Ten Two Jack

by Diane Capri

  He pulled out his phone and began searching for truck rental locations a few hours south. He had never taken possession of his drugs before. In the past, his role had been management, not shipping and delivery. This was an unfamiliar challenge.

  He’d already planned to leave the country. But taking the drugs into Mexico might prove difficult. Besides, his customers were located inside the US. The wiser thing was to find a place to store the product in the US. A place where he could reach it fast when he needed to.

  Another storage facility was the best option for his purposes. Somewhere close to the border.

  He checked Chicago area news. Nothing so far about Babbling Brooke’s murder. It was smarter to assume that Chicago PD had managed to tie that to him because if they hadn’t yet, they would. Yep, the sooner he left the country, the better. Leaving his drugs here was the smart move.

  A vague plan was taking shape in his head.

  He pulled up a map on his phone and clicked a couple of searches. He figured sixteen hours of drive time, give or take, without breaks. At least thirteen hours almost due south to San Antonio. After that, another three to Laredo, and into Mexico.

  He found a good entry point for crossing over. One of his passports should get him past border security on the other side. He had counterfeit passports for Thorn, too. Mexico welcomed tourists from Luxembourg or Switzerland or Ireland. He wasn’t worried.

  Thorn navigated to I-44 west and entered the flow of late night traffic. As long as he kept his speed at the posted limits, continuing in the SUV for a few hundred miles before daylight should be safe enough.

  After daylight, a panel van or small truck would be better. If nothing else, it would keep curious types from looking in the windows when they stopped for food and gas.

  Scorpio found a truck rental that commenced hours of operation before sunrise. They’d reach it before the SUV ran out of gas. He read the address aloud, and Thorn punched it into the GPS system.

  Now all he needed was a storage facility near Laredo. And then transportation into Mexico. With luck, they’d be across the border tonight.

  “What do you know about Mexico City?” Scorpio asked.

  “Warmer than Rapid City,” Thorn grinned. Scorpio did not. Thorn cleared his throat and said, “I know that Guadalajara is a lot nicer. Why?”

  Scorpio raised his eyebrows. He’d never been to Mexico City or Guadalajara. “Nicer in what way?”

  “Newer, cleaner, more upscale. Luxury cars. It’s a world-class city. Great restaurants,” Thorn replied.

  “Yeah?” Scorpio asked. The idea was appealing. He was scheduled for more therapy and a couple of surgeries before he’d be able to ambulate without the cane. “How about medical?”

  “Excellent doctors. You’d get a lot better medical stuff in Guadalajara, for sure. Woman I know drove down there. Got a facelift and a boob job and a few tucks. Cost a fraction of what she’d have paid in Beverly Hills. I’m telling you, she came out looking amazing,” Thorn replied with a low whistle, shaking his head.

  “That so?”

  “Damn straight.” Thorn glanced across the console and nodded. “Man, you could live like a king there on relatively little money, too. Big house. Servants. The whole Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous thing. Absolutely.”

  Scorpio said nothing. But he searched websites referencing Guadalajara on his phone and flipped through the pages. After watching a few videos posted by tourists and journalists, he’d made up his mind.

  He said, “Guadalajara it is. Make it so.”

  “Ten-four, boss,” Thorn replied with a grin.

  CHAPTER 32

  Saturday, February 12

  7:15 a.m.

  Houston, Texas

  Otto overslept. When Gaspar banged on her door, she opened one eye to look at the bedside clock.

  “Crap!” she jumped up and ran to the door. “I’ll meet you at the gate.”

  “They won’t hold the plane, so don’t miss it,” he replied, already heading toward the elevator.

  She jumped into a quick shower, dressed, and dashed out the door with her hair still damp. She made it to the gate and down the jetway, mere moments before the flight attendant closed the door.

  Gaspar was already sleeping in seat 1A when she hurried past him. The guy could sleep anywhere. Two rows back, she stowed her bags, slid into her seat on the aisle, and fastened her seatbelt just as the plane was pushing back.

  Houston to San Antonio flight time was fifty-eight minutes to cover the one hundred ninety miles. A quick up and down, which meant Otto only had time for one puny cup of coffee before they were on the ground again.

  Gaspar waited for her to deplane and they walked toward the rental counter.

  “I need coffee. There’s a kiosk up ahead.”

  He grinned. “Did you stay awake all night studying, Sunshine?”

  “Not exactly.” She took a breath and prepared to defend herself. “I talked to Finlay for about an hour after I left you.”

  “What the hell? You didn’t think to discuss that move with me first?” His scowl would have quelled any type of rebellion from his kids, but it only annoyed Otto.

  “I didn’t have the energy to argue with you about it twice.”

  “What kind of logic is that?”

  She shook her head as she approached the java counter and ordered an extra-large black coffee. “What do you want? I’m buying.”

  “Three donuts and an espresso with cream and sugar,” he replied.

  She placed the order, collected his donuts, and paid the bill. They moved to the side to wait for the barista to do her thing.

  “Finlay says General Simpson is trying to connect with Reacher. He’s put a flag on Reacher’s bank account. No luck so far.”

  Gaspar’s eyebrows dipped all the way to the bridge of his nose.

  They collected the coffee and resumed the trek to the rental vehicles.

  Gaspar gave in about two dozen steps along the way. “What else did Finlay say?”

  “That was the most interesting bit. Otherwise, it was stuff about long conversations with Rose Sanderson. Oh, and how hot Rose Sanderson and Jane Mackenzie are.” She filled him in on the rest while they got settled into the sedan and hit the road.

  Gaspar said, “I’ve been thinking about Mackenzie and Bramall.”

  “What about them?” Otto’s lip curled of its own accord.

  “You think they’ve partnered up?”

  “To do what?”

  He shrugged. “They were quick to ditch you after you were attacked in that bathroom. One of them did it. The other one didn’t seem to object overmuch.”

  “So it’s a threesome? Reacher, Bramall, and Mackenzie?” she asked. “Seems kind of crowded for Reacher to team up like that, don’t you think? He’s usually a solo act.”

  “Maybe. But we know he was working with Jane and Bramall before. According to your Boy Detective, anyway.” Gaspar gave her the side-eye and then returned his attention to driving.

  Otto said nothing, but she mulled the idea for a while.

  Forty minutes after the plane landed, they stood in a small office at Fort Sam Houston waiting for General Sean Simpson, on base temporarily for briefings by the joint chiefs. Or so he’d said when Gaspar called to set up the appointment. Sounded like a boondoggle to get out of the Upstate New York winter weather to Otto.

  Simpson was currently serving as the Superintendent at West Point, the big boss, what other colleges might call the president. He had held the position for a while. When he’d brought her up to speed, Gaspar said Simpson was smart, accomplished, and definitely no pushover.

  Everything about the base, including this room, was probably under surveillance, she figured. Which meant they would discuss nothing of consequence in Simpson’s absence, and probably not when he arrived, either.

  After fifteen minutes the door opened, and a relatively fit, moderately young general entered the room. The kind of man who was a good role model for soldie
rs. He could have starred in a recruitment video encouraging young Americans to be all they could be. Which he probably had.

  “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” Simpson said, extending his hand to shake with both of them. Like most generals, he was polite and personable, too. Officers didn’t rise that far up the ranks if they were obnoxious idiots.

  He indicated with his palm. “Please sit.”

  When they were settled, he moved to the chair and leaned forward across the desk with a sincere look on his face. “How can I be of service to the FBI today?”

  Gaspar took the lead. “As I mentioned on the phone, General, we’re interested in two West Point graduates. Major Jack Reacher and Major Serena Rose Sanderson.”

  Simpson did not flinch. “I’ve never met either officer. I’m not sure how much help I can be to you.”

  Otto replied frankly, as was her habit. “Phone records show that Reacher called your office several times and spoke with you directly. Were those conversations off the record?”

  “Off the record? Calls that come into a government-owned and operated facility?” His tone remained friendly. “You’re sitting here asking me about the substance of the calls. How far off the record could they have possibly been?”

  Not exactly an answer.

  “We know you don’t have much time,” she nodded firmly. “Let’s not play cat and mouse here. Records show Major Reacher called your office about Major Sanderson several times. The first time from a pay phone in rural Wisconsin.”

  “You know he called. But you don’t have access to the contents of our conversations, is that it?” Simpson asked.

  Otto ignored the question because the answer was obvious. If they had recorded calls, they wouldn’t need to ask Simpson about the contents. “What did Reacher want to know? And what did you tell him?”

  Simpson seemed to consider his options briefly. Perhaps he concluded he had no dog in the fight because he replied just as frankly. “Reacher said he’d found a West Point class ring. He knew the significance of the ring. He wanted to return it. He asked me for help with that. Mostly, he wanted background to locate the owner to return the ring.”

  Otto pursed her lips and nodded. The tale seemed unlike Reacher. But it also seemed to fit with Noble’s story about meeting Reacher out west. She wasn’t sure what to think.

  “Supplying personal details about current or former military personnel is strictly prohibited about a dozen different ways, sir,” Gaspar said. “The only possible chance it could happen would be a personal favor. Did you owe Reacher a personal favor, General?”

  Simpson cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as if he could peer straight into Gaspar’s heart and judge his intentions. “You served with us, didn’t you Gaspar? Military police, right? Same as Reacher.”

  Gaspar nodded. His Army background was no secret. It was one of the things that made him valuable to Otto and got him assigned to the Reacher case.

  She considered Gaspar her secret weapon precisely because his background was so similar to Reacher’s. He thought like Reacher, which she did not. Of course, Simpson had pulled Gaspar’s file. She’d have done the same.

  “I won’t take offense, Gaspar. As a favor to you,” Simpson said. “You know how we operate and you know I didn’t owe Reacher anything. But, one West Point grad to another, sure, I felt some loyalty to the man. Sanderson, too. The same with you.”

  Gaspar nodded. “Same here, General.”

  Otto nodded. She understood. Exactly the kind of oak-paneled bullshit military brass everywhere had engaged in since the beginning of time.

  She folded her hands in her lap. “We’re not trying to bust anybody’s chops here. As we said when we called, our assignment is to complete a background check on Reacher for the Special Personnel Task Force. You are one of the most reliable witnesses to have talked to him in a while. We’re interested in your impressions and evaluations.”

  “About what?”

  “Reacher’s fitness for duty,” Otto said. “The assignment he’s being considered for is classified above our clearance levels, so we can’t tell you any more about that. But we’re looking for his overall mental, emotional, physical, and financial readiness. Anything you can offer could make a difference when the big brass makes their decisions.”

  “Hard to hit the target in the dark, Otto,” Simpson said wryly. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over a flat midsection. He probably had six-pack abs inside that shirt. The guy had it all. He was just about the best physical specimen for his age group that she’d ever seen.

  “Don’t I know it. Unfortunately, that’s the job.” She nodded. “Let’s take it one thing at a time, then. Did Reacher need money?”

  “He didn’t ask for money.”

  “Was he sick, infirm, disabled?”

  “If he was, he didn’t say so. Remember, I didn’t meet him in person.”

  “How was his mental status?”

  “Mental status evaluation requires a visual inspection. I wasn’t able to observe him at all. I can’t say how he was dressed or groomed or anything like that. We talked on the phone. That’s it.”

  Otto nodded. “Voice communications are better than visuals for assessing emotions, as you know. What was his emotional state?”

  “Exactly what we’d all expect. He was professional and appropriately detached, as an army major should be,” Simpson replied, with professional detachment of his own.

  “How about his orientation to time and place?” Otto asked.

  “He was as well oriented as you are. His attention span was good. When he didn’t get what he wanted the first time, he called several times to follow up. His long-term and short-term memory were solid.”

  “You’d say he demonstrated good judgment, I suppose,” Otto said.

  “He demonstrated the ability to solve problems and make acceptable decisions given the facts on the ground, yes,” Simpson replied.

  Gaspar asked, “How did Reacher demonstrate problem-solving to you?”

  “He answered my questions about his service and the reason for his interest in Major Sanderson to my satisfaction,” Simpson said. “I asked him why he moves around so much, doesn’t have a proper home.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he gets uneasy. Can’t stay in one place. He said he fought for freedom and his behavior is what freedom looks like.” Simpson offered a steady gaze as if Otto should understand his point.

  She spied his wedding ring glinting in the sunlight streaming through the window.

  She nodded. “Reacher’s nomadic behavior didn’t seem normal to you, did it?”

  “Not at all. Humans are nesters by nature. We like home and hearth and family and a beer after work and sports on weekends. All of that,” Simpson replied.

  “But?” Gaspar prodded.

  “But he wasn’t asking my opinion. He gave me reasonable, rational answers to my questions. Plainly. And in a straightforward way, as I expected.” Simpson took a breath. “He didn’t seem like an off-his-rocker wacko. Which is what you’re really asking me, isn’t it?”

  “What did you give him in return, General?” Otto asked the tricky question and put him in a tough spot.

  If Simpson told Reacher anything at all, he’d violated the rules, and he knew it, and she knew he knew it.

  If he lied about Reacher now, in response to direct questions from the FBI, he was guilty of conduct unbecoming. Not to mention at least one federal crime, and probably a few more, if she took the time to list the possible charges.

  Simpson had to know all of that. And he didn’t seem the least perturbed by her impertinent question. “Have you read Sanderson’s file?”

  “We have,” Gaspar said.

  “You know she led her soldiers well. She was a credit to West Point and to the Army. She was wounded on active duty, for which she was awarded a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. She is a war hero. No two ways about it. We owe her. Simple as that.” Simpson paused and
looked pointedly at Gaspar. “You know how it is.”

  Gaspar replied, “I do.”

  “Reacher had found her West Point class ring and wanted to return it. You know what those rings mean to our graduates, too.” Simpson quietly knocked his gold class ring against the table. He nodded toward Gaspar’s right hand, where a matching weighty gold West Point class ring with an onyx stone rested on his third finger.

  “Yes, sir.” Gaspar nodded in return. “The ring was hard won, General. Worn with pride. I’m not likely to lose it. You ever lost yours?”

  Simpson frowned and shook his head. “Which was Reacher’s point. He didn’t believe Sanderson lost the ring. He thought she might be in trouble. He thought he might be able to help.”

  “What did Reacher say to persuade you, when you knew sharing personal information about Sanderson was inappropriate as well as illegal?” Otto pushed him. Maybe harder than she should have.

  “He’d found the ring in a Wisconsin pawn shop, which wasn’t a likely scenario. He figured Sanderson would want it back and he wanted to return it. Pretty simple, honorable behavior, don’t you think?” Simpson arched his eyebrows. “If he’d needed money, he wouldn’t have bought the ring from the pawn shop. But he did. He also went to a lot of trouble to find the ring’s owner. Sounds like the guy is fit for duty to me.”

  Otto looked him squarely in the eyes. “But would you choose him for a highly classified assignment on your team, General? Today? Knowing what you know about him now?”

  He said nothing. Which was all she needed.

  A hard rap on the office door was followed by a uniformed soldier. “Sir, you’re wanted in the conference room.”

  “Thank you, Hayes.” The young man turned and left. Simpson stood. “Can’t keep the chairman of the joint chiefs waiting, I’m afraid.”

  “You haven’t heard from Reacher again, I assume,” Otto said, as they walked toward the door. “Haven’t made any attempts to reach him?”

  He stopped, and his voice became quiet. “Not directly, no. But I heard from Sanderson a few weeks later. Her ring had been returned, and she was grateful. She was getting the medical care she needed.”