A Wanted Man (Jack Reacher #17)(56)
Author: Lee Child

'I can't comment on how many operations we run.'

'Has this place ever been full?'

'No.'

'Has it ever been empty?'

'No.'

'In three years? That's quite a few operations.'

'It's a big job.'

Reacher said, 'So tell me the rules.'

Bale said, 'There are two of them.'

'Try me. I can count that high.'

'You'll be our guest here until the operation is concluded. That's non-negotiable. And you won't discuss what you've seen of the operation so far with the other guests. Or with anyone else. Not even any tiny little part of it. Not now and not ever. That's non-negotiable too.'

'That's it?'

'It's for your own good. They saw you too. Only one of those guys in the Impala was on the side of the angels.'

'King died.'

'But not before he used his phone a couple of times. From the gas stations, we think. The times of the calls coincide with the use of the credit card.'

'You were tapping his phone?'

'Having an undercover man brings many advantages.'

'What did he say about me?'

'They have your name and your description. Bear that in mind when you think bad thoughts about the fence maker.'

'Who are these guys?'

No answer.

'Is McQueen going to be OK?'

'Don't worry about him.'

'I can't help it.'

'We put seven months into this. He's not going to quit now.'

'I'm not worried about him quitting. I'm worried about someone else making that decision for him. He's got some explaining to do tonight.'

'We can't discuss it,' Bale said. 'Just remember the rules.'

And that was it. Bale sat back. Trapattoni sat back. The conversation was over. And right on cue the food came. Reacher figured the motherly type had been watching through a spy hole. Or listening on a headset.

Delfuenso and her daughter were long gone and the eyewitness was finishing up his seventh bottle of beer by the time Reacher left the dining room. He walked along the lit-up path towards his temporary quarters and he stopped in the chill air and looked up at the sky. There were no stars. No moon. Ideal conditions for a little clandestine activity, except there was no way out but the gate, and there was no way of opening it, and there were no telephones.

Then the eyewitness came stumbling out of the dining room and up the path. The knee-high fingerpost lights gave Reacher a pretty good view of the guy's legs working not quite right. He was more than buzzed, but not yet falling down. He was taking slow and elaborately precise steps, left, right, putting his feet down flat, striding shorter than normal, looking down and concentrating hard. Reacher backtracked until his shins were in a pool of light. Full disclosure. He didn't want to give the guy a heart attack.

The guy came on slowly, left foot, right foot, and then he saw Reacher's legs and stopped. No big shock. No great surprise.

The guy gave an amiable grin.

Reacher said, 'Were you this drunk when you saw the red car?'

The guy thought about it and said, 'Approximately.'

'Who talked to you about it?'

'Sheriff Goodman and the blonde lady from the FBI.'

'What didn't you tell them?'

'I told them everything.'

'No, you didn't,' Reacher said. 'No eyewitness ever does. You left things out. Things you weren't sure about, things that might have sounded stupid, things you were doing that you shouldn't have been doing.'

'I was looking for my truck.'

'Where was it?'

'I couldn't remember. That's why I was looking for it.'

'Did you tell them that part?'

'They didn't ask.'

'And you were going to drive home like that?'

'It's not far. I know the turns.'

'And?'

'I got caught short. I stopped to take a leak.'

'Where?'

'In back of the old pumping station. I didn't tell them that part, either.'

Reacher nodded. Things you were doing that you shouldn't have been doing. Public urination, and drunk driving. Illegal in every town in America. He said, 'So you didn't really see them. Not if you were behind the building.'

The guy said, 'No, I saw them real close. I was all done by then. I was all zipped up and coming out.'

'Did they see you?'

'I don't think so. It was pretty dark. There was a shadow.'

'How far away were you?'

'Ten feet, maybe.'

Reacher asked, 'What did you notice?'

'I told the sheriff,' the guy said. 'And the blonde lady.'

'You answered their questions. That's not the same thing.'

'I don't remember.'

'Concentrate.'

The guy closed his eyes. He swayed back and forth on his heels. He raised his hand and held it palm out, as if he was steadying himself against the old concrete building. He was using physical cues. He was thinking himself back into the moment.

He said, 'The first guy was hurrying. He wanted to get in there first. He was unzipping his coat.'

'Had they been in a group of three before that? Walking together?'

'I can't be sure. But I think so. It felt like that. Like suddenly the first guy had bolted ahead, and the other two guys were hustling to keep up.'

'Suits, right?'

'No coats at all.'

'Anything in their hands?'

'Nothing.'

'What did you do when all three of them were inside?'

'I headed back across the road.'

'Why?'

'I needed to find my truck. And I didn't want to stick around.'

'Why not?'

'Bad feeling.'

'From the guys in the suits?'

'More from the first guy. In the green coat. I didn't like him.'

Reacher asked, 'Did you hear anything?'

The guy said, 'A little shouting and yelling. Like they were fighting.'

'Where were you when the guys in the suits came out again?'

'On the other sidewalk.'

'Anything else?'

The guy said, 'I shouldn't be talking about this. They told me not to.' And then he stepped around Reacher, carefully and elaborately and precisely, and he carried on along the path. Reacher started after him, and then he stopped. Because he heard the soft whisper of a car on the road. A quarter-mile away, maybe. He turned and saw lights in the distance, vague diffuse beams bouncing and stabbing through the mist.

Then the gate began to open, not fast, not slow, and silent.

FIFTY-EIGHT

EVIDENTLY JULIA SORENSON had not gotten her phone back. Or her car. Or her reputation. She had not become a hero. Reacher saw a shiny black Crown Vic pull in off the two-lane and drive through the still-moving gate. Its headlight beams turned in a wide arc and it hissed over the concrete roadway and came to a stop on the circle near the main office door. A guy Reacher hadn't seen before got out of the front passenger seat and opened the rear passenger door. He didn't seem to say anything. He just pointed with his chin. Like Dawson had.

Julia Sorenson slid out of the back and stood up and stood still. She looked tired in the low light, and a little defeated. A little round-shouldered. The night breeze caught her coat and flapped it open. She was still wearing the new shirt. But her holster was empty. She had surrendered her weapon.

The guy from the front closed her door behind her and slid back in his seat. The car drove off and left her standing there alone. The gate started to open again. The car drove through it, and paused a beat, and turned right, and drove back the way it had come.

The gate closed again behind it. Reacher watched the car until its lights were gone and its whisper had died away to silence. Then he turned around and watched Sorenson.

She stood still for a moment more, and then she went inside. Reacher counted out time in his head, for the greeting from the motherly type at the reception desk, and the smile and the welcome, and the kings and the queens and the twins, and the armchairs, and the floor space, and the majority preferences. All that kind of stuff. We've been expecting you. Four minutes, he figured. Maybe less, if the conversation went faster, which he figured it might, because it would be one agent to another. Or maybe more than four minutes, if Sorenson was up on her high horse and asking all kinds of outraged and resentful questions.