by Lee Child
“OK,” Reacher said. “Rather him than me. That’s a tough job.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I mean, I’ve seen it in the movies.”
“Then what?”
“McQueen told me he had fired over your head and you were still alive and perfectly OK. He said he was sorry I had to see what happened to King but he couldn’t figure out any other way to save me. Not right then. He said he had to act a part to a certain extent but couldn’t let things go too far.”
“And then?”
“He made some calls on his cell and he belted King in where he was, which was where I had been sitting, and then we drove off. I was in the front. We parked again about five miles east and two new guys came and picked us up in their own car. They set fire to mine. They said they had to do that, because the bad guys would expect McQueen to obscure the evidence, and they might check to make sure he had. They said they would get me a new car. Which is great, because that old one had a bad transmission.”
“These new guys were FBI too?”
“Yes. From Kansas City. They showed me ID. McQueen didn’t have ID, because he was undercover.”
“And they brought you straight here?”
She nodded again. “I said I wouldn’t stay without Lucy, so they went to get her too.”
“Where did McQueen go?”
“He came here with me and left again immediately. He said he had to get back in position. He said he had some explaining to do. I think he’s going to tell them you killed King.”
“Me?”
“That’s what they were discussing. Like they picked up a stranger to change the numbers but the stranger tried to rob them. I think he’s going to say you killed King and escaped.”
“Did they say what kind of bad guys these are?”
Delfuenso shook her head.
“No,” she said. “But they seem very worried about them.”
Dinner came next, and it was a very strange meal. They walked over to the main building together like a little family, Reacher and Delfuenso side by side with Lucy skipping and tripping between them. The dining room was a large square space with twenty tables and eighty chairs, all of them serviceable pine items thickly varnished to a high syrup shine. The room was like many other rooms Reacher had seen, but it was completely empty apart from the eyewitness, who was sitting alone at a corner table behind a miniature thicket of three empty beer bottles, all different. He was working on a fourth, and he jabbed its neck in the air in an enthusiastic greeting. A happy man. Maybe he hadn’t had a vacation in years either. Or ever.
The motherly woman from the reception desk brought menus. Reacher wondered if she was FBI too, and concluded she probably was. As it happened the three guests she had right then were contented enough, at least for the moment, but he imagined others might find the situation stressful or annoying, in which case he figured she would need some kind of official weight to back up her naturally patient manner.
The menu offered just two choices, cheeseburger or chicken, presumably both microwaved straight out of a freezer. FBI agents tended to come out of law school or law enforcement, not out of restaurant kitchens. Reacher chose the cheeseburger, his fifth of the day, and Delfuenso and her daughter followed suit.
Then before the meals arrived two more people came in. Both men, both in blue suits and white shirts and blue ties. The owners of the parked Crown Vics, obviously. The resident agents. The babysitters. They looked alert and alive and solidly competent.
Delfuenso said, “They’re the two who brought me here.”
Lucy said, “They’re the two who brought me here. From Paula’s house.”
The two men scanned the room and headed straight for Reacher. The one on the right said, “Sir, we’d appreciate it if you’d eat your dinner at our table tonight.”
Reacher said, “Why?”
“We need to introduce ourselves.”
“And?”
“We need to tell you the rules.”
Chapter 57
The two Bureau suits led Reacher to a four-place table in the opposite corner of the room to where the eyewitness had stationed himself. Reacher took the corner chair, his back to the wall, the whole room in view. Pure habit. No real reason. No danger of any kind. That dining room was probably the safest place in Kansas.
The two agents sat down, one on his left and one on his right. They leaned in, intently, elbows on the table. They were maybe a little younger than McQueen or Sorenson. Late thirties, or dead-on forty. Not rookies, but not old-timers, either. Both were dark and wiry. One was going bald faster than the other. They said their names were Bale and Trapattoni. They said they were close colleagues of Dawson and Mitchell. Same field office, same job. They said they had read Reacher’s record from the military. They said they knew all about him.
Reacher said nothing about that.
Bale was the guy losing his hair. He asked, “You happy here?”
Reacher said, “Why would I be?”
“Why wouldn’t you be?”
“I took an oath to protect the Constitution. So did you, I guess.”
“And?”
“I’m being deprived of my liberty without due process of law. That’s a Fifth Amendment offense, right there. And you’re a party to it.”
“This isn’t a prison.”
“I guess the fence maker didn’t get that memo.”
“So you’re not happy?”
Reacher said, “Actually I’m fine. I like you guys. I like the FBI. I like the way you think. I can’t help it. You’re doing wrong, but you’re doing wrong right. You put everyone together, so there are mutual witnesses to everything that goes on here. You could have thrown us in solitary somewhere and done whatever the hell you liked to us. But you couldn’t do that. Because deep down you’re on the side of the angels. I can’t take that away from you. You even left the mini golf here. When did you buy this place?”
Trapattoni said, “Three years ago.”
“Was it a Kansas City initiative?”
“Yes, it was. Counterterrorism, central region.”
“Why did you need it?”
“There was an emerging requirement.”
“For what?”
“For a place to keep people safe.”
“I think it’s a place for keeping yourselves safe.”
“How so?”
“I think you take witnesses away from local law enforcement whenever your undercover operations get messy. So that no questions are ever answered.”
“You don’t think undercover agents deserve to be kept safe?”
“I think they deserve all the help they can get.”
“So?”
“I’m wondering how many undercover operations you run. This place could take fifty people at a time. That’s a lot of witnesses.”
“I can’t comment on how many operations we run.”
“Has this place ever been full?”
“No.”
“Has it ever been empty?”
“No.”
“In three years? That’s quite a few operations.”
“It’s a big job.”
Reacher said, “So tell me the rules.”
Bale said, “There are two of them.”
“Try me. I can count that high.”
“You’ll be our guest here until the operation is concluded. That’s non-negotiable. And you won’t discuss what you’ve seen of the operation so far with the other guests. Or with anyone else. Not even any tiny little part of it. Not now and not ever. That’s non-negotiable too.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s for your own good. They saw you too. Only one of those guys in the Impala was on the side of the angels.”
“King died.”
“But not before he used his phone a couple of times. From the gas stations, we think. The times of the calls coincide with the use of the credit card.”
“You were tapping his phone?”
“Having a
n undercover man brings many advantages.”
“What did he say about me?”
“They have your name and your description. Bear that in mind when you think bad thoughts about the fence maker.”
“Who are these guys?”
No answer.
“Is McQueen going to be OK?”
“Don’t worry about him.”
“I can’t help it.”
“We put seven months into this. He’s not going to quit now.”
“I’m not worried about him quitting. I’m worried about someone else making that decision for him. He’s got some explaining to do tonight.”
“We can’t discuss it,” Bale said. “Just remember the rules.”
And that was it. Bale sat back. Trapattoni sat back. The conversation was over. And right on cue the food came. Reacher figured the motherly type had been watching through a spy hole. Or listening on a headset.
* * *
Delfuenso and her daughter were long gone and the eyewitness was finishing up his seventh bottle of beer by the time Reacher left the dining room. He walked along the lit-up path toward his temporary quarters and he stopped in the chill air and looked up at the sky. There were no stars. No moon. Ideal conditions for a little clandestine activity, except there was no way out but the gate, and there was no way of opening it, and there were no telephones.
Then the eyewitness came stumbling out of the dining room and up the path. The knee-high fingerpost lights gave Reacher a pretty good view of the guy’s legs working not quite right. He was more than buzzed, but not yet falling down. He was taking slow and elaborately precise steps, left, right, putting his feet down flat, striding shorter than normal, looking down and concentrating hard. Reacher backtracked until his shins were in a pool of light. Full disclosure. He didn’t want to give the guy a heart attack.
The guy came on slowly, left foot, right foot, and then he saw Reacher’s legs and stopped. No big shock. No great surprise.
The guy gave an amiable grin.
Reacher said, “Were you this drunk when you saw the red car?”
The guy thought about it and said, “Approximately.”
“Who talked to you about it?”
“Sheriff Goodman and the blonde lady from the FBI.”
“What didn’t you tell them?”
“I told them everything.”
“No, you didn’t,” Reacher said. “No eyewitness ever does. You left things out. Things you weren’t sure about, things that might have sounded stupid, things you were doing that you shouldn’t have been doing.”
“I was looking for my truck.”
“Where was it?”
“I couldn’t remember. That’s why I was looking for it.”
“Did you tell them that part?”
“They didn’t ask.”
“And you were going to drive home like that?”
“It’s not far. I know the turns.”
“And?”
“I got caught short. I stopped to take a leak.”
“Where?”
“In back of the old pumping station. I didn’t tell them that part, either.”
Reacher nodded. Things you were doing that you shouldn’t have been doing. Public urination, and drunk driving. Illegal in every town in America. He said, “So you didn’t really see them. Not if you were behind the building.”
The guy said, “No, I saw them real close. I was all done by then. I was all zipped up and coming out.”
“Did they see you?”
“I don’t think so. It was pretty dark. There was a shadow.”
“How far away were you?”
“Ten feet, maybe.”
Reacher asked, “What did you notice?”
“I told the sheriff,” the guy said. “And the blonde lady.”
“You answered their questions. That’s not the same thing.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Concentrate.”
The guy closed his eyes. He swayed back and forth on his heels. He raised his hand and held it palm-out, as if he was steadying himself against the old concrete building. He was using physical cues. He was thinking himself back into the moment.
He said, “The first guy was hurrying. He wanted to get in there first. He was unzipping his coat.”
“Had they been in a group of three before that? Walking together?”
“I can’t be sure. But I think so. It felt like that. Like suddenly the first guy had bolted ahead, and the other two guys were hustling to keep up.”
“Suits, right?”
“No coats at all.”
“Anything in their hands?”
“Nothing.”
“What did you do when all three of them were inside?”
“I headed back across the road.”
“Why?”
“I needed to find my truck. And I didn’t want to stick around.”
“Why not?”
“Bad feeling.”
“From the guys in the suits?”
“More from the first guy. In the green coat. I didn’t like him.”
Reacher asked, “Did you hear anything?”
The guy said, “A little shouting and yelling. Like they were fighting.”
“Where were you when the guys in the suits came out again?”
“On the other sidewalk.”
“Anything else?”
The guy said, “I shouldn’t be talking about this. They told me not to.” And then he stepped around Reacher, carefully and elaborately and precisely, and he carried on along the path. Reacher started after him, and then he stopped. Because he heard the soft whisper of a car on the road. A quarter-mile away, maybe. He turned and saw lights in the distance, vague diffuse beams bouncing and stabbing through the mist.
Then the gate began to open, not fast, not slow, and silent.
Chapter 58
Evidently Julia Sorenson had not gotten her phone back. Or her car. Or her reputation. She had not become a hero. Reacher saw a shiny black Crown Vic pull in off the two-lane and drive through the still-moving gate. Its headlight beams turned in a wide arc and it hissed over the concrete roadway and came to a stop on the circle near the main office door. A guy Reacher hadn’t seen before got out of the front passenger seat and opened the rear passenger door. He didn’t seem to say anything. He just pointed with his chin. Like Dawson had.
Julia Sorenson slid out of the back and stood up and stood still. She looked tired in the low light, and a little defeated. A little round-shouldered. The night breeze caught her coat and flapped it open. She was still wearing the new shirt. But her holster was empty. She had surrendered her weapon.
The guy from the front closed her door behind her and slid back in his seat. The car drove off and left her standing there alone. The gate started to open again. The car drove through it, and paused a beat, and turned right, and drove back the way it had come.
The gate closed again behind it. Reacher watched the car until its lights were gone and its whisper had died away to silence. Then he turned around and watched Sorenson.
She stood still for a moment more, and then she went inside. Reacher counted out time in his head, for the greeting from the motherly type at the reception desk, and the smile and the welcome, and the kings and the queens and the twins, and the armchairs, and the floor space, and the majority preferences. All that kind of stuff. We’ve been expecting you. Four minutes, he figured. Maybe less, if the conversation went faster, which he figured it might, because it would be one agent to another. Or maybe more than four minutes, if Sorenson was up on her high horse and asking all kinds of outraged and resentful questions.
It took four minutes exactly. Sorenson came out with a key in her hand. She looked resigned. She checked the numbers on the low fingerposts and set off in Reacher’s direction. Then she checked again at the next fork and headed off at a shallow angle down a different path.
“Julia,” Reacher called, softly.
She stopped walking.
She called, “Reacher?”
“Over here.”
She stepped off the path and walked over the crushed stone to him. He asked, “What happened with you?”
She said, “We’re not supposed to communicate.”
“Or what? They’re going to lock us up?”
“Well, we can’t talk out here. Where can we go?”
They went to Reacher’s room. Sorenson took a good look around it and said, “This is completely bizarre. It’s just like a regular motel.”
Reacher said, “It is a regular motel. Or it was. The Kansas City field office bought it three years ago. They told me. You never heard about it?”
“Not a word. Are the others here too?”
Reacher nodded. “Delfuenso and her kid, and the eyewitness. Safe and sound. They’re all having a good time, actually.”
“Even though they’re locked up?”
“They’ve been told they’re sequestered. Like a jury. For their own good. Not the same thing as being locked up. They’re all treating it like a vacation. Mini golf and free beer.”
“Is it legal?”
“I don’t know. I’m not a lawyer. But it probably is. Except that it probably shouldn’t be. You know how these things are.”
“Who brought them here?” she said. “Who burned in the car?”
“Alan King burned in the car,” Reacher said. “But he was shot in the heart first. By McQueen. McQueen is one of you, undercover. Out of Kansas City. Which is why Dawson and Mitchell came straight up to babysit you at the pumping station. They were doing damage control. McQueen burned the car and he and Delfuenso were picked up by part of his Bureau support team. In a Bureau sedan, like the tire marks showed, again out of Kansas City. McQueen came here with them but left again immediately. Apparently he said he had to get back in position.”
“Poor guy. He’s going to be under a hell of a lot of pressure. With King dead? How is he going to explain that?”
“With great difficulty, I would think.”
“But you were right. He missed you deliberately. He fired over your head.”
“But there was nothing he could fake when it came time to punch Delfuenso’s ticket. So he offed King instead.”
“Good man. I hope he’s OK.”
“What happened with you?” Reacher asked again.