“That's all you need to find out where she is, and you know it!” Sol matched John's advance, and Charlie felt his heart sink. They were losing control.
“Follow the breadcrumbs, Charlie. Isn't that what you're good at? You have a vehicle, you have a time, a route. Surely you can still track like I taught you. Or did you lose that as well when you lost your wife?”
Charlie felt his muscles tense, but he stood his ground. He closed his eyes, imagining Sarah shaking her head, telling him to keep calm. He folded the paper and slipped it into his trouser pocket, his mind already racing to his next move. He could hunt down the vehicle with little difficulty, work out the checkpoints it passed and where it was heading. It wouldn't be too difficult. Then, suddenly, his thoughts stopped. Something was wrong… how you managed to escape the Institute again… Charlie glanced at his brother. John had picked up the implication too.
When he looked at Sol, the old man was grinning. He'd won another round.
“How did you know I was arrested?” There was a tremor in Charlie's voice. He felt like a child again, full of outrage and hurt.
And just like the times before, Sol basked in his latest triumph. “I know many things, Charlie. My powers are immense.”
“Do you know about a Reacher killing girls in S'aven too?”
Of course he did. Sol had been close to London a fortnight ago. He'd made an attempt to lure Charlie in before Riva interrupted them. What if he followed Charlie to London? If he was tracking Charlie, he would have undoubtedly stumbled across Curtis. Now Charlie understood. “It was you, wasn't it? You set me up.”
“You're a very paranoid individual, Charlie. You always were.”
“Did you kill Jess?”
“Ah, the rich whore. How unfortunate that you got yourself distracted.”
“Was it you? Did you kill her?”
Sol glanced at his Reacher friend. “Of course I didn't kill her. What kind of man do you think I am?”
Charlie closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. After all this time, Sol was still pulling the strings in the background. Once again he was a puppet, being moved around the set at the whims of a crazy, old, egotistical maniac. Jess was killed to frame him, to see him returned to the Institute. But there was more to it than that.
“Where's Darcy?” John growled, before Charlie asked the question himself.
“You have what you need. Why would you be worrying about an old man who kills Reachers?”
“Is he dead?”
“I have no idea. Probably. He wasn't looking particularly well the last time I saw him.”
Charlie put his hand on John's shoulder. He could feel his brother getting ready to strike, but there was no way he could let it happen. Despite all Sol was saying, Charlie would still take a bullet for this man. He'd still stand in John's way to save Sol.
“Why would they keep him alive?” John murmured.
Sol had tried to crucify Darcy to draw them out. Now he had Darcy again. Was he hoping to trap John and Rachel? If Charlie were still inside, they would have eventually come hunting. Did he plan to use Curtis to take out John? It was a good plan, and if Charlie hadn't escaped it would have worked.
“You son of a bitch.”
“Charlie, it's about time you realise you're not as clever as you think you are.”
Charlie stared at the young girl at Sol's side. If that happened to Rachel, if she ever came to this godless place…. He raised his hands. There was glass in the panes around him. He could feel its weight, its texture. He could feel the molecules that bound it into a solid fixture. And he could make it rattle. His fingers stretched, the strength of his power flowing through them. He looked up at those around him—he hated these people—and pulled.
Shards struck the air. The people in the camp screamed, hitting the floor to avoid the worst of the blow. Glass spattered in the puddles around them. He heard guns being cocked, but he wasn't going to back down. With his mind he searched for them, drawing them out of hostile hands. He raised his hands, reaching out for the vehicles themselves, their engines, their mechanics.
But there was a shot. He saw John standing with his gun raised. The shock of it brought Charlie to his knees. He watched as the nameless Reacher clutched his throat, blood bubbling over his chest as he collapsed. In a few desperate breaths he was gone.
The death hurt. Charlie's heart ached in his chest. He tried to reason that this was just an enemy, nothing more. Charlie knew he couldn't lose himself in the death of one of his own kind. He was a Reacher, but he was more than that. He was a father, a friend, a son, and there were people he loved in need of his help.
“And this is what you have become? A killer of Reachers, just like that pathetic priest!” Sol crouched by his friend's corpse. His mourning was the first genuine emotion Charlie had seen since they arrived.
Knowing Sol was weaker on his own, he seized his chance. “Where is he?” he yelled. “Where is Darcy?”
John pointed his gun at Sol, but there was no way Charlie could let him fire. He stood, blocking his brother's shot. John wouldn't shoot him, but there was something in his brother's eyes that caught Charlie off guard.
“We're done here,” Sol said from the floor.
“No, we're not.” Charlie saw John's lips twitch. He shook his head, warning his brother. But John wasn't taking orders. He moved fast. Too fast for Charlie. As Charlie made a break to protect Sol, he found himself caught. John's iron grip fixed around his neck. He pulled Charlie close. “I'm not going to kill him,” he said.
Charlie gasped, fighting for air as his brother choked him. He heard a bang and a scream. His vision was fogging. He slammed his fists against John's back. Then, as quickly as he'd been attacked, he was released. He dropped to the floor, heaving for air. He wasn't the only one.
Sol was down too, his knee in pieces on the grass. Charlie blinked, looking up to see John offering his hand. Reluctantly, he took it and allowed himself to be hauled up. If John felt remorse, he wasn't showing it. Instead, he moved over to Sol, a noticeable swagger in his step. If Charlie didn't know better, he'd think his brother was enjoying himself.
John crouched to inspect Sol's ruined limb. “I can kill you, and one day I will come for you. For the rest of your short life you will be waiting for me. There is nowhere you can hide. No one that can protect you.” He pressed his hand against Sol's leg, and Charlie forced himself to stay still. “Now, tell me where Darcy is.”
Sol screamed, writhing in the grass beside his dead friend.
“Tell me.”
“There's a house,” Sol cried. “Ten miles east of Blackwater. But you'll be too late. The old man was dying, and there was nothing Curtis could do to save him.”
John pressed harder.
“You son of a bitch! I'm telling you the truth.”
“Oh, I know,” John said. He rose and wiped his bloody hand on an overhanging line of washing. He nodded at Charlie; a job well done.
The people around them were terrified, waiting for John to live up to his reputation. John just adjusted his jacket, holstered his weapon, and waited for Charlie. They were done here.
“Let's go,” he said, stepping over Sol and the corpse to get out of the camp.
They didn't have time to climb back over the mountains. Not now. Charlie gestured to a car parked alongside a trailer. He sat in the passenger seat and used his powers to start the engine. The display of strength was his last stab at his old mentor. He was stronger. He was better. And when all that failed, he had his brother to watch his back.
28
Under the morning sun, the girl slipped through the street past buildings thrown together from corrugated metal. She was small, barely out of her teens, but walking with the determined purpose of a woman on a mission. Roxy was already moving out of sight, arcing across the street to flank her.
“Come with us,” Rachel said. “Help us.”
Mark hesitated, and she knew she couldn't wait for him to make up his mind. She ha
d to go, Darcy's life depended on it. She took off down the street too. The girl was heading for a beat-up old van parked at the end of the road. As she unlocked the driver's side, Rachel caught her arm. She was a telepathic Reacher. Just like Rachel. The girl looked up, her eyes wide and questioning.
“Get in the back of the car,” Rachel said, holding her steady in case she tried to run. She wasn't as strong as Rachel, neither with her powers nor her body, and she complied without a word.
Rachel pushed in beside her, keeping a firm hold, keeping control. Roxy got in the front passenger seat; in his jacket pocket he was holding a snubnose pistol. The driver's door opened and Mark joined them. Rachel nodded at him, but he didn't reciprocate.
“Please don't hurt me,” the girl said, her voice surprisingly calm, almost as if she had resolved herself to this predicament. She placed her hand on Rachel's, trying and failing to protect herself with her powers.
Rachel shook her head. “That won't work, but if you tell us the truth we won't hurt you. Do you understand?”
The girl nodded. She surrendered into the seat, keeping her hands visible. She was smart, but then you had to be to survive out here.
“What's your name?”
“Marie.”
“Do you know who we are?”
She hesitated and then nodded, her eyes flickering briefly to Roxy.
“What are you doing in town?”
“Getting supplies.”
Roxy snorted. “And what kind of supplies require you on your knees in an alley, sweetheart? Bloody hell, how fucking old are you?”
The girl bowed her head, colour rising in her pallid cheeks. Rachel moved closer. She could take the truth from the girl if she had to, but first she wanted to try and gain her trust. “Like I said. We don't want to hurt you. But you need to tell us what you were really doing here. You were after medicom supplies. Who were they for?”
Marie pressed her lips together.
“I know you're helping Dr Curtis,” Rachel said. “And I know you're keeping an old man—a priest—too.”
“You know an awful lot,” Marie said. She glanced at Roxy again.
“You got something to say, darling?” Roxy would have launched himself into the back if Rachel hadn't stopped him.
“Marie, Curtis is a dangerous man. He may seem like a nice guy, but—”
“He's a killer. I know. But I can't stop him. He's the most powerful Reacher I've ever seen.”
You haven't seen me yet, Rachel thought. “And his patient?”
“He's sick, but Curtis is keeping him alive.”
“Take us to him,” Rachel said.
“No. I can't. He'll kill us. He's not… normal. Not like a regular Reacher. He's dangerous. He could kill us. Both of us.”
“I know.” She took the girl's hand and felt her succumb. Take us to him.
Through streaming eyes, Marie nodded. “Take the east road out of town.”
* * *
It was hard to read the girl. Her mind was partially shielded by her own powers, and it took all of Rachel's concentration to keep her submissive. She dipped into the girl's memories, working her out fragment by fragment. She saw the brief encounter with Roxy, trying to obtain Rachel's location and failing. Then she saw a young girl walking a dirt track in the rain. She felt the girl's hunger, the pain in her feet, the fear that she would come across another group of men who would hurt her like those she had escaped. Through the haze of childhood confusion, Rachel could make out a figure, a man who shone like an angel through the girl's memory. He was older, much older than the girl, and when he lay with her she wasn't afraid. She loved him—not like a husband, like a messiah.
The girl had suffered more than she realised or accepted. Her mind was focused, and yet doubt clouded her peripheral vision. Although she rejoiced in her new life—her new mission—there was a suspicion that all was not as it seemed. She trusted her leader, but she was afraid of him too. If he was displeased, her life would be forfeit. If Rachel could emphasise this, she could draw Marie away. They could shape her into an ally, another Reacher to fight with them.
She allowed the girl to see her own journey through the country: her own hunger, pain, fear. She shared with her the time at the convent, under the watchful eye of another messiah. She showed her devotion and division, individuality and partnership. And then she showed her freedom.
While they telepathically traded war stories, the front of the car was quiet. Mark drove, following the brief instructions Marie offered whenever there was an option in the road. His hands clasped the steering wheel tightly, his attention fixed on the broken tarmac ahead. Rachel wasn't sure if he was angry, or afraid, or something else. With more time alone with him, she could soothe some of the pain he felt. Maybe on the journey back.
“You armed?” Roxy asked him.
Mark said nothing.
“Listen, love, as much as I'm sure Rachel is attracted to the stormy, brooding types, we're about to walk into enemy territory to meet a very dangerous man who's already managed to kill me once. It'd be nice to know you are packing more than pent-up sexual frustration.”
“I'm armed. I have a Taser,” Mark finally said.
“There we go, then. Wasn't so difficult, was it?”
“It's over the hill there. He'll see us as we approach,” Marie said.
Mark slowed the car, taking a narrow lane towards an isolated country house. The grounds surrounding the house were cut back, exposing the faint lights coming through the cottage windows. Mark pulled up, keeping the engine running. Rachel could see movement, a solitary figure walking the front room and peeling back the net curtains. It was Curtis.
“Stay in the car,” Rachel told them.
“Absolutely bloody not. There's no way you're going in there alone.”
“Roxy, I'm the only one he definitely can't hurt.”
“She just said he can hurt you—”
“Just stay in the car. I stopped him before, if I have to I'll stop him again.” She opened the door.
“Oh, hell no. John will kill me if I let you go in there alone.”
“And Jan could kill you if you come with me. Again.” Stay.
Rachel gestured for Marie to follow her.
She let the younger girl open the front door. The house was in good condition, with working electricity and heat, but there was little furniture or comforts. The wallpaper was old and stained in places, peeling at the corners exposing cracks in the plaster. As she walked the hallway, Marie hurried towards the back of the house, scurrying out of sight. Before Rachel could follow, a figure appeared from her left, blocking her path. But she couldn't back down now.
When she worked with Jan at Great General, they were friends. He was a good man who cared about patients in a city where only money mattered. At least a part of him was good. She was hoping that part of him was still there and that he would listen to her.
She swallowed, staring up at the familiar face. A beard graced his dark skin, red rings circled his haunted eyes, but it was him. “Hello Jan.”
“Rachel?” He looked bewildered, turning down the hallway to see where Marie had gone. “Rachel? What are you doing here?”
“I came to find you. To talk to you, if you'll let me.”
Jan lowered his shoulders, sinking back to the wall. “Rachel, I'm not… I'm not myself. I… I… I've done some things. I….”
She touched his arm. “I know. You have someone else here, though, don't you? A priest?”
He tilted his head and then nodded.
“I need to see him.”
Stepping backwards, he let her into the room he'd come from.
What once had been a lounge was now a makeshift bedroom. A hospital stretcher was fixed in the middle of the floor, holding Father Darcy's emaciated body. His skin had greyed, hanging off his bones like old meat. His bony fingers were clasped together. The leads to the medicom were removed and hanging by the bed. The machine was partly disassembled, its exposed internal compo
nents looking in worse shape than the patient it was supposed to save. Rachel approached slowly, recognising the shallow breathing of someone close to death.
“You're killing him.”
Jan shook his head. “No. The machine stopped working. I couldn't do anything. He's refusing further treatment. I sent for parts, but he says not to hook him up again. I have to respect his decision.”
Rachel stood at the bedside. Darcy's milky eyes opened, meeting hers with familiar kindness. She took the old man's hand and was drawn back to being a little girl again. This man had picked her and her sister's fate. He'd allowed Isobel to be handed over to a ruthless gangster, but because of him Rachel had a good childhood. He had arranged her place in the convent, giving her a chance at a career, a life beyond being hunted. And then, when trouble finally caught up with her, he'd sent Charlie and John to help. Darcy had made many mistakes, but then, hadn't they all.
“Father,” she whispered.
“Rachel,” he said, the word escaping weakly from his dry lips. “You should not have come.” He did his best to squeeze her hand.
“You're going to be okay. Just hold on.”
“Leave me,” he said. “It's not safe.”
“I'm not going anywhere. And John and Charlie will be here soon.”
“He needs you,” Darcy said. “He needs you to help him.”
She looked up at Jan. “I know.”
“He thinks he must do this alone. But you have to stay with him, Rachel. It always had to be you. There was never a choice. It had to be you.”
“It's okay. I'm staying. I'm here. And soon Charlie and John will be here too. We'll all be together.”
“No. They can't come. Tell them not to come here. You're all too important.”
She sat beside him. “You are pretty important yourself. I'm sorry I didn't…” she wasn't sure what she wanted to say. That she didn't want anything to do with him after Isobel. That she couldn't forgive him until now.
“I stayed with her,” he murmured. “I couldn't leave her once she was in S'aven, so I stayed. Her life was not perfect, but for much of it she was happy. We would talk about you often. About what you were doing, what you would do. She knew. Like I knew. You were the one. It had to be you.” He was rambling. His eyes closed, and she bolted upright. It wasn't in her nature to give up or back down. She was a doctor; her instinct was to save his life. As his hand slipped from hers, she was already trying to save him.
Every Storm Breaks (Reachers Book 3) Page 16
