Licensed to Thrill: Volume 1

by Diane Capri

  Gaspar asked, “How do you know every file has been scrubbed clean of every Jack Reacher reference?”

  Duffy slid the big hood back revealing short blonde hair, small ears close to her head, and huge emerald earrings. She put a bit of friendly into her voice. “Keep looking if you have nothing better to do. Your file on Jack Reacher will remain thin. Your mission will fail. You’ll never put Reacher in any kind of box. And you’ll piss people off. But hey, if you want to throw your careers in the toilet, you’ll get no problem from me.”

  Kim watched one of the last pair of partiers walking toward the curb while she allowed this information to soak in. Both the man and the woman were older, a bit unsteady on their feet. Tipsy maybe.

  She didn’t know how she felt about Duffy’s attitude. Challenged? Should she try to prove Duffy wrong? Or relieved? Because she could now focus elsewhere?

  She asked, “Do you know where Reacher is?”

  After a moment, Duffy shook her head, “You won’t find him if he doesn’t want to be found.”

  Gaspar’s impatience flared. “We’ll find him. We found Osama Bin Laden and he was a hell of a lot more powerful than Jack Reacher.”

  Duffy smiled again, “Yeah, we found Bin Laden. After ten years of looking. Yeah, we got him. After Seal Team Six made it happen.” She paused for the briefest of moments. “But we didn’t take him alive. If you’ve got ten years and a Seal team, maybe you can manage to kill Reacher, but you won’t take him alive unless he wants you to.” She shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  Kim took a deep breath. “So what do you suggest?”

  “You could give up.”

  Gaspar chuckled. “You don’t know Otto.”

  The energy in the air seemed to shift, as if Duffy had done what she’d come to do. She nodded slightly before lifting the hood to cover her shimmering blonde hair and returning her hands to her pockets. Her slight form almost merged with the darkness and became a single shadow.

  “Suit yourself,” her disembodied voice seemed to echo too loudly. She softened her tone. “But know this: you risk everything if you keep looking. Everything. And Reacher risks nothing while he waits. That doesn’t sound like a winning equation to me. Does it to you?”

  9.

  BEFORE KIM COULD ANSWER she heard a loud thump behind her. She turned to see the three hoodies emerge from the pyramids moving swiftly. They approached the older couple leaving the gala.

  The hoodies’ moves seemed choreographed, as if they’d practiced or maybe done this many times before. One shoved into the distinguished tuxedoed man knocking him off balance; he shouted “Hey!” before he regained his unsteady footing.

  At the same time, the second hoodie stopped, raised his arm, and pointed a Glock squarely at the older woman’s chest. The woman looked green, as if she might vomit, and began to shake.

  The third hoodie shoved the tuxedoed man backward and shouted, “You got something to say?”

  The man tripped and fell on his left side. A loud crack followed by the man’s animal-like screaming confirmed broken bones, at least.

  Otto pulled her weapon and aimed it at the first hoodie’s center mass, and shouted, “FBI!”

  Simultaneously, Gaspar pivoted on his good left leg, rushed the gunman, and knocked him to the ground, sending his Glock skimming the sidewalk into the shadows toward Duffy. The gunman’s temple slammed onto the concrete and bounced twice, leaving him splayed and motionless, his neck bent at an unnatural angle.

  The older woman’s horrified face lasted three seconds before she staggered, fainted, and fell face down onto the sidewalk, breaking her nose. Blood pooled and seeped into view from the center of her face.

  The second hoodie froze in place, arms up, hands palm out in recognizable surrender. Security reinforcements approached running, guns drawn.

  For the next moments, Otto held the two muggers at gunpoint while Gaspar attended to the woman.

  Kim glanced briefly toward Duffy. For the first time, she saw a man standing alone in the sculpture’s shadow. He looked familiar, but it was too dark to be sure. He was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket and work boots. Both hands were stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He wore no hat. Duffy, completely engulfed in the long, black cape, passed close to him. He dipped his head to catch words that Kim was too far away to hear, or to be heard if she’d shouted to them.

  Duffy never stopped walking. She disappeared into the darkness of the sculpture garden. The big man looked straight toward Kim long enough to cause a fission of recognition to run up her spine before he, too, disappeared.

  10.

  SECURITY GUARDS ARRIVED ON THE SCENE, called for backup, secured all three hoodies, and assumed control. Minutes later, flashing lights from first responder vehicles lined up along 4th Street like a holiday parade.

  Once the muggers were in custody, the tuxedoed man and older woman placed in an ambulance bound for the nearest hospital, Gaspar slipped into the shadows searching for Susan Duffy. But he found only damp November air, as Kim had known he would.

  Gaspar returned, dipped his head to ask quietly, making the effort to return them to normalcy. “Now what, Boss Dragon Lady?”

  “Like Duffy suggested, Zorro, we’ll start where Reacher left off.”

  Still staring at the empty space where Duffy had been, Gaspar asked, “Which would be where, Susie Wong?”

  Agent Otto turned toward Pennsylvania Avenue, smiled and replied, “We’re building a file, Chico, not reading one. Think about it. Only one choice. U.S. Army buddies before March 1997.”

  THE END

  For Evelyn

  1.

  OTTO’S MOOD MATCHED THE bleak November landscape. They’d traveled the county road for eighteen miles under smothering gray skies, which allowed plenty of time for brooding. Thin snow covered the empty fields like a dirty blanket. Perhaps a riot of color had dressed the hardwoods before Halloween, but now only a few dead leaves dangled from dried stems beneath spindly branches. Even the vehicle in which they traveled was dull inside and out.

  She felt captured in a monochrome movie. Yet, she welcomed the dreary weather because while the low, dense cloud ceiling interfered with the Unmanned Aerial Vehicle surveillance drones, she enjoyed a thin slice of breathing room.

  Not the atmospheric gloom, then, but her quarry was responsible for her personal brain cloud. He was toying with her, which was okay. But he was winning the game, which wasn’t.

  “Tell me again why you think we’ll find Reacher in New Hope,” she said.

  FBI Special Agent Kim Louisa Otto didn’t mind matching wits with Jack (none) Reacher at the right time and place. Actually, she hoped this assignment grew in that direction.

  Meanwhile, a better profile of Reacher slowly developed in her mind the way an old fashioned photographic image revealed itself when blank paper was submerged in the proper fluids. She was better at strategic games than he was; Reacher’s military file confirmed. But preparation was key. She needed to gather sufficient data to devise and implement a decent strategic plan before their joust. In short, she needed more time.

  Meaning today was most definitely not the right day. Nor was New Hope, Virginia, the right place. Which was why, despite the perfect weather for a confrontation that might escape sophisticated surveillance, she wasn’t all that happy right at the moment. She didn’t expect to get any happier as the day wore on, either. She expected the opposite.

  Behind the wheel of the full-sized sedan he’d selected at the rental counter in DC, Gaspar sprawled deliberately. His right leg was fully extended to reduce the pain that often hobbled him. Otto had stopped counting how many Tylenols he’d swallowed already, although she worried about his liver. One of many tacit agreements they’d fallen into during their brief but intense partnership. As if not asking meant not knowing, and not knowing meant not happening.

  He glanced toward her and frowned, but his tone was quiet, perhaps annoyed. “I didn’t say we’d find him, Sunshine. We’re build
ing a file, not conducting a manhunt. I said he was there yesterday. Big difference.”

  She could tell Gaspar wanted to find Reacher today, though. “Do I want to know how you acquired that intel?”

  In response, he flashed a quick stare before returning his attention to driving. Which probably meant he’d ignored their operating protocols. Again. Working a different case with different rules, he might have offered more or she might have asked. As it was, they’d agreed plausible deniability might save them if either was eventually forced to testify. Which they’d also agreed was more than likely where the whole Reacher mess was headed.

  “How much farther?” she asked instead.

  He glanced at the odometer. “Maybe fifteen more miles. Give or take.”

  The rental was equipped with GPS and they had their own equipment, too. She could find the precise distance easily enough. But GPS acted like a tracking beacon for UAVs that crosshatched the country and she’d had enough of being watched. Instead, they did most things the old-fashioned way, making every effort to remain skinny straws in the very large haystack of surveillance data. The boss and too many others had unlimited access to their movements.

  Maybe Reacher did everything the old-fashioned way, too. Maybe that was how he stayed far off the grid. It seemed if anyone saw Reacher it was not because they found him but because Reacher found them. Otto had begun to envy Reacher’s expertise in privacy protection. He was exceedingly adept at secrets, too. Otto’s experience said a guy that good at secrets had way too much to hide.

  This county road would take them directly into town and no amount of reviewing their route would make the drive less desolate.

  Kim murmured her thoughts aloud. “Why would Reacher come to New Hope, anyway? We’ve seen nothing but empty fields and this is the main road from the interstate into town. Not even a barn for the past fifteen miles. No diner with a good cup of hot coffee anywhere to be found. What the hell would he be doing here?”

  Gaspar shrugged. “The guy’s a psycho. Nothing he’s done makes any sense so far. Why should today be different?”

  Kim wagged her head slowly, as if clearing the cobwebs in an enclosed space to make room for better answers, but none appeared. “What’s your plan if we find him?”

  Gaspar grinned, stretched, flexed his shoulders and his neck. “You worry too much. There’s no designated worrier achievement medal, you know.”

  She’d have punched his shoulder, but her arms were too short to box across the Crown Vic’s wide bench while snugged into her safety restraint. “Just because I’m the one worrying about it doesn’t mean the question isn’t worrisome, Chico.”

  He seemed briefly startled by the vibration of his personal cell phone. Gaspar patted his pockets, arched one eyebrow to accentuate his words, and asked in a playful tone, “You really think we’re gonna need a plan today, Susie Wong?”

  Kim’s concern jerked several notches higher when he retrieved the phone, glanced at the caller ID, tapped the answer button, and simply said, “Hello.”

  Gaspar’s wife was very pregnant and dealing with four kids already. Although Gaspar kept the phone close at all times, Maria had never called before. Cops’ wives rarely did because receiving the wrong call at the wrong time could cause disastrous consequences. No cop’s wife ever rang up out of the blue with good news; no cop receiving the call ever displayed his fear when the call came.

  Kim turned aside to allow what privacy she could within the vehicle’s cabin. His side of phone conversations were mostly monosyllabic anyway. Kim easily tuned him out while she considered his point.

  Even if Reacher had been in New Hope yesterday, experience told her to expect another dead end today. Perhaps she had missed something relevant. But what? She ran known facts through her head quickly.

  Ten days ago, Otto and Gaspar were tasked with a routine assignment: build a file on a former military cop, applying standard background investigation techniques. The file would be used to vet him for an undisclosed classified project. Otto and Gaspar worked similar investigations as members of the FBI’s Special Personnel Task Force.

  The job had seemed feasibly straightforward at first. Some snafu somewhere needed ironing out.

  Reacher’s life was etched in bedrock government records like any other American from birth to age thirty-six, when he was honorably discharged from the Army. Up to that moment fifteen years ago, everything contained in Reacher’s file was as expected. Records for birth, school, health, military, passport, driver’s license, insurance, banking, and every other standard bit and byte of data existed precisely where it should have been.

  The problem was that records simply stopped for Reacher at age thirty-six.

  Otto and Gaspar were told to close the gap in his paper trail and bring Reacher up to date with the rest of the world. Something as simple as Reacher’s death certificate would have settled the matter. Maybe it would have taken a couple of days.

  Instead, everything got incredibly complicated very quickly.

  Nothing about his file was normal now. Reacher’s missing data traveled far beyond odd into unthinkable realms. Even when Americans were reported abducted by aliens, some secret government file somewhere existed to debunk the claim. But nothing for Reacher? Kim felt her head shaking, almost of its own volition. There was only one way such a thing could have happened in the real world whether Kim believed it or not; resistance was futile.

  In addition, every normal resource had been declared off-limits from the outset. They were denied access to FBI resources, including personnel, computers, equipment, and databases. They had been specifically ordered not to attempt any normal channels because doing so would alert the wrong watchers. The boss delivered some line of bull to justify the straitjacket but his reasons didn’t matter. Orders were orders. Rules were rules. The job was what it was.

  Until someone tried to blow Gaspar into subatomic particles. After that, they ignored the boss’s rules and began creating their own.

  Which was when they tried digging through back channels. Otto and Gaspar unearthed every file that might have held something, anything, connected to Reacher. Each time they came up empty—and pissed off somebody high up the food chain—they believed they were making progress. A confrontational warning delivered by Houston DEA Susan Duffy cemented their conclusions.

  Whatever items remained so highly classified in Reacher’s background were merely intriguing. Otto and Gaspar were comfortable with the concept of security clearances and lacking the requisite “need to know.” That wasn’t the problem. The total absence of those records was what worried Kim the most. Only a few highly-placed public servants had the ability to make so many routine reports disappear. And no matter how cavalierly he denied it, the gaping hole where the records should be worried Gaspar, too.

  They now knew two things irrefutably and resisting the obvious was not only futile but foolhardy. First, someone inside government at the very highest levels had removed every piece of documentary evidence that should have or could have existed on Reacher for the past fifteen years. Second, Otto and Gaspar were being used to further someone’s hidden agenda.

  No amount of revisiting or rearranging known facts invalidated these conclusions. Whatever she’d missed in her earlier analysis remained buried.

  She returned her attention to the situation inside the grey sedan. A few moments later, Gaspar signed off his phone conversation.

  Kim asked, “Everything okay at home?”

  He shook his head and punched a speed-dial number on his personal cell. Holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, he ran splayed fingers through his hair and expelled a long, audible breath. “Let’s not go into now, okay? We need to focus on what’s ahead.”

  Kim heard the robotic signals on the other end of Gaspar’s phone line. Four rings later, a man’s voice answered.

  Gaspar grabbed the phone and held it close to his ear, allowing Kim to hear only one side of the conversation again. “Alexandre? . . . Yeah
, still on the road. . . . Look, I need you to do me a favor. . . . Check on Maria this afternoon. Maybe get Denise to stay with her a few hours and help sort things out for me. . . . Yeah, she’ll tell you about it. . . . Right. Turned himself in. . . . Yeah, it’s not great. . . . Thanks, man. I owe you. . . . Call me when you know more, okay? Thanks.”

  Gaspar ended the call and squeezed his eyes shut a few moments. For the first time since she’d met him, Gaspar looked old and tired and in pain. He raked his hair again, swiped his face with his open palm, and readjusted himself on the seat. He sucked in a deep breath followed by a long, audible exhale. Another. A third. When his breathing settled, he said nothing while he navigated the Crown Vic through the too-early winter gloom.

  After a while, Kim asked, “Do you need to head back to Miami?”

  He cleared his throat. Voice barely audible, he said, “Let’s do what we came for while my friends get Maria settled. Then we’ll see where things are.”

  “Why not go now? I mean, what’s your confidence level we’ll find anything when we get there anyway?”

  Gaspar sighed, stretched, tried to get more comfortable in the seat and with his family situation, whatever it was. Kim’s gut said his efforts there were futile, too.

  Wearily, he lifted the edge of his mouth in a near grin before he replied, “Just following the first rule of detecting, Suzy Wong.”

  She liked his weak humor. Maybe that meant everything was going to be okay back at home. She hoped. “Get a better sidekick?”

  He cocked his eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t want to know why we’re headed to New Hope.”

  “I don’t.” Trouble was, she already knew.

  Early on, they figured the easiest solution to Reacher’s missing records was his undocumented death. Reacher was a dangerous man who seemed to attract trouble of the fatal kind wherever he surfaced. The most likely scenario was that someone, somewhere had been bigger, faster, and more lethal than he was.