Sokolov moved.
Reacher staggered under Vladimir's weight. Turned clumsily on one leg. Kicked out and caught the hilt of the knife with his heel. Sokolov stopped moving. Vladimir stopped moving. Reacher kept the pressure full on for another whole minute. Then he eased off slowly and bent down and laid the body gently on the floor. Squatted down. Breathed hard. Checked for a pulse.
No pulse.
He stood up and pulled Cash's knife out of Sokolov's neck and used it to cut Vladimir's throat, ear to ear. For Sandy, he thought. Then he turned back and cut Sokolov's throat, too. Just in case. Blood soaked the tabletop and dripped to the floor. It didn't spurt. It just leaked. Sokolov's heart had already stopped pumping. He squatted down again and cleaned the blade on Vladimir's shirt, one side, then the other. He pulled the phone out of his pocket. Heard Cash say: "Helen?"
He whispered: "What's up?"
Cash answered, "We took an incoming round. I can't raise Helen."
"Yanni, move left," Reacher said. "Find her. Franklin, you there?"
Franklin said, "Here."
"Stand by to call the medics," Reacher said.
Cash asked, "Where are you?"
"In the house," Reacher said.
"Opposition?"
"Unsuccessful," Reacher said. "Where did the shot come from?"
"Third-floor window, north. Which makes sense, tactically. They've got the sniper up there. They can direct him based on what they see from the cameras."
"Not anymore," Reacher said. He dropped the phone back in his pocket. Picked up the gun. Checked the cylinder. It was fully loaded. Five Smith amp; Wesson.38 Specials. He moved out to the hallway with the knife in his right hand and the gun in his left. Went looking for the basement door.
Cash heard Yanni talking to herself as she moved away to his left. Low voice, but clear, like a running commentary. She was saying: "I'm moving east now, keeping low, staying tight against the fence in the darkness. I'm looking for Helen Rodin. We know they fired at her. Now she's not answering her phone. We're hoping she's OK, but we're worried that she isn't."
Cash listened until he couldn't hear her anymore. He shook his head in bemusement. Then he ducked his eye to the scope and watched the house.
Rosemary Barr wasn't in the basement. It took Reacher less than a minute to be completely certain of that. It was a wide-open space, musty, dimly lit, uninterrupted and totally empty except for the foundations of three brick chimneys.
Reacher paused at the circuit breaker box. He was tempted to throw the switch. But Chenko had a night sight, and he didn't. So he just crept back up the stairs.
Yanni found Helen Rodin's shoes literally by stumbling over them. They were placed neatly side by side at the base of the fence. High heels, black patent, gleaming slightly in the ragged moonlight. Yanni kicked them accidentally and heard the sound of empty footwear. She bent and picked them up. Hung them on the fence by their heels.
"Helen?" she whispered. "Helen? Where are you?"
Then she heard a voice: "Here."
"Where?"
"Here. Keep going."
Yanni walked on. Found a black shape rolled tight against the base of the fence.
"I dropped my phone," Helen said. "Can't find it."
"Are you OK?"
"He missed me. I was leaping around like a madwoman. But the bullet came real close. It scared me. I just dropped my phone and ran."
Helen sat up. Yanni squatted next to her.
"Look," Helen said. She was holding something in the palm of her hand. Something bright. A coin. A quarter, new and shiny.
"What is it?" Yanni said.
"A quarter," Helen said.
"So what?"
"Reacher gave it to me."
Helen was smiling. Yanni could see the white of her teeth in the moonlight.
Reacher crept down the first-floor hallway. Opened doors and searched rooms to the left and right as he went. They were all empty. All unused. He paused at the bottom of the stairs. Backed away into an empty twelve-by-twenty space that might once have been a parlor. Crouched and laid the knife on the floor and pulled out his phone.
"Gunny?" he whispered.
Cash answered: "You back with us?"
"Phone was in my pocket."
"Yanni found Helen. She's OK."
"Good. The basement and the first floor are clear. I think you were right after all. Rosemary must be in the attic."
"You going upstairs now?"
"I guess I'll have to."
"Body count?"
"Two down so far."
"Lots more upstairs, then."
"I'll be careful."
"Roger that."
Reacher put the phone back in his pocket and retrieved the knife from the floor. Stood up and crept out to the hallway. The staircase was in the back of the house. It was wide, doglegged, and shallow-pitched. Quite grand. There was a wide landing halfway up where the dogleg reversed direction. He went up the first half-flight backward. It made more sense that way. He wanted to know right away if there was someone in the second-floor hallway looking down over the banister. He kept close to the wall. If stairs creaked at all, they creaked most in the middle of a tread. He went slowly, feeling with his heels, putting them down gently and deliberately. And quietly. Boat shoes. Good for something. After five up-and-back steps, his head was about level with the second-story floor. He raised the gun. Took another step. Now he could see the whole of the hallway. It was empty. It was a quiet carpeted space lit by a single low-wattage bulb. Nothing to see, except six closed doors, three on a side. He breathed out and made it to the half-landing. Shuffled left and crept up the second part of the dogleg going forward. Stepped off the staircase. Into the hallway.
Now what?
Six closed doors. Who was where? He moved slowly toward the front of the house. Listened at the first door. Heard nothing. He moved on. Heard nothing at the second door. Moved on again but before he reached the third door he heard sounds from the floor above. Sounds that were coming down through the floor. Sounds that he didn't understand. Sliding, scraping, crunching noises, repeated rhythmically, with a single light footfall at the end of every sequence. Slide, scrape, crunch, tap. Slide, scrape, crunch, tap. He stared up at the ceiling. Then the third door opened and Grigor Linsky stepped out into the hallway right in front of him. And froze.
He was wearing his familiar double-breasted suit. Gray color, boxy shoulders, cuffed pants. Reacher stabbed him in the throat. Instantly, right-handed, instinctively. He buried the blade and jerked it left. Sever the windpipe. Keep him quiet. He stepped aside to avoid the fountain of blood. Caught him under the arms from behind and dragged him back into the room he had come out of. It was a kitchen. Linsky had been making tea. Reacher turned out the light under the kettle. Put the gun and the knife on the counter. Bent down and clamped Linsky's head between his hands and twisted it left and jerked it right. Broke his neck. The snap was loud enough to worry about. It was a very quiet house. Reacher retrieved the gun and the knife and listened at the door. Heard nothing except: Slide, scrape, crunch, tap. Slide, scrape, crunch, tap. He stepped back into the hallway. Then he knew.
Glass.
Cash had returned fire through Chenko's favored northern vantage point and like all good snipers had sought maximum damage from his one shot. And in turn, like all good snipers, Chenko was keeping his physical environment operational. He was cleaning up the broken glass. He had a twenty-five percent chance of being directed back to that particular window and he wanted his passage through the room clear.