment smacked h m edge-on, prec sely halfway along the
length of h s forearm.
He saw h s hand come off. He saw t n deta l. That part was
never n the dream, because the dream was about f re, and he
d dn't need to dream about h s hand com ng off, because he
could remember see ng t happen. The edge of the blade had a
sl m aerodynam c prof le, and t was dull black. It punched
through the bones of h s arm and stopped dead aga nst h s
th gh, ts energy already expended. H s forearm just fell n two.
H s watch was st ll strapped to the wr st. The hand and the wr st
fell to the floor. He ra sed the severed forearm and touched h s
face w th t, to try to f nd out why the sk n up there felt so cold
but smelled so hot.
He real zed some t me later that act on had saved h s l fe.
When he could th nk stra ght aga n, he understood what he had
done. The ntense flames had cauter zed h s open forearm. The
heat had seared the exposed flesh and sealed the arter es. If he
hadn't touched h s burn ng face w th t, he would have bled to
death. It was a tr umph. Even n extreme danger and confus on,
he had done the r ght th ng. The smart
th ng. He was a surv vor. It gave h m a deadly assurance he
had never lost.
He stayed consc ous for about twenty m nutes. He d d what
he had to do ns de the cockp t and crawled away from the
wreck. He knew nobody was crawl ng w th h m. He made t nto
the undergrowth and kept on go ng. He was on h s knees, us ng
h s rema n ng hand ahead of h m, walk ng on the knuckles l ke
an ape. He ducked h s head to the ground and jammed h s
burned sk n nto the earth. Then the agony started. He surv ved
twenty m nutes of t and collapsed.
He remembered almost noth ng of the next three weeks. He
d dn't know where he went, or what he ate, or what he drank. He
had br ef flashes of clar ty, wh ch were worse than not
remember ng. He was covered n leeches. H s burned sk n came
off and the flesh underneath stank of rot and decay. There were
th ngs l v ng and crawl ng n h s raw stump. Then he was n the
hosp tal. One morn ng he woke up float ng on a cloud of
morph ne. It felt better than anyth ng had felt n h s whole l fe.
But he pretended to be n agony throughout. That way, they
would postpone send ng h m back.
They appl ed burn dress ngs to h s face. They cleaned the
maggots out of h s wound. Years later, he real zed the maggots
had saved h s l fe, too. He read a report about new med cal
research. Maggots were be ng used n a revolut onary new
treatment for gangrene. The r t reless eat ng consumed the
gangrenous flesh before the rot could spread. Exper ments had
proven successful. He had sm led. He knew.
The evacuat on of the hosp tal caught h m by surpr se. They
hadn't told h m. He overheard the orderl es mak ng plans for the
morn ng. He got out,
mmed ately. There were no guards. Just an orderly, by
chance lo ter ng on the per meter. The orderly cost h m a
prec ous bottle of water broken across h s head, but d dn't
delay h m by more than a second.
H s long journey home started r ght there, a yard nto the
undergrowth outs de the hosp tal fence. F rst task was to
retr eve h s money. It was bur ed f fty m les away, n a secret
spot outs de h s last base camp, ns de a coff n. The coff n was
just a lucky chance. It had been the only large receptacle he
could lay h s hands on at the t me, but later t would prove to be
a stroke of absolute gen us. The money was all n hundreds and
f ft es and twent es and tens, and there was a hundred and
seventy pounds of t. A plaus ble we ght to f nd n a coff n. Just
under two m ll on dollars.
By then the base camp was abandoned and far beh nd enemy
l nes. But he got h mself there, and faced the f rst of h s many
d ff cult es. How does a s ck one-armed man d g up a coff n? At
f rst, w th bl nd perseverance. Then later, w th help. He had
already sh fted most of the earth when he was d scovered. The
coff n l d was pla nly v s ble, ly ng n the shallow grave. The VC
patrol crashed n on h m out of the trees, and he expected to
d e. But he d dn't. Instead, he made a d scovery. It ranked w th
the other great d scover es he made n h s l fe. The VC stood
back, fearful and mutter ng and uncerta n. He real zed they
d dn't know who he was. They d dn't know what he was. The
terr ble burns robbed h m of h s dent ty. He was wear ng a torn
and f lthy hosp tal n ghtsh rt. He d dn't look Amer can. He d dn't
look l ke anyth ng. He d dn't look human. He learned that the
comb nat on of h s terr ble looks and h s w ld behav our and the
coff n had an effect on anybody who saw
h m. D stant atav st c fears of death and corpses and
madness made them pass ve. He learned n an nstant f he was
prepared to act l ke a madman and cl ng to h s coff n, these
people would do anyth ng for h m. The r anc ent superst t ons
worked n h s favour. The VC patrol completed the excavat on
for h m and loaded the coff n on to a buffalo cart. He sat up h gh
on top of t and raved and g bbered and po nted west and they
took h m a hundred m les towards Cambod a.
V etnam s a narrow country, s de to s de. He was passed
from group to group and was n Cambod a w th n four days.
They fed h m r ce and gave h m water to dr nk and clothed h m
n black pyjamas, to tame h m and assuage the r pr m t ve fears.
Then Cambod ans took h m onward. He bounced and jabbered
l ke a monkey and po nted west, west, west. Two months later,
he was n Tha land. The Cambod ans manhandled the coff n
over the border and turned and ran.
Tha land was d fferent. When he passed the border, t was l ke
stepp ng out of the Stone Age. There were roads, and veh cles.
The people were d fferent. The babbl ng scarred man w th the
coff n was an object for wary p ty and concern. He was not a
threat. He got r des on old Chevrolet p ck-ups and n old
Peugeot trucks and w th n two weeks he found h mself washed
up w th all the other Far Eastern flotsam n the sewer they
called Bangkok.
He l ved n Bangkok for a year. He rebur ed the coff n n the
yard beh nd the shack he rented, work ng fur ously all through
h s f rst n ght w th a black-market entrench ng tool stolen from
the US Army. He could manage an entrench ng tool. It was
des gned to
be used one-handed, wh le the other hand held a r fle.
Once h s money was safe aga n, he went look ng for doctors.
There was a large supply n Bangkok. G n-soaked remnants of
Emp re, f red from every other job they ever had, but reasonably
competent on the days they were sober. There wasn't much
they could do w th h s face. A surgeon rebu lt h s eyel d so that
t would almost close, and that was t. But they were thorough
w th h s arm. They opened the wound aga n and f led the bones
round and smooth. They st tched the muscle down and folded
the sk n over t ght and sealed t all back up. The told h m to let t
heal for a month, and then they sent h m to a man who bu lt
false l mbs.
The man offered h m a cho ce of styles. They all nvolved the
same corset to be worn around the b cep, the same straps, the
same cup moulded to the exact contours of h s stump. But
there were d fferent appendages. There was a wooden hand,
carved w th great sk ll and pa nted by h s daughter. There was a
three-pronged th ng l ke some k nd of a garden ng tool. But he
chose the s mple hook. It appealed to h m, though he couldn't
expla n why. The man forged t from sta nless steel and
pol shed t for a week. He welded t to a funnel-shaped steel
sheet and bu lt the sheet nto the heavy leather cup. He carved a
wooden repl ca of the stump and beat the leather nto shape
over t, and then he soaked t n res ns to make t st ff. He sewed
the corset and attached the straps and buckles. He f tted t
carefully and charged f ve hundred Amer can dollars for t.
He l ved out the year n Bangkok. At f rst the hook chafed and
was clumsy and uncontrollable. But he got better w th t. W th
pract ce, he got along. By the t me
he dug up the coff n aga n and booked passage to San
Franc sco on a tramp steamer, he had forgotten all about ever
hav ng two hands. It was h s face that cont nued to bother h m.
He landed n Cal forn a and retr eved the coff n from the cargo
sheds and used a small port on of ts contents to buy a used
stat on wagon. A tr o of fr ghtened longshoremen loaded the
coff n ns de and he drove t cross-country all the way to New
York C ty, and he was st ll there twenty-n ne years later, w th the
Bangkok craftsman's hand work ly ng on the floor bes de h s
bed, where t had la n every n ght for the last eleven thousand
n ghts.
He rolled over on to h s, front and reached down w th h s left
hand and p cked t up. Sat up n bed and la d t across h s knees
and reached out to take the baby's sock from h s n ghtstand.
Ten past s x n the morn ng. Another day of h s l fe.
W ll am Curry woke up at s x-f fteen. It was an old hab t from
work ng the day sh ft on the detect ve squads. He had nher ted
the lease on h s grandmother's apartment two floors above
Beekman Street. It wasn't a great apartment, but t was cheap,
and t was conven ent for most of the prec nct houses below
Canal. So he had moved n after h s d vorce and stayed there
after h s ret rement. H s pol ce pens on covered the rent and the
ut l t es and the lease on h s one-room off ce on Fletcher. So the
ncome from h s fledgl ng pr vate bureau had to cover h s food
and h s al mony. And then, when he got establ shed and bu lt t
up b gger, t was supposed to make h m r ch.
S x-f fteen n the morn ng, the apartment was cool. It was
shaded from the early sun by taller bu ld ngs
near by. He put h s feet on the l noleum and stood up and
stretched. Went to the k tchen corner and set the coffee go ng.
Headed to the bathroom and washed up. It was a rout ne that
had always gotten h m to work by seven o'clock, and he stuck
to t.
He came back to the closet w th coffee n h s hand and stood
there w th the door open, look ng at what was on the ra l. As a
cop, he had always been a pants-and-jacket type of guy. Grey
flannels, checked sportcoat. He had favoured tweed, although
he wasn't str ctly Ir sh. In the summer, he had tr ed l nen
jackets, but they wr nkled too eas ly and he had settled on th n
polyester blends. But none of those outf ts was go ng to do on
a day when he had to show up somewhere look ng l ke Dav d
Forster, h gh-pr ced attorney. He was go ng to have to use h s
wedd ng su t.
It was a pla n black Brooks Brothers, bought for fam ly
wedd ngs and chr sten ngs and funerals. It was f fteen years
old, and be ng Brooks Brothers d dn't look a whole lot d fferent
from contemporary tems. It was a l ttle loose on h m, because
los ng h s w fe's cook ng had brought h s we ght down n a
hurry. The pants were a l ttle w de by East V llage standards, but
that was OK because he planned on wear ng two ankle holsters.
W ll am Curry was a guy who bel eved n be ng prepared. Dav d
Forster had sa d probably won't be anyth ng nvolved at all, and
f t worked out that way he would be happy enough, but a
twenty-year man from the NYPD's worst years tends to get
caut ous when he hears a prom se l ke that. So he planned on
us ng both ankle holsters and putt ng h s b g.357 n the small of
h s back.
He put the su t n a plast c cover he had p cked up
somewhere and added a wh te sh rt and h s qu etest
t e. He threaded the.357 holster on to a black leather belt and
put t n a bag w th the two ankle holsters. He put three
handguns n h s br efcase, the.357 long-barrelled Magnum and
two.38 snub-nosed Sm th and Wessons for the ankles. He
sorted twelve rounds for each gun nto a box and packed t
bes de the guns. He stuffed a black sock nto each of h s black
shoes and stowed them w th the holsters. He f gured he would
get changed after an early lunch. No po nt n wear ng the stuff
all morn ng and show ng up look ng l ke a l mp rag.
He locked up the apartment and walked south to h s off ce on
Fletcher, carry ng h s luggage, stopp ng only to get a muff n:
banana and walnut, reduced fat.
Mar lyn Stone woke up at seven o'clock. She was bleary-eyed
and t red. They had been kept out of the bathroom unt l well
after m dn ght. It had to be cleaned. The th ckset guy n the dark
su t d d t. He came out n a bad temper and made them wa t
unt l the floor dr ed. They sat n the dark and the s lence, numb
and cold and hungry, too s ckened to th nk about ask ng for
someth ng to eat. Tony made Mar lyn plump up the sofa p llows.
She guessed he planned to sleep there. Bend ng over n her
short dress and prepar ng h s bed was a hum l at on. She patted
the p llows nto place wh le he sm led at her.
The bathroom was cold. It was damp everywhere and smelled
of d s nfectant. The towels had been folded and stacked next to
the s nk. She put them n two p les on the floor and she and
Chester curled up on them w thout a word. Beyond the door, the
off ce was s lent. She d dn't expect to sleep. But she must
have, because she awoke w th a clear sense of a new day
beg nn ng.
There were sounds n the off ce. She had r nsed her face and
was stand ng upr ght when the th ckset guy brought coffee. She
took her mug w thout a word and he left Chester's on the ledge
under the m rror. Chester was st ll on the floor, not asleep, just
ly ng there nert. The guy stepped r ght over h m on h s way out.
'Nearly over,' she sa d.
'Just start ng, you mean,' Chester sa d back. 'Where do we go
next? Where do we go ton ght?'
She was go ng to say home, thank God, but then she
remembered he'd already real zed that after about two-th rty
they would have no home.
'A hotel, I guess,' she sa d.
'They took my cred t cards.'
Then he went qu et. She looked at h m. 'What?'
'It's never go ng to be over,' he sa d. 'Don't you see that?
We're w tnesses. To what they d d to those cops. And Sheryl.
How can they just let us walk away?'
She nodded, a small vague movement of her head, and
looked down at h m w th d sappo ntment. She was d sappo nted
because he f nally understood. Now he was go ng to be worr ed
and frant c all day, and that would just make t harder.
It took f ve m nutes to get the knot n the neckt e neat, and
then he sl pped h s jacket on. Dress ng was the exact reverse of
undress ng, wh ch meant the shoes came last. He could t e
laces just about as fast as a two-handed person. The tr ck was
to trap the loose end under the hook aga nst the floor. Then he
started n the bathroom. He rammed all the
d rty laundry nto a p llowcase and left t by the apartment
door. He str pped the bed and balled the l nen nto another
p llowcase. He put all the personal tems he could f nd nto a
supermarket carr er. He empt ed h s closet nto a garment bag.
He propped the apartment door open and carr ed the
p llowcases and the carr er to the refuse chute. Dropped them
all down and clanged the slot closed after them. Dragged the
garment bag out nto the hallway and locked up the apartment
and put the keys n an envelope from h s pocket.
He detoured to the conc erge's desk and left the envelope of
keys for the real-estate guy. Used the sta rway to the park ng
garage and carr ed the garment bag over to the Cad llac. He
locked t nto the trunk and walked around to the dr ver's door.
Sl d ns de and leaned over w th h s left hand and f red t up.
Squealed around the garage and up nto the dayl ght. He drove
south on F fth, carefully avert ng h s eyes unt l he was clear of
the park and safe n the bustl ng canyons of M dtown.
He leased three bays under the World Trade Center, but the
Suburban was gone, and the Tahoe was gone, so they were all
empty when he arr ved. He put the Cad llac n the m ddle slot
and left the garment bag n the trunk. He f gured he would dr ve
the Cad llac to LaGuard a and abandon t n the long-term
park ng lot. Then he would take a cab to JFK, carry ng the bag,
look ng l ke any other transfer passenger n a hurry. The car
would s t there unt l the weeds grew up under t, and f anybody
ever got susp c ous they would comb through the LaGuard a
man fests, not JFK's. It meant wr t ng off the Cad llac along w th
the lease on the off ces, but he was always comfortable about
spendng money when he got value for t, and sav ng h s l fe was
about the best value he could th nk of gett ng.
He used the express elevator from the garage and was n h s
brass-and-oak recept on area n nety seconds later. Tony was
beh nd the chest-h gh counter, dr nk ng coffee, look ng t red.
'Boat?' Hob e asked h m.
Tony nodded. 'It's at the broker's. They'll w re the money.
They want to replace the ra l, where that asshole damaged t
w th the cleaver. I told them OK, just deduct t from the
proceeds.'
Hob e nodded back. 'What else?'
Tony sm led, at an apparent rony. 'We got more money to
move. The f rst nterest payment just came n from the Stone
account. Eleven thousand dollars, r ght on t me. Consc ent ous
l ttle asshole, sn't he?'
Hob e sm led back. 'Robb ng Peter to pay Paul, only now
Peter and Paul are the same damn guy. W re t down to the
slands at start of bus ness, OK?'
Tony nodded and read a note. 'S mon called from Hawa
aga n. They made the plane. R ght now they're over the Grand
Canyon somewhere.'
'Has Newman found t yet?' Hob e asked.
Tony shook h s head. 'Not yet. He's go ng to start look ng th s
morn ng. Reacher pushed h m nto do ng t. Sounds l ke a smart
guy.'
'Not smart enough,' Hob e sa d. 'Hawa 's f ve hours beh nd,
r ght?'
'It'll be th s afternoon. Call t he starts at n ne, spends a
couple of hours look ng, that's four o'clock our t me. We'll be
out of here.'
Hob e sm led aga n. 'I told you t would work out. D dn't I tell
you t would work out? D dn't I tell you to relax and let me do
the th nk ng?'
Reacher woke up at seven o'clock on h s watch, wh ch was
st ll set to St Lou s t me as far as he could remember, wh ch
made t three o'clock n the morn ng back n Hawa , and s x n
Ar zona or Colorado or wherever they were seven m les above,
and already e ght n New York. He stretched n h s seat and
stood up and stepped over Jod e's feet. She was curled n her
cha r, and a stewardess had covered her w th a th n pla d
blanket. She was fast asleep, breath ng slow, her ha r over her
face. He stood n the a sle for a moment and watched her sleep.
Then he went for a walk.
He walked through bus ness class, and on nto coach. The
l ghts were d mmed and t got more crowded the farther back he
walked. The t ny seats were packed w th people huddled under
blankets. There was a smell of d rty clothes. He walked r ght
down to the rear of the plane and looped around through the
galley past a qu et huddle of cab n staff lean ng on the
alum n um lockers. He walked back up the other a sle, through
coach, nto bus ness class. He paused there a second and
scanned the passengers. There were men and women n su ts,
jackets d scarded, t es pulled down. There were laptop
computers open. Br efcases stood on unoccup ed seats,
bulg ng w th folders w th plast c covers and comb b nd ngs.
Read ng l ghts were focused on tray tables. Some of the people
were st ll work ng, late n the n ght or early n the morn ng,
depend ng on where you measured t from.
He guessed these were m ddle-rank ng people. A long way
from the bottom, but nowhere near the top. In Army terms,
these were the majors and the colonels. They were the c v l an
equ valents of h mself. He had
f n shed a major, and m ght be a colonel now f he'd stayed n
un form. He leaned on a bulkhead and looked at the backs of
the bent heads and thought Leon made me, and now he's
changed me. Leon had boosted h s career. He hadn't created t,
but he had made t what t became. There was no doubt about
that. Then the career ended and the dr ft ng began, and now the
dr ft ng was ended, too, because of Leon. Not just because of
Jod e. Because of Leon's last w ll and testament. The old guy
had bequeathed h m the house, and the bequest had sat there
l ke a t me bomb, wa t ng to anchor h m. Because the vague
prom se was enough to do t. Before, settl ng down had seemed
theoret cal. It was a d stant country he knew he would never
v s t. The journey there was too long to manage. The fare was
too h gh. The sheer d ff culty of ns nuat ng h mself nto an al en
l festyle was mposs bly great. But Leon's bequest had
k dnapped h m. Leon had k dnapped h m and dumped h m r ght
on the border of the d stant country. Now h s nose was pressed
r ght up aga nst the fence. He could see l fe wa t ng for h m on
the other s de. Suddenly t seemed nsane to turn back and h ke
the mposs ble d stance n the other d rect on. That would turn
dr ft ng nto a consc ous cho ce, and consc ous cho ce would
turn dr ft ng nto someth ng else completely. The whole po nt of
dr ft ng was happy pass ve acceptance of no alternat ves.
Hav ng alternat ves ru ned t. And Leon had handed h m a
mass ve alternat ve. It sat there, st ll and am able above the
roll ng Hudson, wa t ng for h m. Leon must have sm led as he
sat and wrote out that prov s on. He must have gr nned and
thought let's see how you get out of th s one, Reacher. He
stared at the laptops and the comb-bound
folders and w nced ns de. How was he go ng to cross the
border of the d stant country w thout gett ng ssued w th all th s
stuff? The su ts and the t es and the black plast c battery-dr ven
dev ces? The l zard-sk n cases and the memorandums from the
ma n off ce? He shuddered and found h mself paralysed aga nst
the bulkhead, pan ck ng, not breath ng, completely unable to
move. He recalled a day not more than a year ago, stepp ng out
of a truck at a crossroads near a town he had never heard of n
a state he had never been. He had waved the dr ver away and
thrust h s hands deep n h s pockets and started walk ng, w th a
m ll on m les beh nd h m and a m ll on m les ahead of h m. The
sun was sh n ng and the dust was k ck ng up off h s feet as he
walked and he had sm led w th the joy of be ng alone w th
absolutely no dea where he was headed.
But he also recalled a day n ne months after that. Real z ng he
was runn ng out of money, th nk ng hard. The cheapest motels
st ll requ red some small amount of dollars. The cheapest
d ners, l kew se. He had taken the job n the Keys, ntend ng to
work a couple of weeks. Then he had taken the even ng job, too,
and he was st ll work ng both of them when Costello came
call ng three whole months later. So the real ty was that dr ft ng
was already over. He was already a work ng man. No po nt n
deny ng t. Now t was just a quest on of where and how much
and for who. He sm led. L ke prost tut on, he thought. No go ng
back. He relaxed a l ttle and pushed off the bulkhead and
padded back through to f rst class. The guy w th the str ped
sh rt and the arms the same length as V ctor Hob e's was awake
and watch ng h m. He nodded a greet ng. Reacher nodded back
and headed for the
bathroom. Jod e was awake when he got back to h s seat. She
was s tt ng up stra ght, comb ng her ha r w th her f ngers.
'H , Reacher,' she sa d.
'Hey, Jod e,' he sa d back.
He bent and k ssed her on the l ps. Stepped over her feet and
sat down.
'Feel OK?' he asked.
She ducked her head n a f gure e ght to put her ha r beh nd
her shoulders.
'Not bad. Not bad at all. Better than I thought I would. Where
d d you go?'
'I took a walk,' he sa d. 'I went back to see how the other half
l ves.'
'No, you were th nk ng. I not ced that about you f fteen years
ago. You always go walk ng when you have someth ng to th nk
about.'
'I do?' he sa d, surpr sed. 'I d dn't know that.'
'Of course you do,' she sa d. 'I not ced t. I used to watch
every deta l about you. I was n love w th you, remember?'
'What else do I do?'
'You clench your left hand when you're angry or tense. You
keep your r ght hand loose, probably from weapons tra n ng.
When you're bored, you play mus c n your head. I could see t
n your f ngers, l ke you're play ng along on a p ano or
someth ng. The t p of your nose moves a l ttle b t when you
talk.'
'It does?'
'Sure t does,' she sa d. 'What were you th nk ng about?'
He shrugged.
'Th s and that,' he sa d.
'The house, r ght?' she sa d. 'It's bother ng you,
sn't t? And me. Me and the house, ty ng you down, l ke that
guy n the book, Gull ver? You know that book?'
He sm led. 'He's a guy gets captured by t ny l ttle people when
he's asleep. They peg h m down flat w th hundreds of t ny l ttle
ropes.'
'You feel that way?'
He paused a beat. 'Not about you.'
But the pause had been a fract on of a second too long. She
nodded.
'It's d fferent than be ng alone, r ght?' she sa d. 'I know, I was
marr ed. Somebody else to take nto account all the t me?
Somebody to worry about?'
He sm led. 'I'll get used to t.'
She sm led back. 'And there's the house, r ght?'
He shrugged. 'Feels we rd.'
'Well, that's between you and Leon,' she sa d. 'I want you to
know I'm not putt ng demands on you, e ther way. About
anyth ng. It's your l fe, and your house. You should do exactly
what you want, no pressure.'
He nodded. Sa d noth ng.
'So you go ng to look for Hob e?'
He shrugged aga n. 'Maybe. But t's a hell of a task.'
'Bound to be angles,' she sa d. 'Med cal records and th ngs?
He must have a prosthes s. And f he's burned, too, there'll be
records of that. And you wouldn't m ss h m n the street, would
you? A one-armed man, all burned up?'
He nodded. 'Or I could just wa t for h m to f nd me. I could just
hang out n Garr son unt l he sends h s boys back.'
Then he turned to the w ndow and stared out at h s pale
reflect on aga nst the darkness and real zed I'm
just accept ng he's al ve. I'm just accept ng I was wrong. He
turned back to Jod e.
'W ll you g ve me the mob le? Can you manage w thout t
today? In case Nash f nds someth ng and calls me? I want to
hear r ght away, f he does.'
She held h s gaze for a long moment, and then she nodded.
Leaned down and unz pped her carry-on. Took out the phone
and handed t to h m.
'Good luck,' she sa d.
He nodded and put the phone n h s pocket.
'I never used to need luck,' he sa d.
Nash Newman d d not wa t unt l n ne o'clock n the morn ng to
start the search. He was a met culous man, attent ve to t ny
deta l as much n h s eth cs as n h s profess onal spec al ty.
Th s was an unoff c al search, undertaken out of compass on
for a troubled fr end, so t couldn't be done on company t me. A
pr vate matter had to be settled pr vately.
So he got out of bed at s x, watch ng the fa nt red glow of
trop cal dawn start ng beyond the mounta ns. He made coffee
and dressed. By s x-th rty he was n h s off ce. He f gured he
would g ve t two hours. Then he would have breakfast n the
mess and start h s proper work on t me at n ne.
He rolled open a desk drawer and l fted out V ctor Hob e's
med cal records. Leon Garber had assembled them after pat ent
enqu r es n doctors' and dent sts' off ces n Putnam County. He
had bundled them nto an old m l tary pol ce folder and secured
t shut w th an old canvas strap. The strap had been red, but
age had faded t to dusty p nk. There was a f ddly metal buckle.
He und d the buckle. Opened the folder. The top
sheet was a release s gned by both the Hob e parents n Apr l.
Underneath t was anc ent h story. He had scanned thousands
of f les s m lar to th s one, and he could effortlessly place the
boys they referred to n terms of the r age, the r geograph c
locat on, the r parents' ncome, the r ab l ty at sports, all the
numerous factors that affect a med cal h story. Age and locat on
worked together. A new dental treatment m ght start out n
Cal forn a and sweep the country l ke a fash on, so the th rteenyear-old boy gett ng t n Des Mo nes had to have been born f ve
years later than the th rteen-year-old boy gett ng t n Los
Angeles. The r parents' ncome d ctated whether they got t at
all. The h gh school football stars had treatment for torn
shoulders, the softball players had cracked wr sts, the
sw mmers had chron c ear nfect ons.
V ctor Truman Hob e had very l ttle at all. Newman read
between the l nes and p ctured a healthy boy, properly fed,
consc ent ously cared for by dut ful parents. H s health had
been good. There had been colds and flu, and a bout of
bronch t s at the age of e ght. No acc dents. No broken bones.
Dental treatment had been very thorough. The boy had grown
up through the era of aggress ve dent stry. In Newman's
exper ence, t was absolutely typ cal of any he had seen from
the New York metropol tan area n the F ft es and early S xt es.
Dent stry through that era cons sted of a war on cav t es.
Cav t es had to be hunted down. They were hunted w th
powerful X-rays, and when they were found they were enlarged
w th the dr ll and f lled w th amalgam. The result was a lot of
tr ps to the dent st's off ce, wh ch no doubt had been m serable
for the young V ctor Hob e, but from Newman's po nt of v ew the
process had left h m w th a th ck sheaf of
f lms of the boy's mouth. They were good enough and clear
enough and numerous enough to be potent ally def n t ve.
He stacked the f lms and carr ed them out nto the corr dor.
Unlocked the pla n door n the c nder-block wall and walked
past the alum n um caskets to the alcove at the far end. There
was a computer term nal on a w de shelf, out of s ght around a
corner. He booted t up and cl cked on the search menu. The
screen scrolled down and revealed a deta led quest onna re.
F ll ng out the quest onna re was a matter of s mple log c. He
cl cked on all bones and entered no
CHILDHOOD BREAKS, POTENTIAL ADULT BREAKS. The
k d d dn't break h s leg play ng football at h gh school, but he
m ght have broken t later n a tra n ng acc dent. Serv ce
med cal records were somet mes lost. He spent a lot of t me on
the dental sect on of the quest onna re. He entered a full
descr pt on of each tooth as last recorded. He marked the f lled
cav t es, and aga nst each good toqth he entered potent al
cav ty. It was the only way to prevent m stakes. S mple log c. A
good tooth can go bad later and need treatment, but a f lled
cav ty can't ever d sappear. He stared at the X-rays and aga nst
spac ng he entered even, and aga nst s ze he entered even
aga n. The rest of the quest onna re he left blank. Some
d seases showed up n the skeleton, but not colds and flu and
bronch t s.
He rev ewed h s work and at seven o'clock exactly he h t
search. The hard d sk wh rred and chattered n the morn ng
s lence and the software started ts pat ent journey through the
database.
They landed ten m nutes ahead of schedule, just before the
peak of noon, East Coast t me. They came n low
over the gl tter ng waters of Jama ca Bay and put down fac ng
east before turn ng back and tax ng slowly to the term nal.
Jod e reset her watch and was on her feet before the plane
stopped mov ng, wh ch was a transgress on they don't ch de
you for n f rst class.
'Let's go,' she sa d. 'I'm real t ght for t me.'
They were l ned up by the door before t opened. Reacher
carr ed her bag out nto the jet way and she hurr ed ahead of
h m all the way through the term nal and outs de. The L ncoln
Nav gator was st ll there n the short-term lot, b g and black and
obv ous, and t cost f fty-e ght of Rutter's dollars to dr ve t out.
'Do I have t me for a shower?' she asked herself.
Reacher put h s comment nto hustl ng faster than he should
along the Van Wyck. The Long Island Expressway was mov ng
freely west to the tunnel. They were n Manhattan w th n twenty
m nutes of touch ng down and head ng south on Broadway
near her place w th n th rty.
'I'm st ll go ng to check t out,' he told her. 'Shower or no
shower.'
She nodded. Be ng back n the c ty had brought back the
worry.
'OK, but be qu ck.'
He l m ted t to stopp ng on the street outs de her door and
mak ng a v sual check of the lobby. Nobody there. They dumped
the car and went up to f ve and down the f re sta rs to four. The
bu ld ng was qu et and deserted. The apartment was empty and
und sturbed. The Mondr an copy glowed n the br ght dayl ght.
Twelve-th rty n the afternoon.
'Ten m nutes,' she sa d. 'Then you can dr ve me to the off ce,
OK?'
'How w ll you get to the meet ng?'
'We have a dr ver,' she sa d. 'He'll take me.'
She ran through the l v ng room to the bedroom, shedd ng
clothes as she went.
'You need to eat?' Reacher called after her.
'No t me,' she called back.
She spent f ve m nutes n the shower and f ve m nutes n the
closet. She came out w th a charcoal dress and a match ng
jacket.
'F nd my br efcase, OK?' she yelled.
She combed her ha r and used a ha r dryer on t. L m ted her
make-up to a touch of eyel ner and l pst ck. Checked herself n
the m rror and ran back to the l v ng room. He had her br efcase
wa t ng for her. He carr ed t down to the car.
'Take my keys,' she sa d. 'Then you can get back n. I'll call
you from the off ce and you can come p ck me up.'
It took seven m nutes to get oppos te the l ttle plaza outs de
her bu ld ng. She sl d out of the car at f ve m nutes to one.
'Good luck,' Reacher called after her. 'G ve them hell.'
She waved to h m and sk pped across to the revolv ng door.
The secur ty guys saw her com ng and nodded her through to
the elevator bank. She was upsta rs n her off ce before one
o'clock. Her secretary followed her ns de w th a th n f le n h s
hand.
'There you go,' he sa d, ceremon ously.
She opened t up and fl pped through e ght sheets of paper.
'Hell s th s?' she sa d.
'They were thr lled about t at the partners' meet ng,' the guy
sa d.
She went back through the pages n reverse order. 'I don't see
why. I never heard of e ther of these corporat ons and the
amount s tr v al.'
'That's not the po nt, though, s t?' the guy sa d.
She looked at h m. 'So what s the po nt?'
'It's the cred tor who h red you,' he sa d. 'Not the guy who
owes all the money. It's a pre-empt ve move, sn't t? Because
word s gett ng around. The cred tor knows f you get alongs de
the guy who owes h m money, you can cause h m a b g
problem. So he h red you f rst, to keep that from happen ng. It
means you're famous. That's what the partners are thr lled
about. You're a b g star now, Mrs Jacob.'
SIXTEEN
Reacher drove slowly back to lower Broadway. He bumped
the b g car down the ramp to the garage. Parked t n Jod e's
slot and locked t. He d dn't go upsta rs to the apartment. He
walked back up the ramp to the street and headed north n the
sun to the espresso bar. He had the counter guy put four shots
n a cardboard cup and sat at the chrom um table Jod e had
used when he was check ng the apartment the n ght he had got
back from Br ghton. He had walked back up Broadway and
found her s tt ng there, star ng at Rutter's faked photograph. He
sat down n the same cha r she had used and blew on the
espresso foam and smelled the aroma and took the f rst s p.
What to tell the old folks? The only humane th ng to do would
be to go up there and tell them noth ng at all. Just tell them he
had drawn a blank. Just leave t completely vague. It would be a
k ndness. Just go up there, hold the r hands, break the news of
Rutter's decept on, refund the r money, and then descr be a
long and fru tless search backward through h story that ended
up absolutely nowhere. Then plead w th them to accept he must
be long dead, and beg them to understand nobody would ever
be able to tell them
where or when or how. Then d sappear and leave them to l ve
out the short balance of the r l ves w th whatever d gn ty they
could f nd n be ng just two out of the tens of m ll ons of parents
who gave up the r ch ldren to the n ght and the fog sw rl ng
through a ghastly century.
He s pped h s way through the coffee, w th h s left hand
clenched on the table n front of h m. He would l e to them, but
out of k ndness. Reacher had no great exper ence of k ndness.
It was a v rtue that had always run parallel to h s l fe. He had
never been n the sort of pos t on where t counted for anyth ng.
He had never drawn duty break ng bad news to relat ves. Some
of h s contemporar es had. After the Gulf, duty squads had
been formed, a sen or off cer from the un t concerned teamed
up w th a m l tary pol ceman, and they had v s ted the fam l es
of the casualt es, walk ng up long lonely dr veways, walk ng up
sta rs n apartment houses, break ng the news that the r formal
un formed arr val had already announced n advance. He
guessed k ndness counted for a lot dur ng that type of duty, but
h s own career had been locked t ght ns de the serv ce tself,
where th ngs were always s mple, e ther happen ng or not
happen ng, good or bad, legal or not legal. Now two years after
leav ng the serv ce, k ndness was suddenly a factor n h s l fe.
And t would make h m l e.
But he would f nd V ctor Hob e. He unclenched h s hand and
touched the burn scar through h s sh rt. He had a score to
settle. He t lted the cup unt l he felt the espresso mud on h s
teeth and tongue. Then he dropped the cup n the trash and
stepped back out to the s dewalk. The sun was full on
Broadway, com ng sl ghtly from the south and west of d rectly
overhead.
He felt t on h s face and turned towards t and walked down
to Jod e's bu ld ng. He was t red. He had slept only four hours
on the plane. Four hours, out of more than twenty-four. He
remembered recl n ng the enormous f rst-class seat and fall ng
asleep n t. He had been th nk ng about Hob e then, l ke he was
th nk ng about h m now. V ctor Hob e had Costello k lled, so he
could stay h dden. Crystal floated nto h s memory. The str pper,
from the Keys. He shouldn't be th nk ng about her aga n. But he
was say ng someth ng to her, n the darkened bar. She was
wear ng a T-sh rt and noth ng else. Then Jod e was talk ng to
h m, n the d m study at the back of Leon's house. H s house.
She was say ng the same th ng he was say ng to Crystal. He
was say ng he must have stepped on some toes up north, g ven
somebody a problem. She was say ng he must have tr ed some
k nd of a shortcut, got somebody alerted.
He stopped dead on the street w th h s heart thump ng. Leon.
Costello. Leon and Costello, together, talk ng. Costello had
gone up to Garr son and talked w th Leon just before he d ed.
Leon had run down the problem for h m. F nd a guy called Jack
Reacher because I want h m to check on a guy called V ctor
Hob e, Leon must have sa d. Costello, calm and bus nessl ke,
must have l stened well. He had gone back to the c ty and
scoped out the job. He had thought hard and tr ed a shortcut.
Costello had gone look ng for the guy called Hob e before he
had gone look ng for the guy called Reacher.
He ran the last block to Jod e's park ng garage. Then lower
Broadway to Greenw ch Avenue was two and three-quarter
m les, and he got there n eleven m nutes by sl pstream ng
beh nd the tax s head ng up to the west s de of M dtown. He
dumped the L ncoln
on the s dewalk n front of the bu ld ng and ran up the stone
steps nto the lobby. He glanced around and pressed three
random buttons.
'UPS,' he called.
The nner screen buzzed open and he ran up the sta rs to
su te f ve. Costello's mahogany door was closed, just l ke he
had left t four days ago. He glanced around the hallway and
tr ed the knob. The door opened. The lock was st ll latched
back, open for bus ness. The pastel recept on area was
und sturbed. The mpersonal c ty. L fe sw rled on, busy and
obl v ous and uncar ng. The a r ns de felt stale. The secretary's
perfume had faded to a trace. But her computer was st ll turned
on. The watery screensaver was sw rl ng away, wa t ng pat ently
for her return.
He stepped to her desk and nudged the mouse w th h s f nger.
The screen cleared and revealed the database entry for Spencer
Gutman R cker and Talbot, wh ch was the last th ng he had
looked at before call ng them, back when he had never heard of
anybody called Mrs Jacob. He ex ted the entry and went back to
the ma n l st ng w thout any real opt m sm. He had looked for
jacob on t and got nowhere. He d dn't recall see ng hob e there,
e ther, and H and J are pretty close together n the alphabet.
He spooled t up from bottom to top and back aga n, but there
was noth ng n the ma n l st ng. No real names n t at all, just
acronyms for corporat ons. He stepped out from beh nd the
desk and ran through to Costello's own off ce. No papers on the
desk. He walked around beh nd t and saw a metal trash can n
the kneehole space. There were crumpled papers n t. He
squatted down and sp lled them out on the floor. There were
opened envelopes and d scarded forms. A
greasy sandw ch wrapper. Some sheets of l ned paper, torn
out from a perforated book. He stra ghtened them on the carpet
w th h s palm. Noth ng h t h m n the eye, but they were clearly
work ng notes. They were the k nd of jott ngs a busy man
makes to help h m organ ze h s thoughts. But they were all
recent. Costello was clearly a guy who empt ed h s trash on a
regular bas s. There was noth ng from more than a couple of
days before he d ed n the Keys. Any shortcuts nvolv ng Hob e,
he would have taken them twelve or th rteen days ago, r ght
after talk ng w th Leon, r ght at the outset of the nvest gat on.
Reacher opened the desk drawers, each one n turn, and
found the perforated book n the top on the left-hand s de. It
was a supermarket notebook, partly used up, w th a th ck
backbone on the left and half the pages rema n ng on the r ght.
He sat down n the crushed leather cha r and leafed through the
book. Ten pages n, he saw the name Leon Garber. It leapt out at
h m from a mess of penc lled notes. He saw Mrs Jacob, SGR&T.
He saw V ctor Hob e. That name was underl ned tw ce, w th the
casual strokes a pens ve man uses wh le he s th nk ng hard. It
was c rcled l ghtly w th overlapp ng oval shapes, l ke eggs. Next
to t, Costello had scrawled CCT?? There was a l ne runn ng
away across the page from CCT?? to a note say ng 9am. 9am
was c rcled, too, ns de more oval scrawl ngs. Reacher stared at
the page and saw an appo ntment w th V ctor Hob e, at a place
called CCT, at n ne o'clock n the morn ng. Presumably at n ne
o'clock n the morn ng of the day he was k lled.
He bounced the cha r backward and scrambled around the
desk. Ran back to the computer. The database l st ng was st ll
there. The screensaver had not cut
n. He scrolled the l st to the top and looked at everyth ng
between B and D. CCT was r ght there, jammed between
CCR&W and CDAG&Y. He moved the mouse and cl cked on t.
The screen scrolled down and revealed an entry for cayman
corporate trust. There was an address l sted n the World Trade
Center. There were telephone and fax numbers. There were
notes l st ng enqu r es from law f rms. The propr etor was l sted
as Mr V ctor Hob e. Reacher stared at the d splay and the phone
started r ng ng.
He tore h s eyes from the screen and glanced at the console
on the desk. It was s lent. The r ng ng was n h s pocket. He
fumbled Jod e's mob le out of h s jacket and cl cked the button.
'Hello?' he sa d.
'I've got some news,' Nash Newman repl ed.
'News about what?'
'About what? What the hell do you th nk?'
'I don't know,' Reacher sa d. 'So tell me.'
So Newman told h m. Then there was s lence. Just a soft h ss
from the phone represent ng s x thousand m les of d stance and
a soft wh rr ng no se from the fan ns de the computer. Reacher
took the phone away from h s ear and stared between t and the
screen, left and r ght, left and r ght, dazed.
'You st ll there?' Newman asked. It came through fa nt and
electron c, just a faraway squawk from the earp ece. Reacher
put the phone back to h s face.
'You sure about th s?' he asked.
'I'm sure,' Newman sa d. 'One hundred per cent certa n. It's
totally def n t ve. Not one chance n a b ll on that I'm wrong. No
doubt about t.'
'You sure?' Reacher asked aga n.
'Pos t ve,' Newman sa d. 'Totally, utterly pos t ve.'
Reacher was s lent. He just stared around the qu et empty
off ce. L ght blue walls where the sun was com ng through the
pebbled glass of the w ndow, l ght grey where t wasn't.
'You don't sound very happy about t,' Newman sa d.
'I can't bel eve t,' Reacher sa d. 'Tell me aga n.'
So Newman told h m aga n.
'I can't bel eve t,' Reacher sa d. 'You're absolutely totally sure
about th s?'
Newman repeated t all. Reacher stared at the desk, blankly.
'Tell me aga n,' he sa d. 'One more t me, Nash.'
So Newman went through t all for the fourth t me.
'There's absolutely no doubt about t,' he added. 'Have you
ever known me be wrong?'
'Sh t,' Reacher sa d. 'Sh t, you see what th s means? You see
what happened? You see what he d d? I've got to go, Nash. I
need to get back to St Lou s, r ght now. I need to get nto the
arch ve aga n.'
'You do ndeed, don't you?' Newman sa d. 'St Lou s would
certa nly be my f rst port of call. As a matter of cons derable
urgency, too.'
'Thanks, Nash,' Reacher sa d, vaguely. He cl cked the phone
off and jammed t back n h s pocket. Then he stood up and
wandered slowly out of Costello's off ce su te to the sta rs. He
left the mahogany door stand ng w de open beh nd h m.
Tony came nto the bathroom carry ng the Sav le Row su t on
a w re hanger ns de a dry cleaner's bag. The sh rt was starched
and folded n a paper wrapper jammed under h s arm. He
glanced at Mar lyn and hung the su t on the shower ra l and
tossed the sh rt
nto Chester's lap. He went nto h s pocket and came out w th
the t e. He pulled t out along ts whole length, l ke a conjuror
perform ng a tr ck w th a concealed s lk scarf. He tossed t after
the sh rt.
'Show t me,' he sa d. 'Be ready n ten m nutes.'
He went back out and closed the door. Chester sat on the
floor, cradl ng the packaged sh rt n h s arms. The t e was
draped across h s legs, where t had fallen. Mar lyn leaned down
and took the sh rt from h m. Sl pped her f ngers flat under the
edge of the paper and opened t up. She balled the paper and
dropped t. Shook out the sh rt and und d the top two buttons.
'Nearly over,' she sa d, l ke an ncantat on.
He looked at her neutrally and stood up. Took the sh rt from
her and pulled t on over h s head. She stepped n front of h m
and snapped the collar up and f xed h s t e.
'Thanks,' he sa d.
She helped h m nto the su t and came around n front of h m
and tweaked the lapels.
'Your ha r,' she sa d.
He went to the m rror and saw the man he used to be n
another l fe. He used h s f ngers and smoothed h s ha r nto
place. The bathroom door opened aga n and Tony stepped
ns de. He was hold ng the Mont Blanc founta n pen.
'We'll lend th s back to you, so you can s gn the transfer.'
Chester nodded and took the pen and sl pped t nto h s
jacket.
'And th s. We need to keep up appearances, r ght? All these
lawyers everywhere?' It was the plat num Rolex. Chester took t
from h m and latched t on h s wr st. Tony left the room and
closed the door. Mar lyn
was at the m rror, styl ng her ha r w th her f ngers. She put t
beh nd her ears and pursed her l ps together l ke she'd just
used l pst ck, although she hadn't. She had none to use. It was
just nst nct. She stepped away to the m ddle of the floor and
smoothed her dress down over her th ghs.
'You ready?' she asked.
Chester shrugged. 'For what? Are you?'
'I'm ready,' she sa d.
Spencer Gutman R cker and Talbot's dr ver was the husband
of one of the f rm's longest-serv ng secretar es. He had been a
dead-wood clerk somewhere who hadn't surv ved h s
company's amalgamat on w th a lean and hungry compet tor.
F fty-n ne and unemployed w th no sk lls and no prospects, he
had sunk h s payoff nto a used L ncoln Town Car and h s w fe
had wr tten a proposal show ng t would be cheaper for the f rm
to contract h m exclus vely rather than keep a car serv ce
account. The partners had turned a bl nd eye to the account ng
m stakes n the proposal and h red h m anyway, look ng at t
somewhere halfway between pro bono and conven ence. Thus
the guy was wa t ng n the garage w th the motor runn ng and
the a r on h gh when Jod e came out of the elevator and walked
over to h m. He buzzed h s w ndow down and she bent to speak.
'You know where we're go ng?' she asked.
He nodded and tapped the cl pboard ly ng on the front
passenger seat.
'I'm all set,' he sa d.
She got n the back. By nature she was a democrat c person
who would have preferred to r de n front w th h m, but he
ns sted passengers take the rear seat. It
made h m feel more off c al. He was a sens t ve old man, and
he had caught the wh ff of char ty around h s h r ng. He felt that
to act very properly would ra se h s perce ved status. He wore a
dark su t and a chauffeur's cap he had found n an outf tters n
Brooklyn.
As soon as he saw n the m rror that Jod e was settled, he
moved away around the garage and up the ramp and outs de
nto the dayl ght. The ex t was at the back of the bu ld ng and t
put h m on Exchange Place. He made the left on to Broadway
and worked across the lanes n t me for the r ght nto the Tr n ty
Street dogleg. He followed t west and turned, com ng up on the
World Trade Center from the south. Traff c was slow past Tr n ty
Church, because two lanes were blocked by a pol ce tow truck
stopped alongs de an NYPD cru ser parked at the kerb. Cops
were peer ng nto the w ndows, as f they were unsure about
someth ng. He eased past and accelerated. Slowed and pulled
n aga n alongs de the plaza. H s eyes were f xed at street level,
and the g ant towers loomed over h m unseen. He sat w th the
motor runn ng, s lent and deferent al.
'I'll be wa t ng here,' he sa d.
Jod e got out of the car and paused on the s dewalk. The
plaza was w de and crowded. It was f ve m nutes to two, and the
lunch crowd was return ng to work. She felt unsettled. She
would be walk ng through a publ c space w thout Reacher
watch ng over her, for the f rst t me s nce th ngs went crazy. She
glanced around and jo ned a knot of hurry ng people and
walked w th them all the way to the south tower.
The address n the f le was the e ghty-e ghth floor. She jo ned
the l ne for the express elevator beh nd a
med um-s zed man n an ll-f tt ng black su t. He was carry ng
a cheap br efcase upholstered w th brown plast c stamped to
make t look l ke crocod le sk n. She squeezed nto the elevator
beh nd h m. The car was full and people were call ng the r floor
numbers to the woman nearest the buttons. The guy n the bad
su t asked for e ghty-e ght. Jod e sa d noth ng.
The car stopped at most floors n ts zone and people jostled
out. Progress was slow. It was dead-on two o'clock when the
car arr ved on e ghty-e ght. Jod e stepped out. The guy n the
bad su t stepped out beh nd her. They were n a deserted
corr dor. Und st ngu shed closed doors led nto off ce su tes.
Jod e went one way and the guy n the su t went the other, both
of them look ng at the plates f xed next to the doors. They met
up aga n n front of an oak slab marked Cayman Corporate
Trust. There was a w red-glass porthole set off-centre n t.
Jod e glanced through t and the guy n the su t leaned past her
and pulled t open.
'We n the same meet ng?' Jod e asked, surpr sed.
She followed h m ns de to a brass-and-oak recept on area.
There were off ce smells. Hot chem cals from copy ng
mach nes, stewed coffee somewhere. The guy n the su t turned
back to her and nodded.
'I guess we are,' he sa d.
She stuck out her hand as she walked.
'I'm Jod e Jacob,' she sa d. 'Spencer Gutman. For the
cred tor.'
The guy walked backward and juggled h s plast c br efcase
nto h s left hand and sm led and shook hands w th her.
'I'm Dav d Forster,' he sa d. 'Forster and Abelste n.'
They were at the recept on counter. She stopped and stared
at h m.
'No, you're not,' she sa d blankly. 'I know Dav d very well.'
The guy looked suddenly tense. The lobby went s lent. She
turned the other way and saw the guy she had last seen
cl ng ng to the door handle of her Bravada as Reacher hauled
away from the coll s on on Broadway. He was s tt ng there
calmly beh nd the counter, look ng stra ght back at her. H s left
hand moved and touched a button. In the s lence she heard a
cl ck from the entrance door. Then h s r ght hand moved. It went
down empty and came back up w th a gun the colour of dull
metal. It had a w de barrel l ke a tube and a metal handgr p. The
barrel was more than a foot long. The guy n the bad su t
dropped h s plast c case and jerked h s hands n the a r. Jod e
stared at the weapon and thought but that's a shotgun.
The guy hold ng t moved h s left hand aga n and h t another
button. The door to the nner off ce opened. The man who had
crashed the Suburban nto them was stand ng there framed n
the doorway. He had another gun n h s hand. Jod e recogn zed
the type from mov es she'd seen. It was an automat c p stol. On
the c nema screen t f red loud bullets that smashed you s x feet
backward. The Suburban dr ver was hold ng t steady on a po nt
to her left and the other guy's r ght, l ke he was ready to jerk h s
wr st e ther
way.
The guy w th the shotgun came out from beh nd the counter
and pushed past Jod e. Went up beh nd the guy w th the bad
su t and rammed the shotgun barrel nto the small of h s back.
There was a hard sound, metal on metal, muffled by cloth. The
guy w th the
shotgun put h s hand up under the jacket and came out w th a
b g chrom um revolver. He held t up, l ke an exh b t.
'Unusual accessory for a lawyer,' the man n the doorway
sa d.
'He's not a lawyer,' h s partner sa d. 'The woman says she
knows Dav d Forster very well and th s a n't h m.'
The man n the doorway nodded.
'My name s Tony,' he sa d. 'Come ns de, both of you, please.'
He stepped to one s de and covered Jod e w th the automat c
p stol wh le h s partner pushed the guy cla m ng to be Forster n
through the open door. Then he beckoned w th the gun and
Jod e found herself walk ng towards h m. He stepped close and
pushed her through the door w th a hand flat on her back. She
stumbled once and rega ned her balance. Ins de was a b g
off ce, spac ous and square. D m l ght from shaded w ndows.
There was l v ng-room furn ture arranged n front of a desk.
Three dent cal sofas, w th lamp tables. A huge brass-and-glass
coffee table f lled the space between the sofas. There were two
people s tt ng on the left-hand sofa. A man and a woman. The
man wore an mmaculate su t and t e. The woman wore a
wr nkled s lk party dress. The man looked up, blankly. The
woman looked up n terror.
There was a man at the desk. He was s tt ng n the gloom, n a
leather cha r. He was maybe f fty-f ve years old. Jod e stared at
h m. H s face was d v ded roughly n two, l ke an arb trary
dec s on, l ke a map of the western states. On the r ght was
l ned sk n and th nn ng grey ha r. On the left was scar t ssue,
p nk and th ck and sh ny l ke an unf n shed plast c model
of a monster's head. The scars touched h s eye, and the l d
was a ball of p nk t ssue, l ke a mangled thumb.
He was wear ng a neat su t, wh ch fell over broad shoulders
and a w de chest. H s left arm was la d comfortably on the desk.
There was the cuff of a wh te sh rt, snowy n the gloom, and a
man cured hand, palm down, the f ngers tapp ng an
mpercept ble rhythm on the desktop. H s r ght arm was la d
exactly symmetr cal w th h s left. There was the same f ne
summer-we ght wool of the su t coat, and the same snowy wh te
sh rt cuff, but they were collapsed and empty. There was no
hand. Just a s mple steel hook protrud ng at a shallow angle,
rest ng on the wood. It was curved and pol shed l ke a m n ature
vers on of a sculpture from a publ c garden.
'Hob e,' she sa d.
He nodded slowly, just once, and ra sed the hook l ke a
greet ng.
'Pleased to meet you, Mrs Jacob. I'm just sorry t took so
long.'
Then he sm led.
'And I'm sorry our acqua ntance w ll be so br ef.'
He nodded aga n, th s t me to the man called Tony, who
manoeuvred her alongs de the guy cla m ng to be Forster. They
stood s de by s de, wa t ng.
'Where's your fr end Jack Reacher?' Hob e asked her.
She shook her head. 'I don't know.'
Hob e looked at her for a long moment.
'OK,' he sa d. 'We'll get to Jack Reacher later. Now s t down.'
He was po nt ng w th the hook to the sofa oppos te the
star ng couple. She stepped over and sat down, dazed.
'Th s s Mr and Mrs Stone,' Hob e sa d to her. 'Chester and
Mar lyn, to be nformal. Chester ran a corporat on called Stone
Opt cal. He owes me more than seventeen m ll on dollars. He's
go ng to pay me n stock.'
Jod e glanced at the couple oppos te. They both had pan c n
the r eyes. L ke someth ng had just gone terr bly wrong.
'Put your hands on the table,' Hob e called. 'All three of you.
Lean forward and spread your f ngers. Let me see s x l ttle
starf sh.'
Jod e leaned forward and la d her palms on the low table. The
couple oppos te d d the same th ng, automat cally.
'Lean forward more,' Hob e called.
They all sl d the r palms towards the centre of the table unt l
they were lean ng at an angle. It put the r we ght on the r hands
and made them mmob le. Hob e came out from beh nd the desk
and stopped oppos te the guy n the bad su t.
'Apparently you're not Dav d Forster,' he sa d.
The guy made no reply.
'I would have guessed, you know,' Hob e sa d. 'In an nstant. A
su t l ke that? You've really got to be k dd ng. So who are you?'
Aga n the guy sa d noth ng. Jod e watched h m, w th her head
turned s deways. Tony ra sed h s gun and po nted t at the guy's
head. He used both hands and d d someth ng w th the sl de that
made a menac ng metall c sound n the s lence. He t ghtened
h s f nger on the tr gger. Jod e saw h s knuckle turn wh te.
'Curry,' the guy sa d qu ckly. 'W ll am Curry. I'm a pr vate
detect ve, work ng for Forster.'
Hob e nodded, slowly. 'OK, Mr Curry.' He walked back beh nd
the Stones. Stopped d rectly beh nd the woman.
'I've been m sled, Mar lyn,' he sa d. He balanced h mself w th
h s left hand on the back of the sofa and leaned all the way
forward and snagged the t p of the hook nto the neck of her
dress. He pulled back aga nst the strength of the fabr c and
hauled her slowly upr ght. Her palms sl d off the glass and left
damp shapes where they had rested. Her back touched the sofa
and he sl pped the hook around n front of her and nudged her
l ghtly under the ch n l ke a ha rdresser adjust ng the pos t on of
her head before start ng work. He ra sed the hook and brought
t back down gently and used the t p to comb through her ha r,
l ghtly, front to back. Her ha r was th ck and the hook ploughed
through t, slowly, front to back, front to back. Her eyes were
screwed shut n terror.
'You dece ved me,' he sa d. 'I don't l ke be ng dece ved.
Espec ally not by you. I protected you, Mar lyn. I could have
sold you w th the cars. Now maybe I w ll. I had other plans for
you, but I th nk Mrs Jacob just usurped your pos t on n my
affect ons. Nobody told me how beaut ful she was.'
The hook stopped mov ng and a th n thread of blood ran
down out of Mar lyn's ha r on to her forehead. Hob e's gaze
sh fted across to Jod e. H s good eye was steady and
unbl nk ng.
'Yes,' he sa d to her. 'I th nk maybe you're New York's part ng
g ft to me.'
He pushed the hook hard aga nst the back of Mar lyn's head
unt l she leaned forward aga n and put her hands back on the
table. Then he turned around. 'You armed, Mr Curry?'
Curry shrugged. 'I was. You know that. You took t.'
The guy w th the shotgun held up the sh ny revolver. Hob e
nodded.
'Tony?'
Tony started patt ng h m down, across the tops of h s
shoulders, under h s arms. Curry glanced left and r ght and the
guy w th the shotgun stepped close and jammed the barrel nto
h s s de.
'Stand st ll,' he sa d.
Tony leaned forward and smoothed h s hands over the guy's
belt area and between h s legs. Then he sl d them br skly
downward and Curry tw sted v olently s deways and tr ed to
knock the shotgun away w th h s arm, but the guy hold ng t
was f rmly grounded w th h s feet well apart and he stopped
Curry short. He used the muzzle l ke a f st and h t h m n the
stomach. Curry's breath coughed out and he folded up and the
guy h t h m aga n, on the s de of the head, hard w th the stock
of the shotgun. Curry went down on h s knees and Tony rolled
h m over w th h s foot.
'Asshole,' he sneered.
The guy w th the shotgun leaned down one-handed and
rammed the muzzle nto Curry's gut w th enough we ght on t to
hurt. Tony squatted and f ddled under the legs of the pants and
came back up w th two dent cal revolvers. H s left foref nger
was threaded through the tr gger guards and he was sw ng ng
them around. The metal cl cked and scratched and rattled. The
revolvers were small. They were made from sta nless steel. L ke
sh ny toys. They had short barrels. Almost no barrels at all.
'Stand up, Mr Curry,' Hob e sa d.
Curry rolled on to h s hands and knees. He was
clearly dazed from the blow to the head. Jod e could see h m
bl nk ng, try ng to focus. Shak ng h s head. He reached out for
the back of the sofa and hauled h mself upr ght. Hob e stepped
a yard closer and turned h s back on h m. He looked at Jod e
and Chester and Mar lyn l ke they were an aud ence. He held h s
left palm flat and started butt ng the curve of the hook nto t. He
was butt ng w th the r ght and slapp ng w th the left, and the
mpacts were bu ld ng.
'A s mple quest on of mechan cs,' he sa d. 'The mpact on the
end of the hook transfers up to the stump. The Shockwaves
travel. They d ss pate aga nst what's left of the arm. Naturally
the leatherwork was bu lt by an expert, so the d scomfort s
m n m zed. But we can't beat the laws of phys cs, can we? So n
the end the quest on s who does the pa n get to f rst? H m or
me?'
He spun on the ball of h s foot and punched Curry full n the
face w th the blunt outs de curve of the hook. It was a hard
punch thrown all the way from the shoulder, and Curry
staggered back and gasped.
'I asked you f you were armed,' Hob e sa d qu etly. 'You
should have told the truth. You should have sa d, yes, Mr Hob e,
I've got a revolver on each ankle. But you d dn't. You tr ed to
dece ve me. And l ke I told Mar lyn, I don't l ke to be dece ved.'
The next punch was a jab to the body. Sudden and hard.
'Stop t,' Jod e screamed. She pushed back and sat upr ght.
'Why are you do ng th s? What the hell happened to you?'
Curry was bent over and gasp ng. Hob e turned away from
h m to face her.
'What happened to me?' he repeated.
'You were a decent guy. We know all about you.'
He shook h s head slowly.
'No, you don't,' he sa d.
Then the buzzer sounded at the door out to the elevator
lobby. Tony glanced at Hob e, and sl pped h s automat c nto h s
pocket. He took Curry's two small revolvers off h s f nger and
stepped over and pressed one of them nto Hob e's left hand.
Then he leaned n close and sl pped the other nto the pocket of
Hob e's jacket. It was a cur ously nt mate gesture. Then he
walked out of the off ce. The guy w th the shotgun stepped back
and found an angle to cover all four pr soners. Hob e moved n
the oppos te d rect on and tr angulated h s a m.
'Be very qu et, everybody,' he wh spered.
They heard the lobby door open. Then there was the low
sound of conversat on and then t closed aga n. A second later
Tony walked back nto the gloom w th a package under h s arm
and a sm le on h s face.
'Messenger from Stone's old bank. Three hundred stock
cert f cates.'
He held up the package.
'Open t,' Hob e sa d.
Tony found the plast c thread and tore open the envelope.
Jod e saw the r ch engrav ng of equ ty hold ngs. Tony fl cked
through them. He nodded. Hob e stepped back to h s cha r and
la d the small revolver on the desktop.
'S t down, Mr Curry,' he sa d. 'Next to your legal colleague.'
Curry dropped heav ly nto the space next to Jod e. He sl d
h s hands across the glass and leaned forward, l ke the others.
Hob e used the hook n a c rcular gesture.
'Take a good look around, Chester,' he sa d. 'Mr Curry, Mrs
Jacob, and your dear w fe Mar lyn. Good people all, I'm sure.
Three l ves, full of the r own petty concerns and tr umphs. Three
l ves, Chester, and now they're ent rely n your hands.'
Stone's head was up, mov ng n a c rcle as he looked at the
other three at the table. He ended up look ng stra ght across the
desk at Hob e.
'Go get the rest of the stock,' Hob e sa d to h m. 'Tony w ll
accompany you. Stra ght there, stra ght back, no tr cks, and
these three people w ll l ve. Anyth ng else, they'll d e. You
understand that?' Stone nodded, s lently. 'P ck a number,
Chester,' Hob e sa d to h m. 'One,' Stone sa d back. 'P ck two
more numbers, Chester.' 'Two and three,' Stone sa d. 'OK,
Mar lyn gets the three,' Hob e sa d. 'If you dec de to be a hero.'
'I'll get the stock,' Stone sa d. Hob e nodded.
'I th nk you w ll,' he sa d. 'But you need to s gn the transfer
f rst.'
He rolled open a drawer and swept the small sh ny revolver
nto t. Then he pulled out a s ngle sheet of paper. Beckoned to
Stone who sl d h mself upr ght and stood, shak ly. He threaded
around the desk and s gned h s name w th the Mont Blanc pen
from h s pocket.
'Mrs Jacob can be the w tness,' Hob e sa d. 'She's a member
of the New York State Bar, after all.'
Jod e sat st ll for a long moment. She stared left at the guy
w th the shotgun, and stra ght ahead at Tony, and then r ght at
Hob e beh nd the desk. She pulled
herself upr ght. Stepped to the desk and reversed the form
and took Stone's pen from h m. S gned her name and wrote the
date on the l ne next to t.
'Thank you,' Hob e sa d. 'Now s t down aga n and keep
completely st ll.'
She went back to the sofa and leaned forward over the table.
Her shoulders were start ng to hurt. Tony took Stone's elbow
and moved h m towards the door.
'F ve m nutes there, f ve back,' Hob e called. 'Don't be a hero,
Chester.'
Tony led Stone out of the off ce and the door closed gently
beh nd them. There was the thump of the lobby door and the
faraway wh ne of the elevator, and then there was s lence. Jod e
was n pa n. The gr p of the glass on her clammy palms was
pull ng the sk n away from under her f ngerna ls. Her shoulders
were burn ng. Her neck was ach ng. She could see on the r
faces the others were suffer ng, too. There were sudden breaths
and gasps. The beg nn ngs of low moans.
Hob e gestured to the guy w th the shotgun and they changed
places. Hob e strolled nervously around the off ce and the
shotgun guy sat at the desk w th the weapon rest ng on ts
gr ps, sw vell ng randomly left and r ght l ke a pr son
searchl ght. Hob e was check ng h s wr stwatch, count ng the
m nutes. Jod e saw the sun sl pp ng south-west, l n ng up w th
the gaps n the w ndow bl nds and shoot ng steep angled
beams nto the room. She could hear the ragged breath ng of
the two others near her and she could feel the fa nt shudder of
the bu ld ng com ng through the table under her hands.
F ve m nutes there and f ve m nutes back add up to ten, but at
least twenty m nutes passed. Hob e paced and checked h s
watch a dozen t mes. Then he walked
through nto recept on and the guy w th the shotgun followed
h m to the off ce door. He kept the weapon po nted nto the
room, but h s head was turned, watch ng h s boss.
'Is he plann ng to let us go?' Curry wh spered.
Jod e shrugged and l fted up on to her f ngert ps, hunch ng
her shoulders and duck ng her head to ease the pa n.
'I don't know,' she wh spered back.
Mar lyn had her forearms p nched t ght together, w th her
head rest ng on them. She looked up and shook her head.
'He k lled two cops,' she wh spered. 'We were w tnesses.'
'Stop talk ng,' the guy called from the door.
They heard the wh ne of the elevator aga n and the fa nt bump
through the floor as t stopped. There was a moment's qu et and
then the lobby door opened and suddenly there was no se n
recept on, Tony's vo ce, and then Hob e's, loud and fuelled w th
rel ef. Hob e came back nto the off ce carry ng a wh te package
and sm l ng w th the mob le half of h s face. He clamped the
package under h s r ght elbow and tore t open as he walked
and Jod e saw more engrav ng on th ck parchment. He took the
long way around to the desk and dumped the cert f cates on top
of the three hundred he already had. Stone followed Tony l ke
he had been forgotten and stood gaz ng at the l fe's work of h s
ancestors p led casually on the scarred wood. Mar lyn looked
up and walked her f ngers backward across the glass, jack ng
herself upr ght w th her hands because she had no strength left
n her shoulders.
'OK, you got them all,' she sa d qu etly. 'Now you can let us
go.'
Hob e sm led. 'Mar lyn, what are you, a moron?'
Tony laughed. Jod e looked from h m to Hob e. She saw they
were very nearly at the end of some long process. Some goal
had been n s ght, and now t was very close. Tony's laughter
was about release after days of stra n and tens on.
'Reacher s st ll out there,' she sa d qu etly, l ke a move n a
game of chess.
Hob e stopped sm l ng. He touched the hook to h s forehead
and rubbed t across h s scars and nodded.
'Reacher,' he sa d. 'Yes, the last p ece of the puzzle. We
mustn't forget about Reacher, must we? He's st ll out there. But
out where, exactly?'
She hes tated.
'I don't know, exactly,' she sa d.
Then her head came up, def ant.
'But he's n the c ty,' she sa d. 'And he'll f nd you.'
Hob e met her gaze. Stared at her, contempt n h s face.
'You th nk that's some k nd of threat?' he sneered. 'Truth s I
want h m to f nd me. Because he has someth ng I requ re.
Someth ng v tal. So help me out, Mrs Jacob. Call h m and nv te
h m r ght over.'
She was s lent for a moment.
'I don't know where he s,' she sa d.
'Try your place,' Hob e sa d back. 'We know he's been stay ng
there. He's probably there r ght now. You got off the plane at
eleven-f fty, r ght?'
She stared at h m. He nodded complacently.
'We check these th ngs. We own a boy called S mon, who I
bel eve you've met. He put you on the seven o'clock fl ght from
Honolulu, and we called JFK and they told us t landed at
eleven-f fty exactly. Old Jack Reacher was all upset n Hawa ,
accord ng to our boy
S mon, so he's probably st ll upset. And t red. L ke you are.
You look t red, Mrs Jacob, you know that? But your fr end Jack
Reacher s probably n bed at your place, sleep ng t off, wh le
you're here hav ng fun w th the rest of us. So call h m, tell h m
to come over
and jo n you.'
She stared down at the table. Sa d noth ng. 'Call h m. Then
you can see h m one more t me
before you d e.'
She was s lent. She stared down at the glass. It was smeared
w th her handpr nts. She wanted to call h m. She wanted to see
h m. She felt l ke she had felt a m ll on t mes over f fteen long
years. She wanted to see h m aga n. H s lazy, lops ded gr n. H s
tousled ha r. H s arms, so long they gave h m a greyhound's
grace even though he was bu lt l ke the s de of a house. H s
eyes, cold cy blue l ke the Arct c. H s hands, g ant battered
m tts that bunched nto f sts the s ze of footballs. She wanted to
see those hands aga n. She wanted to see them around Hob e's
throat.
She glanced around the off ce. The sunbeams had crawled an
nch across the desk. She saw Chester Stone, nert. Mar lyn,
trembl ng. Curry, wh te n the face and breath ng hard next to
her. The guy w th the shotgun, relaxed. Reacher would break
h m n half w thout even th nk ng about t. She saw Tony, h s
eyes f xed on hers. And Hob e, caress ng h s hook w th h s
man cured hand, sm l ng at her, wa t ng. She turned and looked
at the closed door. She mag ned t burst ng open w th a crash
and Jack Reacher str d ng n through t. She wanted to see that
happen. She wanted t more than she had ever wanted anyth ng.
'OK,' she wh spered. 'I'll call h m.' Hob e nodded. 'Tell h m I'll be
here a few more
hours. But tell h m f he wants to see you aga n, he better
come qu ck. Because you and I have a l ttle date n the
bathroom, about th rty m nutes from now.'
She shuddered and pushed off the glass table and stood
upr ght. Her legs were weak and her shoulders were on f re.
Hob e came around and took her elbow and led her to the door.
Led her over beh nd the recept on counter.
'Th s s the only telephone n the place,' he sa d. 'I don't l ke
telephones.'
He sat down n the cha r and pressed n ne w th the t p of h s
hook. Handed the phone across to her. 'Come closer, so I can
hear what he says to you. Mar lyn dece ved me w th the phone,
and I'm not go ng to let that happen to me aga n.'
He made her stoop down and put her face next to h s. He
smelled of soap. He put h s hand n h s pocket and came out
w th the t ny revolver Tony had sl pped n there. He touched t to
her s de. She held the phone at an angle w th the earp ece
upward between them. She stud ed the console. There was a
mass of buttons. A speed-d al fac l ty for 911. She hes tated for
a second and then d alled her own home number. It rang s x
t mes. S x long soft purrs. W th each one, she w lled h m: be
there, be there. But t was her own vo ce that came back to her,
from her mach ne.
'He's not there,' she sa d blankly.
Hob e sm led.
'That's too bad,' he sa d.
She was stooped over next to h m, numb w th shock.
'He's got my mob le,' she sa d suddenly. 'I just remembered.'
'OK, press n ne for a l ne.'
She dabbed the cradle and d alled n ne and then her mob le
number. It rang four t mes. Four loud urgent electron c
squawks. Each one, she prayed: answer, answer, answer,
answer. Then there was a cl ck n the earp ece.
'Hello?' he sa d.
She breathed out.
'H , Jack,' she sa d.
'Hey, Jod e,' he sa d. 'What's new?'
'Where are you?'
She real zed there was urgency n her vo ce. It made
h m pause.
'I'm n St Lou s, M ssour ,' he sa d. 'Just flew down. I had to go
to the NPRC aga n, where we were before.'
She gasped. St Lou s? Her mouth went dry.
'You OK?' he asked her.
Hob e leaned across and put h s mouth next to her
ear.
'Tell h m to come r ght back to New York,' he wh spered.
'Stra ght here, soon as he can.'
She nodded nervously and he pressed the gun harder aga nst
her s de.
'Can you come back?' she asked. 'I sort of need you here, as
soon as poss ble.'
'I'm booked on the s x o'clock,' he sa d. 'Gets me n around
e ght-th rty, East Coast t me. W ll that do?'
She could sense Hob e gr nn ng next to her.
'Can you make t any t me sooner? L ke maybe r ght
away?'
She could hear talk ng n the background. Major Conrad, she
guessed. She remembered h s off ce, dark wood, worn leather,
the hot M ssour sun n the
w ndow.
'Sooner?' he sa d. 'Well, I guess so. I could be there
n a couple of hours, depend ng on the fl ghts. Where are
you?'
'Come to the World Trade Center, south tower, e ghty-e ghth
floor, OK?'
'Traff c w ll be bad. Call t two and a half hours, I'll be there.'
'Great,' she sa d.
'You OK?' he asked aga n.
Hob e brought the gun around nto her v ew.
'I'm f ne,' she sa d. 'I love you.'
Hob e leaned over and h t the cradle w th the t p of h s hook.
The earp ece cl cked and f lled w th d al tone. She put the phone
down, slowly and carefully on to the console. She was
shattered w th shock and d sappo ntment, numb, st ll stooped
over the counter, one hand la d flat on the wood propp ng her
we ght, the other hand shak ng n the a r an nch above the
phone.
'Two and a half hours,' Hob e sa d to her w th exaggerated
sympathy. 'Well, t looks l ke the cavalry a n't go ng to arr ve n
t me for you, Mrs Jacob.'
He laughed to h mself and put the gun back n h s pocket. Got
out of the cha r and caught the arm that was support ng her
we ght. She stumbled and he dragged her towards the off ce
door. She caught the edge of the counter and held on t ght. He
h t her, backhanded w th the hook. The curve caught her h gh
on the temple and she lost her gr p on the counter. Her knees
gave way and she fell and he dragged her to the door by the
arm. Her heels scuffed and k cked. He swung her around n
front of h m and stra ght-armed her back nto the off ce. She
sprawled on the carpet and he slammed the door.
'Back on the sofa,' he snarled.
The sunbeams were off the desk. They were nch ng around
the floor and creep ng across the table. Mar lyn Stone's splayed
f ngerna ls were v v d n the r l ght. Jod e crawled on her hands
and knees and pulled herself up on the furn ture and staggered
all the way back to her place alongs de Curry. She put her
hands back where they had been before. There was a narrow
pa n n her temple. It was an angry throb, hot and al en where
the metal had thumped aga nst bone. Her shoulder was tw sted.
The guy w th the shotgun was watch ng her. Tony was watch ng
her, the automat c p stol back n h s hand. Reacher was far
away from her, l ke he had been most of her l fe.
Hob e was back at the desk, squar ng the stack of equ ty
cert f cates nto a p le. They made a br ck four nches tall. He
butted each s de n turn w th the hook. The heavy engraved
papers sl d neatly nto place.
'UPS w ll be here soon,' he sa d happ ly. 'Then the developers
get the r stock, and I get my money, and I've won aga n. About
half an hour, probably, and then t's all over, for me, and for
you.'
Jod e real zed he was talk ng to her alone. He had selected
her as a condu t for nformat on. Curry and the Stone couple
were star ng at her, not h m. She looked away and gazed down
through the glass at the rug on the floor. It had the same pattern
as the faded old tem n DeW tt's off ce n Texas, but t was
much smaller and much newer. Hob e left the br ck of paper
where t was and walked around beh nd the square of furn ture
and took the shotgun away from the guy hold ng t.
'Go br ng me some coffee,' he sa d to h m. The guy nodded
and walked out to the lobby. Closed the door gently beh nd h m.
The off ce went
s lent. There was just tense breath ng and the fa nt rumble of
the bu ld ng underneath t. The shotgun was n Hob e's left
hand. It was po nt ng at the floor. Sw ng ng gently, back and
forth through a t ny arc. A loose gr p. Jod e could hear the rub
of metal on the sk n of h s hand. She saw Curry glanc ng
around. He was check ng Tony's pos t on. Tony had stepped
back a yard. He had put h mself outs de the shotgun's f eld of
f re and he was a m ng d rectly across t at a r ght angle. H s
automat c was ra sed. Jod e felt Curry test ng the strength n h s
shoulders. She felt h m mov ng. She saw h s arms bunch ng.
She saw h m glance ahead at Tony, maybe twelve feet n front of
h m. She saw h m glance left at Hob e, maybe e ght feet to the
s de. She saw the sunbeams, exactly parallel w th the brass
edges of the table. She saw Curry push up on to h s f ngert ps.
'No,' she breathed.
Leon had always s mpl f ed h s l fe w th rules. He had a rule
for every s tuat on. As a k d, they had dr ven her crazy. H s
catch-all rule for everyth ng from her term papers to h s
m ss ons to leg slat on n Congress was do t once and do t
r ght. Curry had no chance of do ng t r ght. No chance at all. He
was tr angulated by two powerful weapons. H s opt ons were
nonex stent. If he jumped up and hurdled the table and headed
for Tony, he would catch a bullet n the chest before he was
even halfway there, and probably a shotgun blast n the s de as
well wh ch would k ll the Stone couple along w th h mself. And
f he headed for Hob e f rst, then maybe Tony wouldn't f re for
fear of h tt ng h s boss, but Hob e would f re for sure, and the
shotgun blast would shred Curry nto a hundred small p eces,
and she was n a d rect l ne r ght beh nd h m.
Another of Leon's rules was hopeless s hopeless and don't
ever pretend t a n't.
'Wa t,' she breathed.
She felt a fract onal nod from Curry and she saw h s
shoulders go slack aga n. They wa ted. She stared down
through the glass at the rug and fought the pa n, m nute by
m nute. Her torn shoulder was shr ek ng aga nst her we ght.
She folded her f ngers and rested on her knuckles. She could
hear Mar lyn Stone breath ng hard oppos te her. She looked
defeated. Her head was rest ng s deways on her arms, and her
eyes were closed. The sunbeams had moved away from parallel
and were creep ng towards her edge of the
table.
'What the hell s that guy do ng out there?' Hob e muttered.
'How long does t take to fetch me a damn
cup of coffee?'
Tony glanced at h m, but he made no reply. Just kept the
automat c held forward, favour ng Curry more than anybody.
Jod e turned her hands and leaned on her thumbs. Her head
throbbed and burned. Hob e k cked the shotgun up and rested
the muzzle on the back of the sofa n front of h m. He brought
the hook up and rubbed the flat of the curve over h s scars.
'Chr st,' he sa d. 'What's tak ng so long? Go g ve h m a hand,
OK?'
Jod e real zed he was look ng stra ght at her. 'Me?'
'Why not? Make yourself useful. Coffee s woman's work,
after all.'
She hes tated.
'I don't know where t s,' she sa d.
'Then I'll show you.'
He was star ng at her, wa t ng. She nodded, suddenly glad to
get a chance just to move a l ttle. She
stra ghtened her f ngers and eased her hands backward and
pushed herself upr ght. She felt weak and she stumbled once
and caught her sh n on the table's brass frame. She walked
uneas ly through Tony's f eld of f re. Up close, h s automat c
was huge and brutal. He tracked her w th t all the way as she
approached Hob e. Back there, she was beyond the reach of the
sunbeams. Hob e led her through the gloom and juggled the
shotgun up under h s arm and grasped the handle and pulled
the door open.
Check the outer door f rst, and then the telephone. That was
what she had been rehears ng as she walked. If she could get
out nto the publ c corr dor, she m ght have a chance. Fa l ng
that, there was the 911 speed-d al. Knock the handset out of the
cradle, h t the button, and even f she got no opportun ty to
speak the automat c c rcu try would g ve the cops a locat on.
The door, or the phone. She rehearsed look ng ahead at the
door, look ng left at the phone, the prec se turn of her head n
between. But when t came to t she looked at ne ther th ng.
Hob e stopped dead n front of her and she stepped alongs de
h m and just looked at the guy who had gone to fetch the
coffee.
He was a th ckset man, shorter than Hob e or Tony, but broad.
He was wear ng a dark su t. He was ly ng on h s back on the
floor, prec sely centred n front of the off ce door. H s legs were
stra ght. H s feet were turned out. H s head was propped at a
steep angle on a stack of phone books. H s eyes were w de
open. They stared forward, s ghtlessly. H s left arm was
dragged up and back, and the hand was rest ng palm up on
another stack of books n a grotesque parody of greet ng. H s
r ght arm was pulled stra ght, at a shallow angle away from h s
body. H s r ght hand was
severed at the wr st. It was ly ng on the carpet s x nches
away from h s sh rt cuff, arranged n a prec se stra ght l ne w th
the arm t had come from. She heard Hob e mak ng a small
sound n h s throat and turned to see h m dropp ng the shotgun
and clutch ng at the door w th h s good hand. The burn scars
were st ll v v d p nk, but the rest of h s face was turn ng a
ghastly wh te.
SEVENTEEN
Reacher had been named Jack by h s father, who was a pla n
New Hampsh re Yankee w th an mplacable horror of anyth ng
fancy. He had walked nto the matern ty ward one late October
Tuesday, the morn ng after the b rth, and he had handed h s
w fe a small bunch of flowers and told her we'll call h m Jack.
There was no m ddle name. Jack Reacher was the whole of t,
and t was already on the b rth cert f cate, because he had
v s ted the company clerk on h s way to the nf rmary and the
guy had wr tten t down and reported t by telex to the Berl n
Embassy. Another Un ted States c t zen, born overseas to a
serv ng sold er, name of Jack-none-Reacher.
H s mother made no object on. She loved her husband for h s
ascet c nst ncts, because she was French and they gave h m a
k nd of European sens b l ty that made her feel more at home
w th h m. She had found an enormous gulf between Amer ca
and Europe n those postwar decades. The wealth and excess
of Amer ca contrasted uneas ly w th the exhaust on and poverty
of Europe. But her very own New Hampsh re Yankee had no use
for wealth and excess. No use at all. Pla n s mple th ngs were
what he
l ked, and that was absolutely f ne w th her, even f t d d
extend all the way to her bab es' names.
He had called her f rstborn Joe. Not Joseph, just Joe. No
m ddle name. She loved the boy, of course, but the name was
hard for her. It was very short and abrupt, and she struggled
w th the n t al J because of her accent. It came out l ke zh. L ke
the boy was called Zhoe. Jack was much better. Her accent
made t sound l ke Jacques, wh ch was a very trad t onal old
French name. Translated, t meant James. Pr vately, she always
thought of her second boy as James.
But paradox cally nobody ever called h m by h s f rst name.
Nobody knew how t came about, but Joe was always called Joe
and Jack was always called Reacher. She d d t herself, all the
t me. She had no dea why. She would st ck her head out of
some serv ce bungalow w ndow and yell Zhoe! Come get your
lunch! And br ng Reacher w th you! And her two sweet l ttle
boys would come runn ng ns de for someth ng to eat. The
exact same th ng happened n school. It was Reacher's own
earl est memory. He was an earnest, ser ous boy, and he was
puzzled why h s names were backward. H s brother was called
by h s f rst name f rst and h s last name last. Not h m. There was
a schoolyard softball game and the k d who owned the bat was
choos ng up s des. He turned to the brothers and called out I'll
have Joe and Reacher. All the k ds d d the same th ng. The
teachers, too. They called h m Reacher, even n k ndergarten.
And somehow t travelled w th h m. L ke any Army k d, he
changed elementary schools dozens of t mes. F rst day n some
new place somewhere, maybe even on a new cont nent, some
new teacher would be yell ng come here,
But he got used to t fast and had no problem l v ng h s whole
l fe beh nd a one-word name. He was Reacher, always had been,
always would be, to everybody. The f rst g rl he ever dated was
a tall brunette who s dled shyly up to h m and asked what's
your name? Reacher, he repl ed. The loves of h s l fe had all
called h m that. Mmm, Reacher, I love you, they had wh spered
n h s ear. All of them. Jod e herself had done the exact same
th ng. He had appeared at the top of the concrete steps n
Leon's yard and she had looked up at h m and sa d hello,
Reacher. After f fteen long years, she st ll knew exactly what he
was called. But she hadn't called h m Reacher on the mob le. He
had cl cked the button and sa d hello and she had sa d h , Jack.
It went off n h s ear l ke a s ren. Then she had asked where are
you? and she had sounded so tense about t he pan cked and
h s m nd started rac ng and for a second he m ssed exactly
what she meant. H s g ven name, just a lucky chance. H , Jack
meant h jack. It took h m a second to catch on. She was n
trouble. B g trouble, but she was st ll Leon's daughter, smart
enough to th nk hard and warn h m w th two l ttle syllables at
the start of a desperate phone call.
H jack. An alert. A combat warn ng. He bl nked once and
crushed down the fear and went to work. F rst th ng he d d was
l e to her. Combat s about t me and space and oppos ng forces.
L ke a huge four-d mens onal d agram. F rst step s m s nform
the enemy. Let h m th nk your d agram s a completely d fferent
shape. You assume all commun cat ons are penetrated, and
then you use them to spread l es and dece t. You buy yourself
an advantage.
He wasn't n St Lou s. Why should he be? Why fly h mself all
the way down there when there were
telephones n the world and he had already bu lt a work ng
relat onsh p w th Conrad? He called h m from the Greenw ch
Avenue s dewalk and told h m what he needed and Conrad
called back just three m nutes later because the f le n quest on
was r ght there n the A sect on nearest the harassed runner's
desk. He l stened w th the pedestr ans sw rl ng around h m and
Conrad read the f le aloud and twelve m nutes later he cl cked
the phone off w th all the nformat on he was ever go ng to
need.
Then he hustled the L ncoln south on Seventh and dumped t
n a garage a block north of the Tw n Towers. He hurr ed down
and crossed the plaza and he was already ns de the south
tower's lobby when Jod e called. Just e ghty-e ght floors below
her. He was talk ng to the secur ty guy at the desk, wh ch was
the vo ce she heard n the background. H s face went blank w th
pan c and he cl cked the phone off and took the express
elevator to e ghty-n ne. He stepped out and breathed hard and
forced h mself to calm down. Stay calm and plan. H s guess
was e ghty-n ne would be la d out the same as e ghty-e ght. It
was qu et and empty. Corr dors ran around the elevator cores,
narrow, l t by bulbs n the ce l ng. There were doors open ng
nto the nd v dual off ce su tes. They had rectangular w redglass portholes set off-centre at a short person's eye level.
Each su te door had a metal plate l st ng the name of the
occupant and a buzzer to press for entry. He found the f re
sta rs and ran down one level. The sta rwell was ut l tar an. No
f nesse n the decor. Just pla n dusty concrete w th metal
handra ls. Beh nd every f re door was an ext ngu sher. Above
the ext ngu sher was a br ght red cab net w th a red-pa nted axe
cl pped nto place beh nd glass. On the wall next
to the cab net was a g ant stenc l n red, mark ng the floor
number.
He came out nto the e ghty-e ghth-floor corr dor. It was
equally qu et. Ident cal narrow w dth, dent cal l ght ng, same
layout, same doors. He ran the wrong way and came around to
CCT last. It had a l ght oak door, w th a brass plate next to t,
and a brass pushbutton for the buzzer. He pulled the door,
gently. It was locked t ght. He stooped and looked n through
the w red-glass porthole. He saw a recept on area. Br ght l ghts.
Brass-and-oak decor. A counter to h s r ght. Another door,
stra ght ahead. That door was shut, and the recept on area was
deserted. He stood and stared stra ght through at the closed
nner door and felt pan c r s ng n h s throat.
She was n there. She was n the nner off ce. He could feel t.
She was n there, alone, a pr soner, and she needed h m. She
was n there and he should be n there w th her. He should have
gone w th her. He stooped down and put h s forehead aga nst
the cold glass and stared through at the off ce door. Then he
heard Leon n h s head, start ng up w th another of h s golden
rules. Don't worry about why t went wrong. Just damn well put
t r ght.
He stepped back and glanced left and r ght along the corr dor.
Put h mself underneath the l ght nearest the door. Reached up
and unscrewed the bulb unt l t went out. The hot glass burned
h s f ngers. He w nced and stepped back to the door and
checked aga n, a yard from the porthole, well out n the corr dor.
The recept on area was br ghtly l t and the corr dor was now
dark. He could see n, but nobody would see out. You can see
from a dark place nto a l ght place, but you can't see from a
l ght place nto
a dark place. A cruc al d fference. He stood and wa ted.
The nner door opened and a th ckset guy stepped out of the
off ce nto recept on. Closed the door gently beh nd h m. A
th ckset guy n a dark su t. The guy he'd pushed down the sta rs
n the Key West bar. The guy who had f red the Beretta up n
Garr son. The guy who had clung to the Bravada's door handle.
He walked through recept on and d sappeared from v ew.
Reacher stepped forward aga n and stud ed the nner door
through the glass. It stayed closed. He knocked gently on the
outer door. The guy came to the porthole and peered through.
Reacher stood up stra ght and turned h s shoulder so h s brown
jacket f lled the v ew.
'UPS,' he sa d softly.
It was an off ce bu ld ng and t was dark and t was a brown
jacket, and the guy opened the door. Reacher stepped around
the arc of ts sw ng and shot h s hand n and caught the guy by
the throat. Do t fast enough and hard enough and you numb
the guy's vo ce box before he can get go ng w th any sounds.
Then you d g your f ngers n and keep h m from fall ng over. The
guy went heavy aga nst h s gr p and Reacher ran h m all the
way along the corr dor to the f re door and threw h m backward
nto the sta rwell. The guy bounced off the far wall and went
down on the concrete, w th a cracked rasp ng sound com ng
from h s throat.
'T me to choose,' Reacher wh spered. 'You help me, or you
d e.'
A cho ce l ke that, there's only one sens ble th ng to do, but
the guy d dn't do t. He struggled up to h s knees and made l ke
he was go ng to f ght t out. Reacher tapped h m on the top of
the head, just
enough to send some shock down through h s neck bones,
and then stepped back and asked h m aga n.
'Help me out,' he sa d. 'Or I'll k ll you.'
The guy shook h s head to clear t and launched h mself
across the floor. Reacher heard Leon say ask once, ask tw ce f
you must, but for God's sake don't ask three t mes. He k cked
the guy n the chest and spun h m around backward and
wedged h s forearm across the top of h s shoulders and put a
hand under h s ch n and wrenched t once and broke h s neck.
One down, but he was down w thout releas ng any
nformat on, and n combat nformat on s k ng. H s gut st ll told
h m th s was a small operat on, but two guys or three or f ve
could equally be called small, and there was a hell of a b g
d fference between go ng n bl nd aga nst two or three or f ve
opponents. He paused n the sta rwell and glanced at the f reaxe n the red cab net. Next best th ng to sol d nformat on s
some k nd of an arrest ng d vers on. Someth ng to make them
worr ed and unsettled. Someth ng to make them pause.
He d d t as qu etly as he could and checked the corr dor was
truly empty before dragg ng the body back. He swung the door
open soundlessly and got the guy arranged n the m ddle of the
lobby floor. Then he closed the door aga n and dodged down
beh nd the recept on counter. It was chest h gh, and more than
ten feet long. He lay on the floor beh nd t and eased the
s lenced Steyr out of h s jacket and settled down to wa t.
It felt l ke a long wa t. He was pressed to the th n off ce carpet,
and he could feel the uny eld ng concrete under t, al ve w th the
t ny v brat ons of a g ant bu ld ng at work. He could feel the fa nt
bass shudder
of the elevators stopp ng and start ng. He could feel the t ngle
of the tens on n the r cables. He could hear the hum of a rcond t on ng and the tremor of the w nd. He hooked h s toes
back aga nst the res stance of the nylon p le and bunched h s
legs aga nst them, ready for act on.
He felt the fall of footsteps a second before he heard the cl ck
of the latch. He knew the nner door had opened because he
heard the change n the acoust c. The recept on area was
suddenly open to a larger space. He heard four feet on the
carpet and he heard them stop, l ke he knew they would. He
wa ted. Present somebody w th an aston sh ng s ght, and t
takes about three seconds for the max mum effect to develop.
That was Reacher's exper ence. They look at t, they see t, the r
bra n rejects t, the r eyes bounce t back aga n, and t s nks n.
Three whole seconds, beg nn ng to end. He counted s lently
one, two, three, and pushed out at the base of the counter,
pressed to the floor, lead ng w th the long black s lencer on the
end of the Steyr. He got h s arms out, then h s shoulders, then
h s eyes.
What he saw was a d saster. The guy w th the hook and the
burned face was dropp ng a weapon and gasp ng and clutch ng
at the door frame, but he was on the wrong s de of Jod e. The
far s de. He was on Jod e's r ght and the recept on counter was
on her left. She was a foot nearer than he was. She was much
shorter but Reacher was down on the floor look ng up at an
angle that put her head d rectly n front of h s head, her body
d rectly n front of h s body. There was no clear shot. No clear
shot anywhere. Jod e was n
the way. The guy w th the hook and the face was mak ng
sounds n h s throat and Jod e was star ng down at the floor.
Then there was a second guy beh nd them n the open doorway.
The Suburban dr ver. He stopped beh nd Jod e's shoulder and
stared. He was carry ng a Beretta n h s r ght hand. He stared
forward and down at the floor and then he stepped alongs de
Jod e and pushed h s way past her. He stepped a yard nto the
room. He stepped nto clear a r.
Reacher squeezed the tr gger, fourteen whole
pounds of pressure, and the s lencer banged loud and
the guy's face blew apart. It took the n ne-m ll metre
bullet n the exact centre and exploded. Blood and
bone h t the ce l ng and sprayed the far wall beh nd
h m. Jod e froze n d rect l ne w th the guy w th the
hook. And the guy w th the hook was very fast. Faster
than he should have been for a cr ppled f fty-year-old.
He went one way w th h s left arm and scooped the
shotgun off the floor. He went the other way w th h s
r ght arm and folded t around Jod e's wa st. The steel
hook was br ght aga nst her su t. He was mov ng her
before the other guy had even h t the floor. He
clamped h s r ght arm hard around her and l fted her
off her feet and dragged her backward. The crash of
the shot from the Steyr was st ll rumbl ng.
'How many?' Reacher screamed.
She was as fast as Leon ever was.
'Two down, one up,' she screamed back.
So the guy w th the hook was the only one, but he
was already sw ng ng the shotgun around. It arced up
through the a r and he used the momentum to crunch
the pump. Reacher was caught half-exposed, low
down, scrambl ng out from beh nd the counter. It was
only a t ny fract onal opportun ty, but the guy went
r ght ahead and took t. He f red low and the gun
flashed and boomed and the recept on counter spl ntered nto
ten thousand p eces. Reacher ducked h s head but sharp
needles of wood and metal and hot stray pellets smashed h m
n the s de of the face l ke a blow from a sledgehammer, all the
way from h s cheek to h s forehead. He felt the dull crump and
the sharp agon z ng st ng of ser ous njury. It was l ke fall ng
from a w ndow and h tt ng the ground head f rst. He rolled up
dazed and the guy was haul ng Jod e backward through the
doorway, crunch ng the pump once more aga nst the shotgun's
we ght as t moved. Reacher was dull and mot onless aga nst
the back wall and the muzzle was com ng up on h m. H s
forehead was numb and cy. There was terr ble pa n there. He
ra sed the Steyr. The s lencer po nted stra ght at Jod e. He
jerked t a fract on left and r ght. It st ll po nted at Jod e. The guy
was mak ng h mself small beh nd her. He was cran ng around
w th h s left hand, levell ng the shotgun. H s f nger was
t ghten ng on the tr gger. Reacher was mmob le aga nst the
wall. He stared at Jod e, f x ng her face n h s m nd before he
d ed. Then a fa r-ha red woman was suddenly beh nd her,
shoulder ng desperately nto the guy's back, push ng h m off
balance. He staggered and wh rled and clubbed at her w th the
shotgun barrel. Reacher caught a gl mpse of a p nk dress as
she went down.
Then the shotgun was sw ng ng back towards h m. But Jod e
was bounc ng and wrestl ng aga nst the guy's arm. She was
stamp ng and k ck ng. The guy was stagger ng around aga nst
her energy. He blundered w th her all the way back out nto the
recept on area and tr pped aga nst the Suburban dr ver's legs.
He fell w th Jod e and the shotgun f red aga nst the corpse.
There was deafen ng sound and smoke and
the obscene bloom and spray of dead blood and t ssue. The
guy came up on h s knees and Reacher tracked h m all the way
w th the Steyr. The guy dropped the shotgun and went for h s
pocket and came back w th a sh ny short-barrel revolver. He
thumbed the hammer. The cl ck was loud. Jod e was heav ng
left and r ght aga nst h s arm t ght around her wa st. Left and
r ght, left and r ght, fur ously, randomly. Reacher had no clear
shot. Blood was pour ng nto h s left eye. H s forehead was
pound ng and bleed ng. He closed the useless eye aga nst the
wetness and squ nted w th the r ght. The sh ny revolver came
all the way up and jammed hard nto Jod e's s de. She gasped
and stopped mov ng and the guy's face came out from beh nd
her head, sm l ng savagely.
'Drop the gun, asshole,' he panted.
Reacher kept the Steyr exactly where t was. One eye open,
one eye closed, jagged bolts of pa n hammer ng n h s head, the
length of the s lencer tra ned on the guy's d storted gr n.
'I'll shoot her,' the guy snarled.
'Then I'll shoot you,' Reacher sa d. 'She d es, you d e.'
The guy stared. Then he nodded.
'Impasse,' he sa d.
Reacher nodded back. It looked that way. He shook h s head
to clear t. It just made the pa n worse. Stalemate. Even f he
could f re f rst, the guy m ght st ll get a shot off. W th h s f nger
tense on the tr gger l ke that and the gun hard n her s de, the
pulse of death would probably be enough to do t. It was too
much to r sk. He kept the Steyr where t was and stood up
slowly and pulled h s sh rt ta l out and w ped h s face w th t, all
the t me squ nt ng one-eyed down the
barrel. The guy took a breath and stood up too, haul ng Jod e
w th h m. She tr ed to ease away from the pressure of the gun,
but he kept her pulled n t ght w th h s r ght arm. He turned h s
elbow outward and the hook p voted and the po nt dug n
aga nst her wa st.
'So we need to deal,' he sa d.
Reacher stood and mopped h s eye and sa d noth ng. H s
head was buzz ng w th pa n. Buzz ng and scream ng. He was
beg nn ng to understand he was n ser ous trouble.
'We need to deal,' the guy sa d aga n.
'No deal,' Reacher repl ed.
The guy tw sted the hook a l ttle more and jammed the
revolver n a l ttle harder. Jod e gasped. It was a Sm th and
Wesson Model 60. Two- nch barrel, sta nless steel,.38 cal bre,
f ve shots n the cyl nder. The sort of th ng a woman carr es n
her purse or a man conceals on h s body. The barrel was so
short and the guy was d gg ng t n so hard h s knuckles were
hard up aga nst Jod e's s de. She was hang ng forward aga nst
the pressure of h s arm. Her ha r was fall ng over her face. Her
eyes were look ng stra ght up at Reacher, and they were the
lovel est eyes he had ever seen.
'Nobody says no deal to V ctor Hob e,' the guy snarled.
Reacher fought the pa n and kept the Steyr steady and level
on the guy's forehead, r ght where the p nk scars met the grey
sk n.
'You're not V ctor Hob e,' he sa d. 'You're Carl Allen, and
you're a p ece of sh t.'
There was s lence. Pa n was hammer ng n h s head. Jod e
was star ng harder at h m, quest ons n her eyes.
'You're not V ctor Hob e,' he sa d aga n. 'You're Carl Allen.'
The name hung n the a r and the guy seemed to reco l away
from t. He dragged Jod e backward, stepp ng over the corpse
of the th ckset guy, turn ng her to keep her body between
h mself and Reacher, walk ng slowly backward nto the dark
off ce. Reacher followed unstead ly w th the Steyr held h gh and
level. There were people n the off ce. Reacher saw d mmed
w ndows and l v ng-room furn ture and three people m ll ng
around, the fa r-ha red woman n the s lk dress and two men n
su ts. They were all star ng at h m. Star ng at h s gun, and the
s lencer, and h s forehead, and the blood pour ng down on to
h s sh rt. Then they were regroup ng themselves l ke
automatons and mov ng towards a t ght square group of sofas.
They threaded the r separate ways ns de and sat down and
placed the r hands on the glass coffee table wh ch was f ll ng
the space. S x hands on the table, three faces turned towards
h m, express ons of hope and fear and aston shment v s ble on
each of them.
'You're wrong,' the guy w th the hook sa d.
He backed away w th Jod e n a w de c rcle unt l he was
beh nd the farthest sofa. Reacher moved w th them all the way
and stopped oppos te. H s Steyr was levelled r ght over the
heads of the three cower ng people lean ng on the coffee table.
H s blood was dr pp ng off h s ch n on to the back of the sofa
below h m.
'No, I'm r ght,' he sa d. 'You're Carl Allen. Born Apr l
e ghteenth, 1949, south of Boston, some leafy suburb. Normal
l ttle fam ly, go ng nowhere. You got drafted n the summer of
1968. Pr vate sold er, capab l t es rated below average n every
category.
Sent to V etnam as an nfantryman. A grunt, a humble foot
sold er. War changes people, and when you got there you
turned nto a real bad guy. You started scamm ng. Buy ng and
sell ng, trad ng drugs and g rls and whatever else you could get
your f lthy hands on. Then you started lend ng money. You
turned really v c ous. You bought and sold favours. You l ved
l ke a k ng for a long t me. Then somebody got w se. Pulled you
out of your cosy l ttle s tuat on and put you n-country. The
jungle. The real war. A tough un t, w th a tough off cer r d ng
you. It p ssed you off. F rst chance you got, you fragged the
off cer. And then h s sergeant. But the un t turned you n. Very
unusual. They d dn't l ke you, d d they? Probably owed you
money. They called t n and two cops called Gunston and
Zabr nsk came out to p ck you up. You want to deny anyth ng
yet?'
The guy sa d noth ng. Reacher swallowed. H s head was
hurt ng badly. There was real pa n d gg ng n deep beh nd the
cuts. Real ser ous pa n.
'They came n a Huey,' he sa d. 'A decent young k d called
Kaplan was fly ng t. Next day he came back, fly ng co-p lot for
an ace named V ctor Hob e. Gunston and Zabr nsk had you
ready and wa t ng on the ground. But Hob e's Huey was h t on
takeoff. It went down aga n, four m les away. He was k lled,
along w th Kaplan and Gunston and Zabr nsk and three other
crew called Bamford and Tardell and Soper. But you surv ved.
You were burned and you lost your hand, but you were al ve.
And your ev l l ttle bra n was st ll t ck ng over. You swapped dog
tags w th the f rst guy you got to. Happened to be V ctor Hob e.
You crawled away w th h s tags around your neck. Left yours on
h s body. R ght then and
there Carl Allen and h s cr m nal past ceased to ex st. You
made t to a f eld hosp tal, and they thought they were treat ng
Hob e. They wrote h s name down n the r records. Then you
k lled an orderly and got away. You sa d I'm not go ng back,
because you knew as soon as you arr ved anywhere somebody
would real ze you weren't Hob e. They'd f nd out who you were,
and you'd be back n the sh t. So you just d sappeared. A new
l fe, a new name. A clean slate. You want to deny anyth ng yet?'
Allen t ghtened h s gr p on Jod e.
'It's all bullsh t,' he sa d.
Reacher shook h s head. Pa n flashed n h s eye l ke a
camera.
'No, t's all true,' he sa d. 'Nash Newman just dent f ed V ctor
Hob e's skeleton. It's ly ng n a casket n Hawa w th your dog
tags around ts neck.'
'Bullsh t,' Allen sa d aga n.
'It was the teeth,' Reacher sa d. 'Mr and Mrs Hob e sent the r
boy to the dent st th rty-f ve t mes, to g ve h m perfect teeth.
Newman says they're def n t ve. He spent an hour w th the Xrays, programm ng the computer. Then he recogn zed the exact
same skull when he walked back past the casket. Def n t ve
match.'
Allen sa d noth ng.
'It worked for th rty years,' Reacher sa d. 'Unt l those two old
people f nally made enough no se and somebody poked
around. And now t's not go ng to work any longer, because
you've got me to answer to.'
Allen sneered. It made the unmarked s de of h s face as ugly
as the burns.
'Why the hell should I answer to you?'
Reacher bl nked the blood out of h s eye over the unwaver ng
Steyr.
'A lot of reasons,' he sa d qu etly. 'I'm a representat ve. I'm
here to represent a lot of people. L ke V ctor Truman Hob e. He
was a hero, but because of you he was wr tten off as a deserter
and a murderer. H s folks have been n agony, th rty long years.
I represent them. And I represent Gunston and Zabr nsk , too.
They were both MP l eutenants, both twenty-four years old. I
was an MP l eutenant when I was twenty-four. They were k lled
because of what you d d wrong. That's why you're go ng to
answer to me, Allen. Because I'm them. Scum l ke you gets
people l ke me k lled.'
Allen's eyes were blank. He sh fted Jod e's we ght to keep her
d rectly n front of h m. Tw sted the hook and jammed the gun n
harder. He nodded, just a fract onal movement of h s head.
'OK, I was Carl Allen,' he sa d. 'I adm t t, smart guy. I was Carl
Allen, and then that was over. Then I was V ctor Hob e. I was
V ctor Hob e for a real long t me, longer than I was ever Carl
Allen, but I guess that's over now, too. So now I'm go ng to be
Jack Reacher.'
'What?'
'That's what you've got,' Allen sa d. 'That's the deal. That's
your trade. Your name, for th s woman's l fe.'
'What?' Reacher sa d aga n.
'I want your dent ty,' Allen sa d. 'I want your name.'
Reacher just stared at h m.
'You're a dr fter, no fam ly,' Allen sa d. 'Nobody w ll ever m ss
you.'
'Then what?'
'Then you d e,' Allen sa d. 'We can't have two
people w th the same name runn ng around, can we? It's a fa r
trade. Your l fe, for the woman's l fe.'
Jod e was star ng, stra ght at Reacher, wa t ng.
'No deal,' Reacher sa d.
I'll shoot her,' Allen sa d.
Reacher shook h s head aga n. The pa n was fearsome. It was
bu ld ng stronger and spread ng beh nd both h s eyes.
'You won't shoot her,' he sa d. 'Th nk about t, Allen. Th nk
about yourself. You're a self sh p ece of sh t. The way you are,
you're always number one. You shoot her, I'll shoot you. You're
twelve feet away from me. I'm a m ng at your head. You pull
your tr gger, I pull m ne. She d es, you d e one-hundredth of a
second later. You won't shoot me e ther, because you start to
l ne up on me, you go down before you're even halfway there.
Th nk about t. Impasse.'
He stared at h m down through the pa n and the gloom. A
class c standoff. But there was a problem. A ser ous flaw n h s
analys s. He knew that. It came to h m n a cold flash of pan c. It
came to Allen at the exact same moment. Reacher knew that,
too, because he saw t settle n h s eyes, complacently.
'You're m scalculat ng,' Allen sa d. 'You're m ss ng
someth ng.'
Reacher made no response.
'R ght now t's a stalemate,' Allen sa d. 'And t always w ll be,
as long as I'm stand ng here and you're stand ng there. But how
long are you go ng to be stand ng there?'
Reacher swallowed aga nst the pa n. It was hammer ng at
h m.
'I'll be stand ng here as long as t takes,' he sa d. 'I've got
plenty of t me. L ke you f gured, I'm a dr fter. I
don't have any press ng appo ntments to get to.'
Allen sm led.
'Brave words,' he sa d. 'But you're bleed ng from the head.
You know that? You've got a p ece of metal st ck ng n your
head. I can see t from here.'
Jod e nodded desperately, eyes full of terror.
'Check t out, Mr Curry,' Allen sa d. 'Tell h m.'
The guy on the sofa underneath the Steyr crabbed around
and knelt up. He kept well away from Reacher's gun arm and
craned h s head around to look. Then h s face creased n horror.
'It's a na l,' he sa d. 'A woodwork ng na l. You've got a na l n
your head.'
'From the recept on desk,' Allen sa d.
The guy called Curry ducked down aga n and Reacher knew t
was true. As soon as the words were spoken, the pa n doubled
and quadrupled and exploded. It was a p erc ng agony centred
n h s forehead, an nch above h s eye. The adrenal ne had
masked t for a long t me. But adrenal ne doesn't last for ever.
He forced h s m nd away from t w th all the power of h s w ll,
but t was st ll there. Bad pa n, razor-sharp and nausea-dull all
at the same t me, boom ng and throbb ng through h s head,
send ng br ll ant l ghtn ng str kes nto h s eyes. The blood had
soaked h s sh rt, all the way down to h s wa st. He bl nked, and
saw noth ng at all w th h s left eye. It was full of blood. Blood
was runn ng down h s neck and down h s left arm and dr pp ng
off h s f ngert ps.
'I'm f ne,' he sa d. 'Don't anybody worry about me.'
'Brave words,' Allen sa d aga n. 'But you're n pa n and you're
los ng a lot of blood. You won't outlast me, Reacher. You th nk
you're tough, but you're noth ng next to me. I crawled away
from that hel copter w th
no hand. Severed arter es. I was on f re. I surv ved three
weeks n the jungle l ke that. Then I got myself home free. Then
I l ved w th danger for th rty years. So I'm the tough guy here.
I'm the toughest guy n the world. Mentally and phys cally. You
couldn't outlast me even f you d dn't have a na l n your damn
head. So don't k d yourself, OK?'
Jod e was star ng at h m. Her ha r was golden n the fa nt
d ffused l ght from the w ndow bl nds. It was hang ng forward
over her face, parted by the sweep of her brow. He could see
her eyes. Her mouth. The curve of her neck. Her sl m strong
body, tense aga nst Allen's arm. The hook, sh n ng aga nst the
colour of her su t. The pa n was hammer ng n h s head. H s
soaked sh rt was cold aga nst h s sk n. There was blood n h s
mouth. It tasted metall c, l ke alum n um. He was feel ng the f rst
fa nt tremors n h s shoulder. The Steyr was start ng to feel
heavy n h s hand.
'And I'm mot vated,' Allen sa d. 'I've worked hard for what I've
got. I'm go ng to keep t. I'm a gen us and a surv vor. You th nk
I'm go ng to let you take me down? You th nk you're the f rst
person who ever tr ed?'
Reacher swayed aga nst the pa n.
'Now let's up the stakes a l ttle,' Allen called to h m.
He forced Jod e upward w th all the strength n h s arm.
Jammed the gun n so hard she bent away from t, fold ng
forward aga nst the arm and s deways aga nst the gun. He
hauled her up so he was nv s ble beh nd her. Then the hook
moved. The arm came up from crush ng her wa st to crush ng
her chest. The hook ploughed over her breasts. She gasped n
pa n. The hook moved up unt l the arm was at a steep angle
crush ng her body and the hook was rest ng on
the s de of her face. Then the elbow turned out and the steel
t p dug nto the sk n of her cheek.
'I could r p her open,' Allen sa d. 'I could tear her face off, and
there's noth ng you could do about t except feel worse. Stress
makes t worse, r ght? The pa n? You're start ng to feel fa nt,
r ght? You're on your way out, Reacher. You're go ng down. And
when you're down, the stalemate s over, bel eve me.'
Reacher shuddered. Not from the pa n, but because he knew
Allen was r ght. He could feel h s knees. They were there, and
they were strong. But a f t man never feels h s knees. They're
just a part of h m. Feel ng them val antly hold ng up 250 pounds
of body we ght means that pretty soon they won't be. It's an
early warn ng.
'You're go ng down, Reacher,' Allen called aga n. 'You're
shak ng, you know that? You're sl pp ng away from us. Couple
of m nutes I'll walk r ght over and shoot you n the head. All the
t me n the world.'
Reacher shuddered aga n and scoped t out. It was hard to
th nk. He was d zzy. He had an open head wound. H s skull was
penetrated. Nash Newman flashed nto h s m nd, hold ng up
bones n a classroom. Maybe Nash would expla n t, many years
n the future. A sharp object penetrated the frontal lobe -here –
and p erced the men nges and caused a haemorrhage. H s gun
hand was shak ng. Then Leon was there, scowl ng and
mutter ng f plan A doesn't work, move on to plan B.
Then the Lou s ana cop was there, the guy from years ago n
another l fe, talk ng about h s.38-cal bre revolvers, say ng you
just can't rely on them to put a guy down, not f he's com ng at
you all pumped up on angel dust. Reacher saw the guy's
unhappy face. You can't rely on a.38 to put a man down. And a
short-barrel.38,
worse st ll. Hard to h t a target w th a short barrel. And w th a
struggl ng woman n your arms, harder st ll. Although her
struggl ng m ght put the bullet dead centre by acc dent. H s
head spun. It was be ng pounded by a g ant w th a jackhammer.
H s strength was dra n ng out of h m from the ns de. H s r ght
eye was jacked open and t was dry and st ng ng, l ke needles
were n t. F ve more m nutes, maybe, he was th nk ng. Then I'm
done for. He was n a rented car, next to Jod e, dr v ng back
from the zoo. He was talk ng. It was warm n the car. There was
sun and glass. He was say ng the bas s of any scam s to show
them what they want to see. The Steyr wobbled n h s hand and
he thought OK, Leon, here's plan B. See how you l ke t.
H s knees buckled and he swayed. He came back upr ght and
brought the Steyr back to the only th n sl ver of Allen's head he
could make out. The muzzle wavered through a c rcle. A small
c rcle at f rst, then a larger one as the we ght of the gun
overwhelmed the control n h s shoulder. He coughed and
pushed blood out of h s mouth w th h s tongue. The Steyr was
com ng down. He watched the front s ght dropp ng l ke a strong
man was pull ng on t. He tr ed to br ng t up, but t wouldn't
come. He forced h s hand upward, but t just moved s deways
l ke an nv s ble force was deflect ng t. H s knees went aga n
and he jerked back upr ght l ke a spasm. The Steyr was m les
away. It was hang ng down to the r ght. It was po nt ng at the
desk. H s elbow was locked aga nst ts we ght and h s arm was
bend ng. Allen's hand was mov ng. He watched t one-eyed and
wondered s what I feel for Jod e as good as be ng pumped up
by angel dust? The barrel snagged out from a fold of cloth and
came free of her jacket. Am I go ng to make t? H s knees
were go ng and he started shak ng. Wa t. Just wa t. Allen's wr st
snapped forward. He saw t move. It was very qu ck. He saw the
black hole n the sta nless barrel. It was clear of her body. She
smashed her head down and he wh pped the Steyr back and got
t pretty close to the target before Allen f red. It was w th n a
couple of nches. That was all. A couple of lousy nches. Fast,
he thought, but not fast enough. He saw the revolver hammer
cl ck forward and then a flower of br ght flame bloomed out
from the barrel and a fre ght tra n h t h m n the chest. The roar
of the shot was completely lost beh nd the mmense phys cal
mpact of the bullet h tt ng h m. It was a blow from a g ant
hammer the s ze of a planet. It thumped and crashed and
deafened h m from the ns de. There was no pa n. No pa n at all.
Just a huge cold numbness n h s chest and a s lent vacuum of
total calm n h s m nd. He thought hard for a spl t second and
fought to stay f rm on h s feet and he kept h s eye w de open
long enough to concentrate on the puff of soot com ng from the
Steyr's s lencer. Then he moved h s eye the last l ttle fract on
and watched Allen's head burst open twelve feet away. There
was an explos on of blood and bone n the a r, a cloud three or
four feet w de, and t was spread ng l ke a m st. He asked
h mself s he dead now? and when he heard h mself answer
surely he must be he let h mself go and rolled h s eye up n h s
head and fell backward through perfect st ll s lent blackness
that cont nued for ever and ended nowhere.
EIGHTEEN
He knew he was dy ng because faces were com ng towards
h m and all of them were faces he recogn zed. They came n a
long stream, unend ng, ones and twos together, and there were
no strangers among them. He had heard t would be l ke th s.
Your l fe was supposed to flash before your eyes. Everybody
sa d so. And now t was happen ng. So he was dy ng.
He guessed when the faces stopped, that was t. He wondered
who the last one would be. There were a number of cand dates.
He wondered who chose the order. Whose dec s on was t? He
felt m ldly rr tated he wasn't allowed to spec fy. And what would
happen next? When the last face had gone, what then?
But someth ng was go ng ser ously wrong. A face loomed up
who he d dn't know. It was then he real zed the Army was n
charge of the parade. It had to be. Only the Army could
acc dentally nclude someone he had never seen before. A
complete stranger, n the wrong place at the wrong t me. He
supposed t was f tt ng. He had l ved most of h s l fe under the
control of the Army. He supposed t was pretty natural they
would take charge of organ z ng th s f nal part. And
one m stake was tolerable. Normal, even acceptable, for the
Army.
But th s guy was touch ng h m. H tt ng h m. Hurt ng h m. He
suddenly real zed the parade had f n shed before th s guy. Th s
guy wasn't n the parade at all. He came after t. Maybe th s guy
was here to f n sh h m off. Yes, that was t. Had to be that way.
Th s guy was here to make sure he d ed on schedule. The
parade was over, and the Army couldn't let h m surv ve t. Why
should they go to all the trouble of putt ng t on and then have
h m surv ve t? That would be no good. No good at all. That
would be a ser ous lapse n procedure. He tr ed to recall who
had come before th s guy. The second-to-last person, who was
really the last person. He d dn't remember. He hadn't pa d
attent on. He sl pped away and d ed w thout remember ng who
had been the last face n h s parade.
He was dead, but he was st ll th nk ng. Was that OK? Was th s
the afterl fe? That would be a hell of a th ng. He had l ved nearly
th rty-n ne years assum ng there was no afterl fe. Some people
had agreed w th h m, others had argued w th h m. But he'd
always been adamant about t. Now he was r ght there n t.
Somebody was go ng to come sneer ng up to h m and say I told
you so. He would, f the boot was on the other foot. He wouldn't
let somebody get away w th be ng absolutely wrong about
someth ng, not w thout a l ttle fr endly r bb ng at least.
He saw Jod e Garber. She was go ng to tell h m. No, that
wasn't poss ble. She wasn't dead. Only a dead person could yell
at you n the afterl fe, surely? A l ve person couldn't do t. That
was pretty obv ous. A l ve person wasn't n the afterl fe. And
Jod e Garber
was a l ve person. He'd made certa n of t. That had been the
whole damn po nt. And anyway, he was pretty sure he had
never d scussed the afterl fe w th Jod e Garber. Or had he?
Maybe many years ago, when she was st ll a k d? But t was
Jod e Garber. And she was go ng to speak to h m. She sat down
n front of h m and pushed her ha r beh nd her ears. Long blond
ha r, small ears.
'H , Reacher,' she sa d.
It was her vo ce. No doubt about t. No m stake. So maybe she
was dead. Maybe t had been an automob le acc dent. That
would be a hell of an rony. Maybe she was h t by a speed ng
truck on Lower Broadway, on her way home from the World
Trade Center.
'Hey, Jod e,' he sa d.
She sm led. There was commun cat on. So she was dead.
Only a dead person could hear another dead person speak,
surely. But he had to know.
'Where are we?' he asked.
'St V ncent's,' she sa d.
Sa nt Peter he had heard of. He was the guy at the gates. He
had seen p ctures. Well, not really p ctures, but cartoons, at
least. He was an old guy n a robe, w th a beard. He stood at a
lectern and asked quest ons about why you should be let n.
But he d dn't remember Sa nt Peter ask ng h m any quest ons.
Maybe that came later. Maybe you had to go out aga n, and then
try to get back n.
But who was St V ncent? Maybe he was the guy who ran the
place you stayed wh le you were wa t ng for Sa nt Peter's
quest ons. L ke the boot camp part. Maybe old V ncent ran the
Fort D x equ valent. Well, that would be no problem. He'd
murdered boot camp. Eas est t me he'd ever done. He could do
t aga n. But
he was annoyed about t. He'd f n shed up a major, for God's
sake. He'd been a star. He had medals. Why the hell should he
do boot camp all over aga n?
And why was Jod e here? She was supposed to be al ve. He
real zed h s left hand was clench ng. He was ntensely rr tated.
He'd saved her l fe, because he loved her. So why was she dead
now? What the hell was go ng on? He tr ed to struggle upr ght.
Someth ng was ty ng h m down. What the hell? He was go ng to
get some answers or he was go ng to knock some heads
together.
'Take t easy,' Jod e sa d to h m.
'I want to see Sa nt V ncent,' he sa d. 'And I want to see h m
r ght now. Tell h m to get h s sorry ass n th s room ns de f ve
m nutes or I'm go ng to be ser ously p ssed off.'
She looked at h m and nodded.
'OK,' she sa d.
Then she looked away and stood up. She d sappeared from
h s s ght and he lay back down. Th s wasn't any k nd of a boot
camp. It was too qu et, and the p llows were soft.
Look ng back, t should have been a shock. But t wasn't. The
room just swam nto focus and he saw the decor and the sh ny
equ pment and he thought hosp tal. He changed from be ng
dead to be ng al ve w th the same l ttle mental shrug a busy
man g ves when he real zes he's wrong about what day t s.
The room was br ght w th sun. He moved h s head and saw he
had a w ndow. Jod e was s tt ng n a cha r next to t, read ng. He
kept h s breath ng low and watched her. Her ha r was washed
and sh ny. It fell past her shoulders, and she was tw rl ng a
strand
between her f nger and thumb. She was wear ng a yellow
sleeveless dress. Her shoulders were brown w th summer. He
could see the l ttle knobs of bone on top. Her arms were long
and lean. Her legs were crossed. She was wear ng tan penny
loafers that matched the dress. Her ankles glowed brown n the
sun.
'Hey, Jod e,' he sa d.
She turned her head and looked at h m. Searched h s face for
someth ng and when she found t she sm led.
'Hey yourself,' she sa d. She dropped the book and stood up.
Walked three paces and bent and k ssed h m gently on the l ps.
'St V ncent's,' he sa d. 'You told me, but I was confused.'
She nodded.
'You were full of morph ne,' she sa d. 'They were pump ng t n
l ke crazy. Your bloodstream would have kept all the add cts n
New York happy.'
He nodded. Glanced at the sun n the w ndow. It looked l ke
afternoon.
'What day s t?'
'It's July. You've been out three weeks.'
'Chr st, I ought to feel hungry.'
She moved around the foot of the bed and came up on h s
left. La d her hand on h s forearm. It was turned palm up and
there were tubes runn ng nto the ve ns of h s elbow.
'They've been feed ng you,' she sa d. 'I made sure you got
what you l ke. You know, lots of glucose and sal ne.'
He nodded.
'Can't beat sal ne,' he sa d.
She went qu et.
'What?' he asked.
'Do you remember?'
He nodded aga n.
'Everyth ng,' he sa d.
She swallowed.
'I don't know what to say,' she wh spered. 'You took a bullet
for me.'
'My fault,' he sa d. 'I was too slow, s all. I was supposed to
tr ck h m and get h m f rst. But apparently I surv ved t. So don't
say anyth ng. I mean t. Don't ever ment on t.'
'But I have to say thank you,' she wh spered.
'Maybe I should say thank you,' he sa d. 'Feels good to know
somebody worth tak ng a bullet for.'
She nodded, but not because she was agree ng. It was just
random phys cal mot on des gned to stop her cry ng.
'So how am I?' he asked.
She paused for a long moment.
'I'll get the doctor,' she sa d qu etly. 'He can tell you better
than me.'
She went out and a guy n a wh te coat came n. Reacher
sm led. It was the guy the Army had sent to f n sh h m off at the
end of h s parade. He was a small w de ha ry man who could
have found work wrestl ng.
'You know anyth ng about computers?' he asked.
Reacher shrugged and started worry ng th s was a coded
lead- n to bad news about a bra n njury, mpa rment, loss of
memory, loss of funct on.
'Computers?' he sa d. 'Not really.'
'OK, try th s,' the doctor sa d. 'Imag ne a b g Cray
supercomputer humm ng away. We feed t everyth ng we know
about human phys ology and everyth ng we
know about gunshot wounds and then we ask t to des gn us
a male person best equ pped to surv ve a th rty-e ght n the
chest. Suppose t hums away for a week. What does t come up
w th?'
Reacher shrugged aga n. 'I don't know.'
'A p cture of you, my fr end,' the doctor sa d. 'That's what. The
damn bullet d dn't even make t nto your chest. Your pectoral
muscle s so th ck and so dense t stopped t dead. L ke a threench kevlar vest. It popped out the other s de of the muscle wall
and smashed a r b, but t went no farther.'
'So why was I out three weeks?' Reacher asked mmed ately.
'Not for a muscle wound or a broken r b, that's for damn sure. Is
my head OK?'
The doctor d d a we rd th ng. He clapped h s hands and
punched the a r. Then he stepped closer, beam ng all over h s
face.
'I was worr ed about t,' he sa d. 'Real worr ed about t. Bad
wound. I would have f gured t for a na l gun, unt l they told me
t was shotgun debr s from manufactured furn ture. It
penetrated your skull and was about an e ghth of an nch nto
your bra n. Frontal lobe, my fr end, bad place to have a na l. If I
had to have a na l n my skull, the frontal lobe would def n tely
not be my f rst cho ce. But f I had to see a na l n anybody
else's frontal lobe I'd p ck yours, I guess, because you've got a
skull th cker than Neanderthal man's. Anybody normal, that na l
would have been all the way n, and that would have been thank
you and good n ght.'
'So am I OK?' Reacher asked aga n.
'You just saved us ten thousand dollars n tests,' the doctor
sa d happ ly. 'I told you the news about the chest, and what d d
you do? Analyt cally? You
compared t w th your own nternal database, real zed t
wasn't a very ser ous wound, real zed t couldn't have needed
three weeks of coma, remembered your other njury, put two
and two together and asked the quest on you asked.
Immed ately. No hes tat on. Fast, log cal th nk ng, assembly of
pert nent nformat on, rap d conclus on, luc d quest on ng of the
source of a poss ble answer. Noth ng wrong w th your head, my
fr end. Take that as a profess onal op n on.'
Reacher nodded slowly. 'So when can I get out of here?'
The doctor took the med cal chart off the foot of the bed.
There was a mass of paper cl pped to a metal board. He r ffled
through t. 'Well, your health s excellent n general, but we
better watch you a wh le. Couple more days, maybe.'
'Nuts to that,' Reacher sa d. 'I'm leav ng ton ght.'
The doctor nodded. 'Well, see how you feel n an hour.'
He stepped close and stretched up to a valve on the bottom
of one of the IV bags. Cl cked t a notch and tapped a tube w th
h s f nger. Watched carefully and nodded and walked back out
of the room. He passed Jod e n the doorway. She was walk ng
n w th a guy n a seersucker jacket. He was about f fty, pale,
short grey ha r. Reacher watched h m and thought a buck gets
ten th s s the Pentagon guy.
'Reacher, th s s General Mead,' Jod e sa d.
'Department of the Army,' Reacher sa d.
The guy n the jacket looked at h m, surpr sed. 'Have we met?'
Reacher shook h s head. 'No, but I knew one of you would be
sn ff ng around, soon as I was up and runn ng.'
Mead sm led. 'We've been pract cally camped out here. To put
t bluntly, we'd l ke you to keep qu et about the Carl Allen
s tuat on.'
'Not a chance,' Reacher sa d.
Mead sm led aga n and wa ted. He was enough of an Army
bureaucrat to know the steps. Leon used to say someth ng for
noth ng, that's a fore gn language.
'The Hob es,' Reacher sa d. 'Fly them down to DC f rst class,
put them up n a f ve-star hotel, show them the r boy's name on
the Wall and make sure there's a sh tload of brass n full dress
un form salut ng l ke crazy the whole t me they're do ng t. Then
I'll keep qu et.'
Mead nodded.
'It'll be done,' he sa d. He got up unb dden and went back
outs de. Jod e sat down on the foot of the bed.
'Tell me about the pol ce,' Reacher sa d. 'Have I got quest ons
to answer?'
She shook her head.
'Allen was a cop k ller,' she sa d. 'You st ck around NYPD
terr tory and you'll never get another t cket n your l fe. It was
self-defence, everybody's cool.'
'What about my gun? It was stolen.'
'No, t was Allen's gun. You wrestled t away from h m.
Roomful of w tnesses saw you do t.'
He nodded slowly. Saw the spray of blood and bra ns all over
aga n as he shot h m. A pretty good shot, he thought. Dark
room, stress, a na l n h s head, a.38 slug n h s chest, bull'seye. Pretty damn close to the perfect shot. Then he saw the
hook aga n, up at Jod e's face, hard steel aga nst the honey of
her sk n.
'You OK?' he asked her.
'I'm f ne,' she sa d.
'You sure? No bad dreams?'
'No bad dreams. I'm a b g g rl now.'
He nodded aga n. Recalled the r f rst n ght together. A b g g rl.
Seemed l ke a m ll on years ago.
'But are you OK?' she asked h m back.
'The doctor th nks so. He called me Neanderthal man.'
'No, ser ously.'
'How do I look?'
'I'll show you,' she sa d.
She ducked away to the bathroom and came back w th the
m rror from the wall. It was a round th ng, framed n plast c. She
propped t on h s legs and he stead ed t w th h s r ght hand and
looked. He st ll had a fearsome tan. Blue eyes. Wh te teeth. H s
head had been shaved. The ha r had grown back an e ghth of an
nch. On the left of h s face was a pepper ng of scars. The na l
hole n h s forehead was lost among the debr s of a long and
v olent l fe. He could make t out because t was redder and
newer than the rest, but t was no b gger than the mark half an
nch away where h s brother Joe had caught h m w th a shard of
glass n some long-forgotten ch ldhood d spute over noth ng, n
the same exact year Hob e's Huey went down. He t lted the
m rror and saw broad strapp ng over h s chest, snowy wh te
aga nst the tan. He f gured he had lost maybe th rty pounds.
Back to 220, h s normal we ght. He handed the m rror back to
Jod e and tr ed to s t up. He was suddenly d zzy.
'I want to get out of here,' he sa d.
'You sure?' she asked.
He nodded. He was sure, but he felt very sleepy. He put h s
head back on the p llow, just temporar ly. He was warm and the
p llow was soft. H s head we ghed a ton and h s neck muscles
were powerless to
move t. The room was darken ng. He sw velled h s eyes
upward and saw the IV bags hang ng n the far d stance above
h m. He saw the valve the doctor had adjusted. He had cl cked
t. He remembered the plast c sound. There was wr t ng on the
IV bag. The wr t ng was ups de down. He focused on t.
Concentrated hard. The wr t ng was green. It sa d morph ne.
'Sh t,' he wh spered, and the room spun away nto total
darkness.
When he opened h s eyes aga n, the sun had moved
backward. It was earl er n the day. Morn ng, not afternoon.
Jod e was s tt ng n her cha r by the w ndow, read ng. The same
book. She was half an nch further through t. Her dress was
blue, not yellow.
'It's tomorrow,' he sa d.
She closed the book and stood up. Stepped over and bent
and k ssed h s l ps. He k ssed her back and clamped h s teeth
and pulled the IV needles out of h s arm and dropped them over
the s de of the bed. They started a steady dr p on to the floor.
He hauled h mself upr ght aga nst the p llows and smoothed a
hand over h s br stly scalp.
'How do you feel?' she asked.
He sat st ll n the bed and concentrated on a slow survey up
h s body, start ng w th h s toes and end ng w th the top of h s
head.
'F ne,' he sa d.
'There are people here to see you,' she sa d. 'They heard
you'd come around.'
He nodded and stretched. He could feel the chest wound. It
was on the left. There was weakness there. He reached up w th
h s left hand to the IV stand. It was a vert cal sta nless-steel bar
w th a sp ral curl at the top
where the bags sl pped on. He put h s hand over the curl and
squeezed hard. He felt bru s ng n h s elbow where the needles
had been and sens t v ty n h s chest where the bullet had been,
but the steel sp ral st ll flattened from round to oval. He sm led.
'OK, send them n,' he sa d.
He knew who they were before they got ns de. He could tell
by the sound. The wheels on the oxygen cart squeaked. The old
lady stood as de and let her husband enter f rst. She was
wear ng a brand-new dress. He was n the same old blue serge
su t. He wheeled the cart past her and paused. He kept hold of
the handle w th h s left hand and drew h s r ght up nto a
trembl ng salute. He held t for a long moment and Reacher
repl ed w th the same. He threw h s best parade-ground move
and held t steady, mean ng every second of t. Then he
snapped t down and the old guy wheeled the cart slowly
towards h m w th h s w fe fuss ng beh nd.
They were changed people. St ll old, st ll feeble, but serene.
Know ng your son s dead s better than not know ng, he
guessed. He tracked back to Newman's w ndowless lab n
Hawa and recalled Allen's casket w th V ctor Hob e's skeleton
n t. V ctor Hob e's old bones. He remembered them pretty well.
They were d st nct ve. The smooth arch of the brow, the h gh
round cran um. The even wh te teeth. The long, clean l mbs. It
was a noble skeleton.
'He was a hero, you know.'
The old man nodded.
'He d d h s duty.'
'Much more than that,' Reacher repl ed. 'I read h s record. I
talked w th General DeW tt. He was a brave flyer who d d more
than h s duty. He saved a lot of
l ves w th h s courage. If he'd l ved, he'd have three stars now.
He'd be General V ctor Truman Hob e, w th a b g command
somewhere, or a b g job n the Pentagon.'
It was what they needed to hear, but t was st ll true. The old
woman put her th n, pale hand over her husband's and they sat
n s lence, eyes mo st and focused eleven thousand m les away.
They were tell ng themselves stor es of what m ght have been.
The past stretched away stra ght and uncompl cated and now t
was neatly amputated by a noble combat death, leav ng only
honest dreams ahead of t. They were recount ng those dreams
for the f rst t me, because now they were leg t mate. Those
dreams were fort fy ng them just l ke the oxygen h ss ng n and
out of the bottle n t me w th the old man's ragged breath ng.
'I can d e happy now,' he sa d.
Reacher shook h s head.
'Not yet you can't,' he sa d. 'You have to go see the Wall. H s
name w ll be there. I want you to br ng me a photograph of t.'
The old man nodded and h s w fe sm led a watery sm le.
'M ss Garber told us you m ght be l v ng over n Garr son,' she
sa d. 'You m ght be our ne ghbour.'
Reacher nodded.
'It's poss ble,' he sa d.
'M ss Garber s a f ne young woman.'
'Yes, ma'am, she s.'
'Stop your nonsense,' the old man sa d to her. Then they told
h m they couldn't stay, because the r ne ghbour had dr ven
them down and had to get back. Reacher watched them all the
way out to the corr dor. Soon as they were gone, Jod e came n,
sm l ng.
'The doctor says you can leave.'
'So can you dr ve me? D d you get a new car yet?'
She shook her head. 'Just arental. No t me for shopp ng.
Hertz brought me a Mercury. It's got satell te nav gat on.'
He stretched h s arms above h s head and flexed h s
shoulders. They felt OK. Surpr s ngly good. H s r bs were f ne.
No pa n.
'I need clothes,' he sa d. 'I guess those old ones got ru ned.'
She nodded. 'Nurses sl ced them off w th sc ssors.'
'You were here for that?'
'I've been here all the t me,' she sa d. 'I'm l v ng n a room
down the hall.'
'What about work?'
'Leave of absence,' she sa d. 'I told them, agree or I qu t.'
She ducked down to a lam nate cupboard and came out w th
a stack of clothes. New jeans, new sh rt, new jacket, new socks
and shorts, all folded and p led together, h s old shoes squared
on top, Army-style.
'They're noth ng spec al,' she sa d. 'I d dn't want to take too
much t me out. I wanted to be w th you when you woke up.'
'You sat around here for three weeks?'
'Felt l ke three years,' she sa d. 'You were all scrunched up.
Comatose. You looked awful. In a real bad way.'
'Th s satell te th ng,' he sa d. 'Does t have Garr son on t?'
'You go ng up there?'
He shrugged.
'I guess. I need to take t easy, r ght? Country a r m ght do me
good.'
Then he looked away from her.
'Maybe you could stay w th me a wh le, you know, help me
recover.'
He threw back the sheet and sl d h s feet to the floor. Stood
up, slow and unsteady, and started to dress, wh le she held h s
elbow to keep h m from fall ng.
THE END
Th s f le was created w th BookDes gner program
bookdes gner@the-ebook.org
30/08/2007
LRS to LRF parser v.0.9; M kha l Sharonov, 2006; msh-tools.com/ebook/
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
THE END