The Reacher Experiment

by Jude Hardin

  “I don’t know. Like I said, he never talked much about his work.”

  “Did he know where your parents live?” Wahlman asked.

  “We were married for seven years,” Kasey said. “He was Natalie’s father. Of course he knew where—”

  Kasey sat straight up in bed. She reached over and grabbed her purse from the nightstand and pulled her cell phone out and frantically started punching in numbers.

  10

  The digital clock on the dashboard said 9:12 p.m. Mr. Tyler had slept a few hours, and then he’d checked out of the downtown Seattle hotel where he’d been staying. He’d rented a car, and he’d started back toward California.

  He knew that Wahlman had called the Barstow waitress named Kasey from the payphone at Jimmy’s Ringside. He knew this because he’d followed Wahlman toward the restroom, thinking he would ace him in there—two quick shots to the back of the head if he used a urinal, two quick shots to the heart if he used a stall. When Wahlman stopped at the payphone, Mr. Tyler edged past him and continued on into the men’s room. He stood just inside the door, where he could clearly hear Wahlman’s side of the conversation.

  I’m in trouble, Kasey.

  Trouble indeed. There would be no escape this time, Mr. Tyler thought. He would make sure of that.

  He doubted that Wahlman would actually go into Barstow, not after what had happened with the three guys outside the pharmacy on Main Street. But Wahlman obviously had a thing for Kasey, so maybe he would arrange for a meeting somewhere nearby. Kasey would eventually return to her workplace, and when she did, Mr. Tyler would persuade her to give up boyfriend’s location. Of course he would have to kill her then, but that’s just the way it went sometimes.

  Mr. Tyler’s cell phone trilled.

  It was Colonel Dorland.

  Odd for him to be calling this late, Mr. Tyler thought. Especially on a Friday. He hoped that Colonel Dorland wasn’t going to give him another round of verbal counseling, or whatever they called it in the army. There was only so much he could take, and the needle on the Bullshit Tolerance Meter had been jittering dangerously close to the red zone when he’d talked to the colonel earlier.

  “Yes?” Mr. Tyler said.

  “I wanted to apologize for what I said the last time we spoke,” Colonel Dorland said. “Or, more specifically, the way that I said it. I wanted to let you know that I’m one hundred percent confident that you’re going to wrap this thing up soon.”

  “Believe me, Colonel, nobody wants to wrap this thing up more than I do.”

  “And I also wanted to let you know that my unit is pulling out of California.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  “Stielson.”

  “Stielson?”

  “We have reason to believe that he was involved in a breach of security.”

  “He was a spy?”

  “He was a bonehead. The breach was probably unintentional. We’re still checking into it. Regardless, we can’t take any chances.”

  “How soon will you be leaving California?” Mr. Tyler asked.

  “As soon as possible,” Colonel Dorland said.

  “And where will you go?”

  “That’s still to be decided.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks for letting me know.”

  “There’s something else,” Colonel Dorland said.

  “I’m listening,” Mr. Tyler said.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to pay you the amount we agreed on earlier.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to be able to pay you more. An additional five million if the target is eliminated in the next seven days.”

  “Sort of like a bonus,” Mr. Tyler said, relieved that he wasn’t going to have to hunt the colonel down and take any sort of monetary shortage out of his verbal-counseling ass.

  “My superiors have elevated the urgency status on this particular part of our mission,” Colonel Dorland said. “It’s now considered Priority One. It has to be done, and it has to be done quickly.”

  “Understood,” Mr. Tyler said.

  “If there’s anything I can do to help you, just give me a call.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  Colonel Dorland disconnected.

  An extra five million. Mr. Tyler’s bruised ass didn’t feel quite as sore as it had a few minutes ago. It was nice to be appreciated. It was nice when the people you worked for recognized you for what you were: the best hit man on the planet.

  And that’s exactly what Mr. Tyler was.

  The best.

  Nobody else even came close.

  He set the cell phone down on the center console and turned the radio on and listened to a lovely orchestral arrangement of a song that was popular when he was a teenager. They just don’t write them like that anymore, he thought.

  11

  Kasey’s mother answered the phone.

  “Where’s Natalie?” Kasey asked.

  “She’s watching television. Do you want to talk to her?”

  “Listen to me, Mom. Are you listening?”

  “Yes.”

  “I want you and Dad to take Natalie to the lake house. I want you to go tonight.”

  “I don’t think she would have much fun there right now. I’m pretty sure the lake is frozen.”

  “This isn’t about fun,” Kasey said. “I think we might be in danger. All of us. Remember what I told you about the threatening phone call?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s worse than I thought. Henry might have been involved in all this, somehow.”

  “Your ex-husband Henry?”

  “Yes. And of course he knew where you and Dad live. It might be on his army record somewhere, and someone in the army might have made that phone call, and—”

  “You’re making me nervous, Kasey.”

  “It’s complicated, Mom. I really can’t go into it over the phone. You need to get Natalie out of that house as soon as possible. Is Dad there?”

  “He drove up to the store to get some things. It’s supposed to snow later tonight. Up to eight inches, they’re saying.”

  “Tell Dad to call me when he gets home. The new number I gave you, okay?”

  “I’ll tell him.”

  Kasey disconnected. She slid the phone back into her purse, climbed out of bed and started putting her clothes on.

  “Going somewhere?” Rock asked.

  “We need to go back to California. We need to find out exactly what’s going on, and we need to put a stop to it.”

  “We?”

  Kasey sat on the edge of the bed.

  “This is not just about you anymore,” she said. “I was threatened. My daughter was threatened. My ex-husband was murdered. Maybe you don’t care about any of that, but—”

  Rock sat up and scooted over and sat beside her. He was still naked. In the amber glow of the bedside lamp his arms and chest and torso looked like something that had been painted or sculpted. He put his arm around her and held her close to his side.

  “I care,” he said. “Very much.”

  “We need to go.”

  “We need to sleep. Neither one of us is in any shape to drive tonight.”

  Kasey took a deep breath.

  “I guess you’re right,” she said. “But first thing in the morning, we’re going straight back to California.”

  Her phone trilled. It was her dad. She told him everything she’d told her mother. He wanted details. He wanted to call the police. Kasey finally convinced him that there wasn’t really any concrete evidence to go to the police with yet, and she finally convinced him to get everyone out of the house, at least for the night. She said she would call him back in the morning to let him know if anything had changed.

  She plugged her phone into its charger and set it on the nightstand.

  “I heard you talking to your parents about a lake house,” Rock said. “Is that something your ex didn’t know about?”

  “Mom and Dad bought the place back in November. N
atalie’s their only grandchild, and they were planning to surprise her with it this summer. Swimming, skiing, barbecues, fishing, all that kind of stuff. I don’t think they told my ex about it. In fact, I’m sure they didn’t. As far as I know, they hadn’t had any contact with him since the divorce.”

  “It sounds like a good place for your daughter to be right now,” Rock said. “And a good place for you to be as well.”

  “No. I’m in the thick of this now. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I could definitely use the help, but—”

  “As of this morning, I’m unemployed,” Kasey said. “My house isn’t in foreclosure yet, but it will be. Natalie might have to go to summer school this year, but at least I know she’s going to be safe there at the lake house with my parents. In short, I’m free as a bird, and you’re stuck with me until we get this thing resolved.”

  “I can’t think of anyone I would rather be stuck with,” Rock said.

  He kissed her on the lips and they eased back onto the bed together and kissed some more and made love some more and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  12

  Wahlman woke up at 5:27. He climbed out of bed and took a shower and put some clothes on and walked outside. The air was cool and dry, and the smell of it reminded him of the freshly-laundered linens that always seemed to be pinned to the clotheslines at the orphanage where he grew up.

  He walked across the parking lot to the office. A fat man with thinning black hair was standing behind the desk thumbing through a magazine. There was a small television on a table behind the desk. It was tuned to a news channel. They were talking about four road construction men who were shot and killed near Seattle following an accident on the highway Thursday afternoon. Wahlman had been wondering if the man in the little gray sports car had survived the crash. Now he knew. A woman was also found shot to death nearby, and then her car was found later, parked miles away.

  “Can I help you?” the fat man said.

  “I was looking for the free continental breakfast,” Wahlman said.

  The fat man pointed to a table in the far right corner of the room. There was a toaster and a loaf of white bread and some little plastic tubs of margarine and a jar of grape jelly with a spoon sticking out of it. There were two coffeemakers on a separate table. One of them had a little sign taped to it that said DECAF.

  “We’re out of cups for the coffee,” the fat man said. “Marla’s supposed to be bringing some in. She’ll be here at seven.”

  Wahlman didn’t say anything. He turned around and exited the office and walked over to the burger place next door. He bought two large coffees and two sausage and egg biscuits and carried everything back to the room. Kasey was still asleep. Wahlman set the cardboard drink holder and the bag containing the biscuits on the little round table by the window, and then he sat on the bed and lightly stroked Kasey’s back with his fingers.

  “Something smells good,” she said.

  “You can sleep some more if you want to.”

  “What time is it?”

  “A little after six.”

  “We should get going.”

  “Checkout time isn’t until eleven,” Wahlman said.

  “But we should get going.”

  Kasey got up and took a quick shower, and then she sat at the table and drank some of the coffee and ate part of a biscuit and asked Wahlman if he wanted the rest of it.

  “No thanks,” he said. “I’m not very hungry.”

  “You need to eat something,” Kasey said.

  “There’s another biscuit in the bag. Maybe I’ll eat it later.”

  “You should eat it while it’s still warm.”

  “The guy who was chasing me ended up shooting some road construction workers,” Wahlman said.

  “He killed them?”

  “Yeah. And it looks like he hijacked a car and killed the woman who was driving it too.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So the guy with the leather trench coat is still out there somewhere,” Kasey said.

  “He is,” Wahlman said.

  “Still trying to find you.”

  “No doubt.”

  “And when he finds you, he will try to kill you.”

  “Yes.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “I’m going to let him find me,” Wahlman said. “And then I’m going to make him wish he hadn’t.”

  13

  Mr. Tyler walked into The Quick Street Inn at 10:07. It was crowded in there and it smelled like coffee and fried potatoes and maple syrup. Knives and forks were clinking against plates and people were talking and laughing. A guy in a white apron—the same guy Mr. Tyler had talked to several weeks ago—was standing at the flattop, rolling some link sausages around with a long fork. There were two waitresses working the dining area and one working behind the counter. None of them was Kasey.

  The waitress working behind the counter had short blonde hair with bright blue streaks dyed into the strands that framed her face. She was young and petite and perky and she had a nice smile. Mr. Tyler figured she made a lot of money in tips. He took his leather coat off, folded it in half and placed it on one of the chrome and vinyl stools bolted to the floor, and then he sat down on the stool next to the one he’d put his coat on. The guy to his left was wiping the egg yolk off his plate with a half a slice of buttered toast. When he finished doing that, he stuffed the bread into his mouth and noisily slurped some of the coffee from his cup. Mr. Tyler thought about finding another place to sit. He didn’t. The perky young waitress came and asked him if he wanted coffee. He did. She brought it and asked him what he would like for breakfast this morning. Her nametag said Sally.

  “Is there some sort of breakfast special today?” Mr. Tyler asked.

  “Sorry. Not on weekends. But I think you’ll see that our prices are really reasonable anyway.”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “Do you like biscuits and gravy?”

  “Yes. That sounds good. With two eggs. Scrambled.”

  “Coming right up,” Sally said.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you know a young lady named Kasey who works here?”

  Sally thought about it for a few seconds.

  “Kasey Stielson?” she said.

  Stielson. Her last name was Stielson?

  Mr. Tyler felt as though he’d just won the lottery.

  “Yes, that’s her,” he said.

  “She doesn’t work here anymore,” Sally said. “She a friend of yours or something?”

  “Just an acquaintance,” Mr. Tyler said. “Hey, could you add some hash browns to my order?”

  “Not a problem.”

  “And could you make that order to go?”

  “Of course.”

  Ten minutes later, Sally brought a brown paper bag containing the food Mr. Tyler had order. He paid her and gave her a nice tip and walked out of the diner and called Colonel Dorland from his car. Dorland was in transit to his new headquarters, and it took him almost an hour to get back to Mr. Tyler with Kasey Stielson’s home address.

  Yes, there was a connection to Major Henry Stielson.

  She was his ex-wife.

  And they had a child together.

  Colonel Dorland had been a wealth of useful information, and Mr. Tyler was confident that he would be able to put this matter in the scrapbook—and the remaining payment from it into the bank— within the next day or two.

  The gravy from The Quick Street Inn had been a little too salty for Mr. Tyler’s taste, but otherwise this was shaping up to be one of the most delightful mornings he had ever experienced. He started his car and pulled away from the curb. He momentarily considered stopping and getting a haircut, but he didn’t. He drove on past the barber shop and took a left at the light.

  14

  Mr. Tyler parked across the street from Kasey Stielson’s house. There was a car parked
in the driveway. Mr. Tyler ran a search on the tag number and saw that the car was registered to Kasey. Which meant that she was probably home.

  This day just kept getting better and better.

  Mr. Tyler climbed out of his car and walked up to the porch and rang the bell. When the door swung open, Mr. Tyler pointed his sound-suppressed semi-automatic pistol at Kasey’s face and told her not to scream.

  Her eyes got wide and her fingers started trembling and her lips tightened and arched into an extreme frown.

  “What do you want?” she said, her voice quivering and tears welling in her eyes.

  “I want you to stop talking and back away from the door,” Mr. Tyler said.

  Kasey stopped talking and backed away from the door. Mr. Tyler entered the house. He kept the pistol pointed at Kasey’s face. One squeeze of the trigger and her brains would be splattered all over the wall behind her.

  “I don’t have any money,” she said.

  “Is anyone else in the house?”

  “No.”

  “Where’s your daughter?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “Will she be coming back in the next thirty minutes or so?”

  “No.”

  “Sit down on the couch,” Mr. Tyler said.

  Kasey sat down on the couch. Mr. Tyler remained standing. He lowered the gun to his side.

  “Please don’t kill me,” Kasey said.

  “That’s not my intention. I just need some information from—”

  Before Mr. Tyler could say you, something that could have been a fist or a lead pipe came down hard on the back of his neck. The world went black and his body went numb and when he opened his eyes there was a very large boot on his chest with a very large man attached to it.

  The very large man was Rock Wahlman.

  He was aiming Mr. Tyler’s sound-suppressed semi-automatic pistol directly between Mr. Tyler’s eyes.

  “Who are you working for?” Wahlman said.

  Mr. Tyler looked over at the couch. Kasey was still sitting there. She had a gun too. A revolver. Her fingers weren’t trembling anymore. No tears. It had all been an act. Mr. Tyler felt stupid for allowing himself to fall into their little trap. He’d been too eager, too excited by the information he’d received from Dorland. He should have handled the whole thing differently. He should have been more patient.