by Diane Capri
The development of air travel changed the town’s fortunes again.
Kelham Army Base had an airstrip to make it viable in the aviation age.
Until the base experienced a similar growth and decline pattern following the fortunes of the army.
Warfare had changed, and so had the need for soldiers. Kelham, like many other military bases around the country, had little to offer the modern military.
Fifteen years ago, when Reacher worked undercover on the three murders in Carter’s Crossing, Kelham had already been downsized into little more than a specialized Ranger school. Which it still was.
Which meant that whatever Reacher was involved in back then didn’t hit the fan enough to result in closing the base at that time.
Over the past fifteen years, the town’s fortunes had improved. Industry and good jobs were lured in by tax breaks and cheap labor. A casino had opened up on the Native American reservation on the outskirts.
Jobs and tourism combined had increased the town’s population from ten to sixteen thousand. Which was a respectably sized community. The town Kim grew up in hadn’t been much larger.
She’d checked the maps. Tupelo, McKellar-Sipes, and Muscle Shoals regional airports were all closer to Carter’s Crossing. She’d have a long drive from Memphis.
Kim assumed the Boss had chosen Memphis because it was bigger and provided more options, including nonstop flights from DC and other cities. More flights and passengers milling around made anonymity somewhat feasible, too.
When the captain announced they’d begun the initial descent, she stashed her electronics, tightened her seatbelt, and gripped both armrests, prepared, as always, for the worst.
Twenty minutes later, the plane descended through the clouds and set down on the foggy tarmac, on schedule and without mishap, which was always a miracle to her. Flying was one of her least favorite activities. She was always relieved to have her feet firmly on the ground.
As the plane taxied to the gate, her mind returned to the job at hand.
Reacher’s contact back then had been the local sheriff, Elizabeth Deveraux. She was now the mayor. She was also expecting Kim to show up in her office on time tomorrow morning. Kim glanced at her watch. So far, so good.
She’d flown into Memphis before and had been stuck there a couple of times. The terminal was easily navigable and cleverly decorated with music themes. She knew exactly where to go.
After she disembarked, she rolled her travel case and laptop past an oversized guitar painted with tigers toward the rental car desk where she picked up her keys.
In the rainy parking lot, she found the Lexus SUV easily enough, stowed her bags, adjusted the seat and mirrors, and picked up US Highway 72 outside the airport toward Carter’s Crossing, which was about ninety miles east.
She’d arrive long before her scheduled meeting with Mayor Deveraux. Which meant she’d have time for a nice dinner, maybe even a glass of wine or two, followed by a solid night’s sleep. So far, this trip was shaping up to be better than she’d expected.
Plenty of time on the foggy route to Carter’s Crossing to think about the contents of the files on that jump drive. Plenty of time once she got there to figure out how she’d approach Deveraux in the morning.
She picked up her personal cell phone and called Gaspar. The Boss would be listening to the conversation, but she didn’t care. Gaspar was a man she could trust. She still thought of him as her partner in the hunt for Reacher, even though he’d retired from the FBI. He’d made it clear that he would continue to help her with the case as much as he could, and anything else he could assist her with, within reason.
He answered on the third ring. “What’s happening, Suzy Wong? How’s the weather in Detroit?”
She could hear the smile in his voice and it eased her anxiety, as it always did. “It was okay when I left. Spring has sprung, the birds and the bees are birthing their young, and all that. But it’s warm and clammy and I’m dodging rain showers here.”
“Here at Scarlett Investigations, the weather is always perfect. The work’s interesting, too. You should join us,” he teased, deadly serious. When she didn’t reply, he asked, “How’s John Lawton doing?”
“Haven’t talked to him much.” Kim frowned. “He’s still on medical leave. Will be for a while.”
Gaspar paused a moment, then picked up with the easy question. “Where are you headed?”
“Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Exactly. It’s somewhere between Sweet Home Alabama and Heartbreak Hotel, I guess.”
“What are you talking about?” Gaspar said, peeved now. She imagined his scowling face and grinned. It was too easy to wind him up.
“You’re a music fan, Chico. You should know this. Not far east from Memphis, in which I am not walking, as enjoyable as that might be. Just west of Alabama where, today, the skies most definitely are not blue,” she said, watching the dreary road ahead.
The traffic was mostly nonexistent, but every now and then, a pair of headlights broke through the gray in the westbound lanes across the median to her left.
“Let me guess. Cooper has you charging after Reacher in one of those small American towns where Reacher likes to mix things up?” He paused, and then his tone turned deadly serious. “And I take it you’re alone.”
“Bingo.” She slowed for an eighteen-wheeler entering the foggy road ahead from a gas station on the corner. They probably had hot, black coffee for sale in there. She was tempted to stop, but she didn’t feel like making an effort. So she gave the place a longing glance as she whizzed past.
Once the trucker righted the big rig on the asphalt, he began to pick up speed. She let him get several lengths ahead. The last thing she needed was to rear-end his trailer out in the middle of nowhere.
How long would it take to get a tow truck out here in the middle of nowhere, USA, she mused briefly.
“You been following the murder of that North Korean diplomat? Crazy stuff, isn’t it? Reads like a spy novel.” Gaspar was making conversation while he manipulated the keyboard. When she didn’t reply, he said, “So besides keeping track of where you are at all times, which I’m happy to do, how can I be of assistance to you?”
She raised the corner of her lip in a quick, mirthless grin. In all the ways that mattered, Gaspar was more reliable than the Boss any day of the week. Every time she went into the field, she missed his steady presence.
Kim understood why he’d retired. He’d been shot during a mission gone bad long before she met him. He simply couldn’t do the job. He was in constant pain and could barely walk around.
Putting his life on the line every day when he had five kids and a wife to consider didn’t make sense.
So he’d taken a big paying job in the private sector.
Smartest thing for him to do under the circumstances.
Not so great for her.
Even with his physical limitations, no one had her back like Gaspar. Since she’d been doing this job solo, the risk factors had pushed her anxiety into the red zone and kept the needle hard against the peg.
Nothing to be done about losing her secret weapon.
So she pressed on.
She squared her shoulders and peered into the gloom. Gaspar’s physical skills were weakened by his on-the-job injuries. But his background gave him the ability to think like Reacher. She’d relied on that skill to save lives more than once, including her own.
Kim didn’t plan to let Gaspar go as long as he was willing to serve.
She shook off the melancholy. Because it didn’t matter now.
Gaspar had retired and she was out in the middle of the fog on her own, chasing Reacher once again.
“Talk to me, Otto.” Gaspar’s far-away voice came through the speaker and she realized she’d left him hanging on for a while.
“Yeah. Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “Okay, you can track my phone, no problem. How about this SUV?”
<
br /> “Already got it. I see you inside the vehicle on the dashcam. I’ve located you on the map. I can probably pull up a visual of the exterior of the SUV from one of the satellites if I need more context,” he reported as he worked through the issues. “The bigger problem is getting help to you if you need it. Scanning the area, there’s no help anywhere near Carter’s Crossing that I can see. No FBI Field Office closer than Memphis. No big towns nearby for civilian emergency services. Does the place even have a police department?”
She heard a motorcycle engine revving in the distance and glanced in the rearview mirror to see him approaching fast behind her.
The rider was leaning forward, encased in black leather from fingertips to toes. His head was completely covered by a glistening black helmet with a face shield. His entire body, and his sporty red motorcycle, were glossy and slick from the pelting rain.
She didn’t envy him. He had to be cold and wet out there. She returned her full attention to the foggy road ahead, both hands firmly on the steering wheel.
“Yeah, the town’s not that small, Chico,” Kim replied, “I guess they do have some sort of local law enforcement. The current mayor is the former sheriff. She worked with Reacher on the last case of his army career.”
Gaspar whistled, low and slow. “Reacher’s last case? We never found anything about that in the army files before. Where did you get the intel? Not Cooper.”
Since he’d retired, Gaspar had taken to calling the Boss by his name, Charles Cooper. Guess Gaspar figured he could do as he pleased now. She felt a little twinge of envy. Kim hadn’t been free to do as she pleased in years. Hell, maybe she’d never been that free.
“The Boss gave me what I have, such as it is.” She glanced into the rearview mirror again and frowned.
The motorcycle edged out around her to pass. When he had a view of the oncoming lane, he drifted back into position behind her SUV. Almost like he was hiding there or something.
“So the file’s been redacted. Which means you’ve got much less information than you should have,” Gaspar said harshly, fingers clacking keys as he talked. “I see you sent me the files. I’ll take a look. Meanwhile, give me the highlights.”
“Reacher was down here undercover. There’s an army base in Carter’s Crossing. Kelham, it’s called.”
The noise of the red motorcycle’s engine was like an annoyingly large mosquito buzzing loud as a chainsaw too close to her ear.
“I’ve heard of it. Back in my army days. Kind of a down-and-out place full of misfits and castoffs, if I recall correctly. Never knew where it was, though,” Gaspar replied. He sounded like he’d kicked back and crossed his ankles, which was his favorite thinking position. “What was Reacher doing there?”
The buzzing chainsaw was too loud and too annoying. She tried to ignore it.
“An army captain with a powerful daddy was suspected of some kind of involvement with the murder of three local women. Reacher was sent down to figure that out.”
She wished the red speedster would just pass already and get on with going wherever he needed to be in such a damned hurry.
“I see,” Gaspar said harshly. “Did Reacher figure things out? The murders, I mean?”
“Presumably. The file’s unclear on that point. But I’ll be asking the mayor about the specifics.”
“Doesn’t make sense,” Gaspar said.
“What doesn’t?”
“Doesn’t seem like a situation that should have booted Reacher from the army. It’s not easy to get rid of an officer like Reacher. Once you get to a certain level, they don’t usually kick you out,” Gaspar replied.
“It’s all murky. You’ll see when you read the files. Some of it was bad timing. The army was bloated back then.” She glanced into the rearview mirror and tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “They needed to pare down. Reacher was a major and majors were too plentiful. They were looking to weed a few from the garden. He was expendable.”
The big rig ahead was slowing again, but she couldn’t see the cause. Maybe he was planning to turn. She slowed her speed and tried to release tension in her shoulders.
“Or unlucky. Depending on how you look at it. Can’t imagine he was happy about leaving,” Gaspar said.
“Hard to say. Reacher’s a pragmatic guy. He was probably okay with it. It’s not like they gave him a choice.”
The motorcycle kept nosing out into the passing lane and then falling back, inching closer to her bumper every time. His recklessness made her nervous.
She said, “I mean, Reacher leaving the army on his own two feet was a lot better than a court-martial and incarceration at Leavenworth.”
“Was that the choice they gave him?” Gaspar didn’t say the options were unlikely. Because he knew deals like that had been made before.
Kim said, “Not in so many words. But reading between the lines, I’d say those were the two most likely alternatives.”
She noticed the semi slowing as it approached a crossroads ahead.
Traffic on the narrow two-lane county road was supposed to stop before entering US 72. She couldn’t see any reason to slow down. US 72 had the right of way.
The truck driver had no doubt traveled this way many times before. He seemed uncertain about traffic crossing the highway. He probably had a good reason.
Miles back, she’d passed a small sign pointed vaguely north along the county road toward a small town called Hopewell. But now, at this crossroads, no signs pointed to a town in any direction.
The motorcyclist seemed to notice the truck driver’s behavior a bit late. The cyclist ran up almost to Kim’s bumper before he backed off slightly.
If she barely tapped the breaks, the cyclist would hit the back of her Lexus.
She sucked in her breath and continued to slow without braking.
“Back off,” she whispered.
The driver of the red sport bike, or whatever it was, had to know the reality.
Motorcycle hits vehicle. Motorcycle loses. Motorcycle driver, too.
Simple as that.
“What the hell did Reacher do to get kicked out of the army?” Gaspar mused as if he truly couldn’t fathom such a thing. She imagined him swiping a palm over his face and shaking his head.
She tried to focus on the conversation and her driving at the same time. Her hands cramped because she gripped the steering wheel too tight.
She said, “It’s possible he killed four people. Two of them army officers. And he definitely disobeyed orders. But mainly, he pissed off the wrong guys.”
Gaspar chuckled without mirth. “So what else is new?”
The crossroad was closer now. The eighteen-wheeler continued to slow and Kim slowed behind him.
The big rig was carrying a lot of weight.
Which meant the tractor slowed gradually and would need to pull hard to get everything moving again on the other side of the crossroad.
Which also meant she might have a chance to pass the eighteen-wheeler after the intersection.
She edged around the boxy trailer for a better view and peered eastward into the gloom.
Which was when she had a clear sight line to the crossroad.
She could see the problem.
A small, silver sedan rolled to the intersection.
What would the little car do next?
The trucker’s lack of faith in local traffic conditions paid off.
A pair of wobbly headlights crossed the first eastbound traffic lane and then, instead of going across the median to the second set of lanes, it turned west onto the eastbound fast travel lane.
Meaning the little car was heading into oncoming traffic directly toward the big rig and the vehicles driving behind it.
Kim gripped the wheel tighter and slowed her speed.
US 72 was a divided highway, which meant the confused driver of the little silver sedan, barely visible in the rainy gray gloom, was traveling in the wrong direction.
There was nowhere for the silver sedan to t
urn around, even if the driver realized the mistake.
Which might have been okay. Because the two eastbound traffic lanes were wide enough. If the sedan stayed in its lane. And the line of traffic following the truck stayed in line. Then, they could all pass each other safely and continue in opposite directions.
After that, the little car could find a place to turn around and cross over to the westbound lanes, where it should have been in the first place.
Their little caravan moved steadily toward the crossroads.
Kim didn’t have enough clear distance to pass the semi, even if she’d been willing to take the risk that the sedan’s driver wouldn’t do something even crazier than driving in the wrong direction.
The sedan might stop.
Or try to make a U-turn.
Or something even less predictable.
What the hell was that driver thinking?
So Kim held onto her patience, slid back into her lane, and followed along behind the big rig, hoping the sedan would pass by them uneventfully.
She glanced at the digital clock on the dash. How long would it take?
But the motorcycle couldn’t see the silver sedan from his position behind Kim. Nor could he see the crossroads. He seemed not to realize the impending danger.
As the big rig slowed, the motorcyclist revved up and pulled out around Kim’s Lexus to pass.
When he got into position for an unobstructed view ahead, he must have seen the same sedan headlights traveling toward him in the eastbound roadway that Kim and the truck driver had seen.
But the motorcyclist made the opposite choice.
He didn’t slow down and get behind her.
Instead, he sped past Kim like a crazy kamikaze playing a deadly game of chicken.
She sucked in a quick breath, holding it until her chest hurt and she remembered to exhale.
“Otto? Talk to me. What the hell’s going on there?” Gaspar raised his voice through the speaker.