"So is there any way through?" Johnson asked.
The Forest guy shrugged.
"Maybe," he said. "Maybe not. No way of knowing, except to try it. Could take a couple of months. If you do get through, keep a record and let us know, OK?"
Johnson stared at him.
"Let me get this straight," he said. "You're the damn Forest Service, and you want us to tell you where your own tracks are?"
The guy nodded.
"That's about the size of it," he said. "Like I told you, our records are lousy. The way we figured it, who the hell would ever care?"
The General's aide walked him back to the roadblock. There was silence in the command vehicle. McGrath and Brogan and Milosevic studied the map.
"We can't get through, they can't get through," McGrath said. "We've got them bottled up. We need to start exploiting that."
"How?" Webster said.
"Control them," McGrath said. "We already control their road. We can control their power and their telephone line, too. The lines more or less follow the road. Separate spurs up out of Kalispell. We should cut the phone line so it terminates right here, in this vehicle. Then they can't communicate with anybody except us. Then we tell them we control their power. Threaten to cut it off if they don't negotiate."
"You want a negotiation?" Johnson asked.
"I want a stalling tactic," McGrath said. "Until the White House loosens up."
Webster nodded.
"OK, do it," he said. "Call the phone company and get the line run in here."
"I already did," McGrath said. "They'll do it first thing in the morning."
Webster yawned. Checked his watch. Gestured to Milosevic and Brogan.
"We should get a sleeping rota going," he said. "You two turn in first. We'll sleep two shifts, call it four hours at a time."
Milosevic and Brogan nodded. Looked happy enough about it.
"See you later," McGrath said. "Sleep tight."
They left the trailer and closed the door quietly. Johnson was still fiddling with the map. Twisting it and turning it on the table.
"Can't they do the phone thing faster?" he asked. "Like tonight?"
Webster thought about it and nodded. He knew fifty percent of any battle is keeping the command structure harmonious.
"Call them again, Mack," he said. "Tell them we need it now."
McGrath called them again. He used the phone at his elbow. Had a short conversation which ended with a chuckle.
"They're sending the emergency linemen," he said. "Should be done in a couple of hours. But we'll get an invoice for it. I told them to send it to the Hoover Building. The guy asked me where that was."
He got up and waited in the doorway. Johnson and Webster stayed at the table. They huddled together over their map. They looked at the southern ravine. It had been formed a million years ago when the earth shattered under the weight of a billion tons of ice. They assumed it was accurately represented on paper.
Chapter Thirty-Six
REACHER WOKE UP exactly two minutes before ten o'clock. He did it in his normal way, which was to come round quickly, motionless, no change in his breathing. He felt his arm curled under his head and opened his eyes the smallest fraction possible. The other side of the punishment hut, Joseph Ray was still sitting against the door. The Glock was on the floor beside him. He was checking his watch.
Reacher counted off ninety seconds in his head. Ray was glancing between the roof of the hut and his watch. Then he looked across at Reacher. Reacher snapped upright in one fluid movement. Pressed his palm against his ear like he was listening to a secret communication. Ray's eyes were wide. Reacher nodded and stood up.
"OK," he said. "Open the door, Joe."
Ray took out the key from his pocket. Unlocked the door. It swung open.
"You want to take the Glock?" Ray asked.
He held the gun out, butt first. Anxiety in his eyes. Reacher smiled. He had expected nothing less. Ray was dumb, but not that dumb. He had been given two and a half hours to scope it out. This was a final test. If he took the gun, he was bullshitting. He was certain it was unloaded and the clip was in Ray's pocket.
"Don't need it," Reacher said. "We've got the whole place covered. I got weapons at my disposal more powerful than a nine-millimeter, believe me, Joe."
Ray nodded and straightened up.
"Don't forget the laser beams," Reacher said. "You step out of this hut, you're a dead man. Nothing I can do about that right now. Vous comprenez, mon ami?"
Ray nodded again. Reacher slipped out into the night. Ray swung the door closed. Reacher backtracked silently and waited around the corner of the hut. Knelt down and found a small rock. Hefted it in his hand and waited for Ray to follow him.
He didn't come. Reacher waited eight minutes. Long experience had taught him: if they don't come after six minutes, they aren't coming at all. People think in five-minute segments, because of the way clocks are laid out. They say: I'll wait five minutes. Then, because they're cautious, they add another minute. They think it's smart. Reacher waited the first five, then the extra one, then added two more for the sake of safety. But Ray didn't come. He wasn't going to.
Reacher avoided the clearing. He kept to the trees. He skirted the area in the forest. Ignored the beaten earth paths. He wasn't worried about the dogs. They weren't out. Fowler had talked about mountain lions roaming. Nobody leaves dogs out at night where there are mountain lions on the prowl. That's a sure way of having no dogs left in the morning.
He made a complete circuit of the Bastion, hidden in the trees. The lights were all out and the whole place was still and silent. He waited in the trees behind the mess hall. The kitchen was a square hut, awkwardly connected to the back of the main structure. There were no lights on, but the door was open, and the woman who had served him breakfast was waiting in the shadows. He watched her from the trees. He waited five minutes. Then six. No other movement anywhere. He tossed his small rock onto the path to her left. She jumped at the sound. He called softly. She came out of the shadows. Alone. She walked over to the trees. He took her elbow and pulled her back into the darkness.
"How did you get out of there?" she whispered to him.
It was impossible to tell how old she was. Maybe twenty-five, maybe forty-five. She was a handsome woman, lean, long straight hair, but careworn and worried. A flicker of spirit and resilience underneath. She would have been comfortable a hundred years ago, stumbling down the Oregon Trail.
"How did you get out?" she whispered again.
"I walked out the door," Reacher whispered back.
The woman just looked at him blankly.
"You've got to help us," she whispered.
Then she stopped and wrung her hands and twisted her head left and right, peering into the dark, terrified.
"Help how?" he asked. "Why?"
"They're all crazy," the woman said. "You've got to help us."
"How?" he asked again.
She just grimaced, arms held wide, like it was obvious, or like she didn't know where to start, or how.
"From the beginning," he said.
She nodded, twice, swallowing, collecting herself.
"People have disappeared," she said.
"What people?" he asked. "How did they disappear?"
"They just disappeared," she said. "It's Borken. He's taken over everything. It's a long story. Most of us were up here with other groups, just surviving on our own, with our families, you know? I was with the Northwestern Freemen. Then Borken started coming around, talking about unity? He fought and argued. The other leaders disagreed with his views. Then they just started disappearing. They just left. Borken said they couldn't stand the pace. They just disappeared. So he said we had to join with him. Said we had no choice. Some of us are more or less prisoners here."