The Jack Reacher Cases (The Man Who Works Alone)

by Dan Ames

  “It’s me,” he said. “She sent an email to someone. I couldn’t read the whole message but I saw the names Zeta, Becher and maybe Henry.”

  He paused and listened.

  “No, I couldn’t make out the email address.”

  With the phone pressed to his ear he walked down to where the taxicabs were waiting. He got in line.

  “Yes, I understand,” he said.

  When his cab arrived he climbed in and told the driver the name of the hotel.

  It would be good to watch this Lauren Pauling again, he thought to himself.

  If the need arose, he hoped he would be chosen to eliminate her. She was good-looking and he loved her voice. Sort of like Kathleen Turner but even better looking. A sexy older woman he could really sink his teeth into.

  He smiled at the joke.

  Dentist, indeed.

  Chapter 18

  Unlike ninety percent of the folks who visit Las Vegas every year, they were the exception. Maybe because they were older. Or because they had raised a family and were now proud grandparents.

  Or, more accurately, it was probably because they were both professors. In particular, the woman was a geology professor who loved nothing more than to venture north of Las Vegas and spend time in the legendary landscape. Oh sure, they didn’t mind the occasional show, but they had little time for the casinos, gamblers and overpriced unhealthy buffet dinners.

  No, they actually enjoyed the land itself the most. In particular, the woman was quite fond of north-south faults and the large amount of alluvial deposits.

  Today, though, they were mostly walking for pleasure. They each had a pair of hiking sticks and plenty of water. At their age, staying hydrated was essential, much more important than the typical hikers who were at least two or three decades younger.

  One other thing separated them from the hikers in their twenties and thirties. Namely, they tended to stray from the trail.

  The woman in particular was more interested in the rocks and sediments that were off trail, perhaps washed there by rains over the years. So she tended to hike some twenty to thirty yards on either side of the trail, terrain permitting.

  In this stretch of this particular canyon that was possible. Although there was a steep drop-off, there was no vegetation or formidable rock structure to impede her path.

  No, the only thing she saw ahead was some trash someone had clearly dumped. It was stark white in contrast to the land and she approached it with a vague sense of anger. She hated it when people polluted the natural landscape. And clearly, they’d dumped a lot of garbage because as they came closer she could see a group of vultures were feasting on what was inside.

  She rejoined her husband on the main trail, and as they walked past the birds they averted their eyes.

  But not before the husband spotted an item in one of the vulture’s claws.

  It was a human hand.

  Chapter 19

  Tallon was not being paranoid. He’d never been one to exaggerate or diminish threats. His life had been one long training program designed to teach him how to recognize danger and neutralize it.

  So the man at the other end of the street, waiting at the bus stop for a supposed ride, was not really a bus rider. Tallon knew that.

  For one, he’d seen the man before. When Tallon had been in the coffee shop, he’d walked past, a cell phone to his ear. Tallon had noted the man’s casual wardrobe; jeans, a black sweatshirt and black boots. Nothing special.

  Now, the same man was waiting for a bus. Which begged the question why had he been walking in the other direction less than ten minutes ago? The obvious answer: he’d simply walked around the block.

  The other watcher was a woman. She had on a cream-colored pantsuit and carried a large purse. She wore aviator sunglasses and her hair was swept back into a tight bun.

  She was drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup and waiting outside an office building three doors down from the hotel. To the casual observer, it would appear she possibly had a meeting with a company inside the building and was perhaps waiting for a coworker to appear or maybe killing time before her meeting.

  Nothing about her was a dead giveaway to Tallon.

  No, nothing obvious. But the reason Tallon had pegged her as a watcher was the same reason he’d decided the guy waiting for the bus had him under surveillance.

  They were both carrying guns.

  No matter how slim-fitting a holster was, or how small a handgun could be, the human body adjusted to its presence. Tallon knew the man with the black sweatshirt had a fairly high-caliber pistol on his right side. It was simply by the way the man carried himself.

  The woman was different. She had a weapon in her purse. Tallon knew right away by the way she positioned it against her body.

  He sighed and crossed the street. No sense in hurrying back to his hotel. Besides, now he knew with absolute certainty he was in the right place.

  Tallon went into the coffee shop and approached the barista; a willowy man with a scraggly goatee and sleepy eyes. His name tag read “Dale.”

  “What can I get you?” he asked, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster which turned out to be virtually none.

  “A small black coffee and an answer.”

  “An answer? To what?”

  Tallon pulled out the photograph of Paco. “If you saw this man recently.”

  Dale had placed a paper cup under a giant cylinder and steaming hot coffee poured into it. Now, he leaned back toward Tallon and glanced at the photograph.

  “Yeah he was here,” Dale said. “Until that weird prank went down.”

  Tallon raised an eyebrow. “Prank?”

  Dale placed the coffee on the counter and took Tallon’s five-dollar bill. Tallon waved his hand to say, keep the change.

  “Thanks,” Dale said. “Yeah. Yesterday there was some kind of loud commotion. Sounded like gunshots. I was working and could see someone fall down and then everyone got into these black SUVs and sped off. I figured it was a prank or maybe a movie. They shoot movies around here all the time. You never know what’s real or not, but that’s Vegas, right?”

  “Did you see any cameras?”

  “No.”

  “Did the cops show up?”

  “Yep. They even asked me what happened and I told them. One of them said there was some blood on the sidewalk but that was it. I told them to see if there were any security cameras around. Maybe some footage.”

  “Good idea,” Tallon said. There was more to Dale than met the eye. He was probably a fan of true crime shows. There were a lot of them on Netflix nowadays.

  “Then what happened?”

  “Nothing. No one came back to talk to me. I didn’t see anything on the news – except that some guy was killed in that same hotel but in his room. Which is a weird coincidence. But again this is Vegas, man. Anything can happen, and usually does.”

  Tallon picked up his coffee.

  He held up the picture of Paco.

  “What else can you tell me about him?”

  “Not much. He had a small black coffee just like you. He left just before all that commotion happened and then I thought I saw him go that way.”

  Dale pointed in the general direction of the Landmark Hotel.

  Tallon took a sip of his coffee.

  “Good stuff,” he said.

  “Organic. From Nigeria. Best coffee in the world, in my opinion.”

  “Thanks for the coffee and the info.” Tallon handed him a business card. “Call me if you think of anything else. I’m staying just up the street at the Landmark.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” Dale said. “I hope you find your friend.”

  Me too, Tallon thought.

  He walked out of the coffee shop and wondered if the blood on the sidewalk had been Paco’s or someone else’s.

  Tallon started back toward his hotel.

  His watchers followed.

  Chapter 20

  Pauling had spent enough time in Los Angeles to k
now the character of its different regions. For instance, she’d worked, shopped and dined along the ocean in Santa Monica where the promenade was a beehive of tourists and occasional locals. Lots of buskers and beggars as well.

  Out in Malibu Pauling had spent a weekend surfing with a fellow FBI agent. He was a California native and he and Pauling had been an item for a few brief months way back when she first joined the Bureau. It had been a memorable weekend and he’d taken her to a lot of his favorite Malibu haunts.

  Much later she’d returned and worked a case in Beverly Hills. It had been a drug smuggling operation involving a shady art dealer and a disgraced movie producer. The case had ended successfully with the ring busted and the producer behind bars.

  Now, her private driver whisked her to Beverly Hills to a swanky hotel equidistant from Rodeo Drive and the Sunset Strip.

  Pauling checked in and brought her own single piece of luggage to her room on the top floor of the hotel. It was a decadent suite with a separate sitting area, television and private balcony overlooking the hotel’s shimmering, turquoise blue swimming pool. Already there were multiple tanned bodies, all of them thin, lying in formation around the cool water.

  At the last minute, Pauling had remembered to throw a bikini into her suitcase, although at the time she had figured she wouldn’t need it. Now, she was glad she did. If there was time, she fully intended to go poolside and order something cold, fruity and alcoholic.

  Pauling spotted the large welcome basket and stack of items on the desk to the right of the sitting area.

  For now, she rolled her bag into the bedroom and unpacked by hanging the clothes that hopefully hadn’t been wrinkled and placing the rest of it in the chic white dresser across from the foot of the bed. The bedroom also had its own balcony. Pauling left the sheer curtains closed.

  Back in the living room she opened the gift basket and pulled out a chilled bottle of champagne. How had they managed that, she wondered? She assumed they had kept track of her itinerary and monitored if her flight had been on time.

  There were some gourmet snack packs of fancy cheese and nuts. A thick bar of premium chocolate rounded out the offerings.

  Next to the welcome basket was a note with the logo of Global Security Solutions. Henry Torcher had personally signed the note.

  Pauling frowned. Torcher was already here and certainly staying at the same hotel. She studied a bead of sweat on the champagne. They must have known exactly when she was coming, as the ice in the champagne bucket was still fresh.

  Beneath the note was a folder with tomorrow’s itinerary. She scanned it quickly, noting the time of the keynote presentation – 11 a.m.

  Pauling uncorked the wine and poured herself a glass, then walked out onto her private balcony.

  On the pool deck, a man in a European swimsuit walked over from his lounge chair to a tented cabana in which sat several people. A hot tub sat at the other end of the pool deck, vacant.

  Pauling turned and looked back into her room.

  The suite was amazing. Very expensive.

  She also wondered if it was wired.

  Having spent the entirety of her nongovernment career in security, she knew the possibilities. Pauling went back into the bedroom, retrieved her purse and went into the bathroom.

  She shut the door and studied the mirror, the sink, the shower head and the toilet itself.

  Satisfied there was no surveillance in the small room, she dug out a gray electronic device the size of a pack of cigarettes. It looked like a portable battery charger because it was designed to do so. In fact, the word “charger” was molded onto the center of the device’s body.

  However, it was a top-of-the-line scanner built to detect a variety of electronic signals, including transmission signals, unusual radio and channel frequencies as well as infrared and night vision. Pauling powered the device on and then casually walked into the bedroom. From there, she made her way into the separate sitting area.

  The device was connected to her phone via an app. Pauling held the scanner in her left hand down by her side while she held her phone in her right, as if she was checking for messages.

  The app presented a graphic representing the input from the device. At least six spikes in the graphic’s interface told Pauling what she needed to know.

  Her room was about as thoroughly bugged as a room could be.

  Torcher, she thought.

  Chapter 21

  Tallon entered the Landmark Hotel and walked straight through the lobby. He glanced toward the front desk and saw no one checking in. A couple with a young child were waiting by the elevators, holding Disneyland paraphernalia.

  Confident his watchers weren’t inside, Tallon detoured from the elevators to the small restaurant located in the hotel. He spotted a maid’s cart parked outside a laundry area and picked up a plastic tub that contained fresh hand towels.

  He put it on his shoulders and walked through the restaurant where only one table was occupied. Tallon walked through the swinging doors at the rear of the space and entered the kitchen. To his right was a cook chopping vegetables, to his left, a dishwasher opening a cylindrical appliance from which steam billowed. Beyond, Tallon spotted an oversized double metal door and strode confidently through it.

  Immediately, he was faced with a dumpster around which a privacy wall had been built. Tallon waited until the doors behind him were closed and then he tossed the plastic tub into the dumpster, scaled the wall and dropped on the other side.

  Now, he was directly behind the hotel. A metal fence marked the border between the hotel and a retail store that appeared to be closed for the day. Tallon climbed the fence, cut through an alley and emerged one block over from the hotel. He walked down the street an extra block, then turned right. When he reappeared, he was a good block and a half north of the Landmark.

  He paused and got his bearings. Across from his hotel was a small apartment building probably built in the fifties. There was a diner, a shoe store and a pawn shop. A used car lot was a little farther down, with a half-inflated Statue of Liberty fluttering in the breeze.

  A bit beyond was an old-school casino.

  Tallon debated. Ultimately, he went with his instincts and took up a position just past the apartment building. He used a food stand that was closed for the day to shield him from view. His watchers certainly would not have booked a room in the Landmark. They would have wanted to be able to keep him under tabs twenty-four hours a day.

  The apartment building was perfect.

  He also figured the surveillance team would work in shifts. Now that they thought he was back in his room, one would no doubt return to the apartment. Possibly just take a break or maybe to touch base with whomever was actually running the operation.

  Tallon didn’t care which one of his watchers returned to the apartment. No matter if it was the man or the woman, he planned to make their acquaintance.

  For now, all he could do was wait.

  Ultimately, he only had to wait an hour.

  It was the man.

  He walked up the street and Tallon saw him in the cantilevered reflection of the pawn shop’s window. Tallon waited until the man had entered the apartment building and then he followed him inside.

  It was dim and there was a lingering sense of mildew but Tallon caught sight of the man walking toward the elevator. Careful not to make any sound, Tallon trotted forward silently, reaching the man just as the elevator door opened. Clearly, this wasn’t the A-team. The man had let his guard down believing the target was back in his hotel room. He considered himself off duty. Tallon was happy he was so unprofessional. True professionals engaging in surveillance of a man like Tallon would certainly know they were never off duty.

  Tallon used his momentum to launch a running punch that crashed into the man’s head just above his left ear. Tallon heard bone crunch and he crashed into the man, praying the elevator was empty.

  It was.

  A key fell to the floor and Tallon scooped it
up and shoved the unconscious man into the elevator. The key had a tiny piece of white paper scotch taped to its fob. 4C it read.

  Tallon punched the button marked 4 on the elevator and kept the man standing semi-straight. The elevator door opened and he dragged the man to 4C, unlocked it and dragged him inside.

  It was totally empty save for a suitcase, a shaving kit and a hard-shelled case Tallon immediately knew contained weapons. He dropped the man unceremoniously onto the floor and searched the luggage but found nothing.

  He opened the case. Inside were three handguns of various calibers with multiple sound suppressors. Tallon figured he had most likely just found the man who had killed Paco.

  He fished out the cell phone in the man’s pockets and scrolled through the messages.

  Eventually, he found what he was looking for.

  Using a T-shirt from the man’s bag to avoid leaving fingerprints, Tallon picked up one of the pistols, screwed on the sound suppressor, racked the chamber and pressed the muzzle of the gun against the man’s temple.

  “For Paco,” he said and fired a round into the man’s head.

  Yes, it was a cold-blooded execution.

  Tallon felt no remorse.

  Rather, that he was just getting started.

  Chapter 22

  It actually caused a moment of déjà vu.

  Just when Pauling was ready to head down to the pool for a cocktail, the email popped up on her phone. She saw it was from her Canadian researcher, so Pauling put down her glass of champagne and went to her laptop. She fired it up, opened the email and read with interest.

  It turned out that Zeta Corporation was relatively new and claimed some of the world’s biggest corporations as clients. The researcher explained that he’d used the word “claimed” because he hadn’t been able to independently verify any of the company’s claims.

  Its headquarters were, in fact, in Munich. Monthly rent was fifty thousand euros. Articles of incorporation were sealed.