I chose white underwear and khaki socks and then stopped in the toiletries section and found a kind of half-sized travel toothbrush. I liked it. The business end was nested in a clear plastic case, and it pulled out and reversed and clipped back in, to make it full-length and ready to use. It was obviously designed for a pocket. It would be easy to carry and the bristle part would stay clean. A very neat idea.
I sent the clothing straight to the laundry, to age it a little. Nothing ages stuff like on-base laundries. Then I walked off post to a hamburger place for a late lunch. I found an old friend in there, an MP colleague, a guy called Stan Lowrey. We had worked together many times. He was sitting at a table in front of a tray holding the wreckage of a half-pounder and fries. I got my meal and slid in opposite him. He said, "I hear you're on your way to Mississippi."
I asked, "Where did you hear that?"
"My sergeant got it from a sergeant in Garber's office."
"When?"
"About two hours ago."
"Terrific," I said. "I didn't even know two hours ago. So much for secrecy."
"My sergeant says you're going as second fiddle."
"Your sergeant is right."
"My sergeant says the lead investigator is some kid." I nodded. "I'm babysitting."
"That sucks, Reacher. That blows big time."
"Only if the kid does it right."
"Which he might."
I took a bite of my burger, and a sip of my coffee. I said, "Actually I don't know if anyone could do it right. There are sensitivities involved. There may be no right way of doing it at all. It could be that Garber is protecting me and sacrificing the kid."
Lowrey said, "Dream on, my friend. You're an old horse and Garber is pinch hitting for you in the bottom of the ninth with the bases loaded. A new star is about to be born. You're history."
"You too, then," I said. "If I'm an old horse, you're already waiting at the glue factory gate."
"Exactly," Lowrey said. "That's what I'm worried about. I'm going to start looking at the want ads tonight."
Nothing much happened during the rest of the afternoon. My laundry came back, a little bleached and battered by the giant machines. It was steam-pressed, but a day's traveling would correct that. I left it on the floor, piled neatly on my shoes. Then my phone rang, and a switchboard operator patched me in to a call from the Pentagon, and I found myself talking to a colonel named John James Frazer. He said he was currently with Senate Liaison, but he preceded that embarrassing announcement with his whole prior combat bio, so I wouldn't write him off as a jerk. Then he said, "I need to know immediately if there's the slightest shred or scintilla of a hint or a rumor about anyone in Bravo Company. Immediately, OK? Night or day."
I said, "And I need to know how the local PD even knows Bravo Company is based at Kelham. I thought it's supposed to be a secret."
"They fly in and out on C-5 transports. Noisy airplanes."
"In the dead of night. So they could be supply runs, for all anyone knows. Beans and bullets."
"There was a weather problem a month ago. Storms over the Atlantic. They were late. They landed after dawn. They were observed. And it's a base town anyway. You know how it is. The locals pick up on the patterns. Faces they know, there one month, gone the next. People aren't dumb."
"There already are hints and rumors," I said. "The timing is suggestive. Like you said, people aren't dumb."
"The timing could be entirely coincidental."
"Could be," I said. "Let's hope it is."
Frazer said, "I need to know immediately if there's anything Captain Riley could have, or should have, or might have, or ought to have known. Anything at all, OK? No delay."
"Is that an order?"
"It's a request from a senior officer. Is there a difference?"
"Are you in my chain of command?"
"Consider that I am."
"OK," I said.
"Anything at all," he said again. "To me, immediately and personally. My ears only. Night or day."
"OK," I said again.
"There's a lot riding on this. Do you understand? The stakes are very high."
"OK," I said, for the third time.
Then Frazer said, "But I don't want you to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable."
I went to bed early, my hair matted, my unshaven face scratchy on the pillow, and the clock in my head woke me at five, two hours before dawn, on Friday, March 7th, 1997. The first day of the rest of my life.
6
I showered and dressed in the dark, socks, boxers, pants, my old T, my new shirt. I laced my shoes and put my toothbrush in my pocket with a pack of gum and a roll of bills. I left everything else behind. No ID, no wallet, no watch, no nothing. Method acting. I figured that was how I would do it, if I was doing it for real.
Then I headed out. I walked up the post's main drag and got to the guardhouse and Garber came out to meet me in the open. He had been waiting for me. Six o'clock in the morning. Not yet light. Garber was in BDUs, presumably fresh on less than an hour ago, but he looked like he had spent that hour rolling around in the dirt on a farm. We stood under the glow of a yellow vapor light. The air was very cold.
Garber said, "You don't have a bag?"
I said, "Why would I have a bag?"
"People carry bags."
"What for?"
"For their spare clothing."
"I don't own spare clothing. I had to buy these things especially."
"You chose that shirt?"
"What's wrong with it?"
"It's pink."
"Only in places."
"You're going to Mississippi. They'll think you're queer. They'll beat you to death."
"I doubt it," I said.
"What are you going to do when those clothes get dirty?"
"I don't know. Buy some more, I suppose."
"How are you planning to get to Kelham?"
"I figured I'd walk into town and get a Greyhound bus to Memphis. Then hitchhike the rest of the way. I imagine that's how people do these things."
"Have you eaten breakfast?"
"I'm sure I'll find a diner."
Garber paused a beat and asked, "Did John James Frazer get you on the phone yesterday? From Senate Liaison?"
I said, "Yes, he did."
"How did he sound?"
"Like we're in big trouble unless Janice May Chapman was killed by another civilian."
"Then let's hope she was."
"Is Frazer in my chain of command?"
"Probably safest to assume he is."
"What kind of a guy is he?"
"He's a guy under a whole lot of stress right now. Five years' work could go down the pan, just when it gets important."
"He told me not to do anything that makes me feel uncomfortable."
"Bullshit," Garber said. "You're not in the army to feel comfortable."
I said, "What some guy on leave does after he gets drunk in a bar is not a company commander's fault."
"Only in the real world," Garber said. "But this is politics we're talking about." Then he went quiet again, just for a moment, as if he had many more points to make and was trying to decide which one of them to start with. But in the end all he said was, "Well, have a safe trip, Reacher. Stay in touch, OK?"
* * *