by Lee Child
The officer pressed a buzzer and after a moment a door opened, leading to a booking area. Another cop was waiting at a large wooden table. Behind him there were two desks supporting worn but serviceable computers which were currently switched off, a stack of deep plastic trays in a rainbow of colours, and a pale, droopy potted plant. The walls were covered with posters warning against the dangers of crime and encouraging the public to take responsibility for their own safety. The cop grabbed one of the trays and dropped it on the table near where Reacher was standing.
‘Put your possessions in there.’ He sounded bored. ‘You’ll get them back when you’re released.’
Reacher produced his roll of cash. His toothbrush. His ATM card. And his passport.
‘Is that all?’
‘What else do I need?’ Reacher said.
The cop shrugged and started to count the cash. When he was done he handed Reacher a receipt then led the way along a corridor to a door marked Interrogation Room 2. The interior was lined with sound-muffling tiles. Reacher had seen them before. He knew they served no sonic purpose. They were part of a psychological trick designed to give suspects the illusion that they were in a place where it was safe to spill the dirt on their partners. The floor was smooth concrete and the metal table and chairs were bolted to it. The observation window was made to look like a mirror in the usual way and a panic strip ran around the walls at waist level. Reacher guessed they’d brought him there because they only had one cell area. They wouldn’t want to take the chance of him talking to the guy he’d rescued. Too much risk of them lining up their stories. And he knew they’d make him wait. An hour, at least. Maybe two. A standard tactic. Isolation breeds the urge to talk. An urge to talk can become an urge to confess. He’d used the technique himself, countless times. And this wasn’t the first time it had been used against him.
Both chairs were too close to the table to be comfortable so Reacher sat on the floor in the corner opposite the door. The clock in his head told him that an hour thirty-seven had passed by the time the door opened again. Ninety-seven minutes. The largest two-digit prime number. One of his favourites. He took that as a good sign. A less good sign was the smug grin on the face of the man who’d entered the room. He didn’t look a day over thirty and was all curly hair and rounded features. He took the chair with its back to the window and continued to smile.
‘I see you’ve made yourself at home,’ the man said. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. Want to grab a seat? Join me? See if we can’t get this thing squared away?’
Reacher shrugged as if he didn’t care either way then stood, stretched, and wedged himself into the chair on the other side of the table.
‘I’m John Goodyear.’ The man’s grin grew even wider. ‘I’m the detective here?’
‘Jack Reacher.’
‘I know that. But what I don’t know is your deal. Why are you in my town?’
‘I don’t have a deal. I’m in this town by chance.’
‘What kind of chance? You get abducted by aliens and they drop you here at random?’
‘I hitched a ride. With a guy. This happened to be his destination. I’m not staying here. I’m going to grab some food. Some coffee. Then I’ll be gone.’
‘You were planning to stay just long enough to rip off a store, in other words?’
‘What?’
Goodyear produced Reacher’s toothbrush from his pocket and laid it on the table. ‘See, I was lying. I do know your deal. You stick this in your pocket and pretend it’s a gun. People aren’t going to fall for it every time, sure, but plenty won’t want to take the chance. Am I right?’
‘You’re an idiot.’
‘I am?’ Goodyear smiled. ‘Account for this, then.’ He placed Reacher’s roll of money on the table next to his toothbrush. ‘You have an ATM card but you didn’t get these notes from any bank. They use fresh, crisp ones. These would get stuck and gum up the machine. So, where did you get them?’
‘I earned them.’
‘How?’
‘A new venture of mine. I recently dipped a toe in the music business.’
Goodyear leaned in and lowered his voice. ‘A word to the wise, Reacher. This is the twenty-first century. Police departments have computers now, and those computers are all connected. I’m running your description across Tennessee and nine surrounding states. The results will be in soon. Very soon. In minutes, maybe. The smart thing is to get out ahead of that. Tell me yourself, right now, and I’ll help with your statement. Wait until I have a stack of computer printouts to work with and it’ll be worse for you. Much worse. Who knows what other charges might come to light? Vagrancy wouldn’t be a big surprise, for one.’
‘I didn’t see any lakes on my way into town,’ Reacher said. ‘I guess that explains it.’
‘Explains what?’
‘Why you’re trying to go fishing in here. You have no reason to suspect me of any crime. I travel light. So what? I have done for years. Ever since I left the army. And so we’re straight, you haven’t contacted any other police departments.’
‘What makes you think so?’
‘If you had, you’d already have an answer. Let’s face it, I’m a distinctive-looking guy. There’s no one else in Tennessee or anywhere else who matches my description. But that’s beside the point for two reasons. First, because I didn’t hold anywhere up. And second, you couldn’t contact any other departments. Your systems are all down.’
Goodyear’s smile faded. ‘What do you know about our systems? What did Rutherford tell you?’
‘The other guy you wrongly arrested? Nothing. I haven’t exchanged a word with him. I didn’t need to. I have a system of my own.’
‘What system?’
‘Eyeball, human, series one. Come on, detective. It’s obvious. Your officer called in my arrest on his cell phone. The terminal in his car was inoperative. The computers in the booking area were switched off. The security cameras aren’t working. And it’s not just the police department. The traffic signals in town are out. Something weird’s going on. What is it?’
Goodyear shifted in his seat but didn’t respond.
‘OK. Let’s skip the minor stuff and get to the heart of the matter. Why would someone want to kidnap Rutherford? He seemed like a pretty innocuous kind of guy.’
‘Who says anyone tried to kidnap him?’
‘I do.’
‘What would you know about kidnapping?’
‘Enough. I know an ambush when I see one. Rutherford doesn’t. The guy needs protection. You should keep him in custody for his own good and call the FBI. Kidnapping’s their jurisdiction. It wouldn’t create any extra work for you.’
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ Goodyear’s grin was creeping back. ‘There’s no need to send up the federal balloon just yet. Maybe those guys you tangled with were trying to grab Rutherford. Are you a mind-reader? You don’t know what they were planning to do with him. If they were trying to grab him – and I’m not saying they were because we don’t know – they probably just wanted to take him someplace private where they could have a full and frank exchange of views. Maybe even dole out a good old-fashioned ass-kicking. If I take my detective hat off I can’t say he doesn’t deserve one. Hell, if it was an attempt at payback the whole town would be suspects. I’d need a bigger jailhouse. And even if you’re right, I say no harm, no foul. So why don’t we leave it at that?’
‘Why don’t I write a statement? You give it to the feds. Do your job. Protect and serve, or whatever you say in this state. You don’t need computers to do that.’
‘Why don’t you keep your whacked-out theories to yourself?’
‘Why are you so desperate to sweep this under the rug? What has Rutherford done?’
‘Why are you so desperate to keep it in the spotlight? Not the smartest move from your point of view, Reacher. Keep it up and I may have to take a closer look at your role. I hear you knocked one man out cold. Threw another through a car window. Assaults like tha
t, you could be looking at jail time.’
‘I didn’t assault anyone. The sidewalk was slippery. That’s all. The first guy slid into a wall. The second tripped. He’s lucky the car window was open or he could have gotten a nasty bruise.’
‘All right. Let’s take a step back. You say these guys tried to kidnap Rutherford. Why would they do that?’
‘How would I know? No one will tell me what he’s done.’
‘What’s your connection to him?’
‘We don’t have a connection.’
‘Did he give you this cash?’ Goodyear gestured to the pile on the table.
‘No.’
‘Did he hire you as a bodyguard?’
‘No.’
‘How did he contact you?’
‘He didn’t.’
‘Where did you first meet?’
‘We never met. Not before today. I saw him walking into an ambush. I helped him escape. It was a spur of the moment thing.’
‘You’re just a Good Samaritan?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Where did Rutherford go before the coffee shop?’
‘The moon. He has a secret love nest there. I was thinking of renting it but the mirrors on the ceiling are too small.’
‘I advise you to take this process seriously, Mr Reacher.’
‘Why? You’re not.’
Goodyear didn’t answer.
‘If you want me to get serious, give me some paper. I’ll write a statement for the FBI.’
‘I’m not giving you any paper.’
‘Then give me a ride to the highway.’
‘I’m a detective. I don’t give rides.’
‘Then unless you’re charging me with holding up an imaginary store, it sounds like our business here is done. Or I could bring in a lawyer.’
‘There’s no need for a lawyer.’ Goodyear paused. ‘All right. You can go. But take my advice. Don’t stick around. Leave town. Right away. And here’s the most important thing. Have nothing more to do with Rusty Rutherford.’
FOUR
Goodyear escorted Reacher back to the booking area, set his cash and toothbrush down on the table, and went to his office. He needed privacy to make a call. The other cop added Reacher’s passport and ATM card like a poker player calling a bet, then followed up with a form and a pen. Reacher signed, stowed his possessions in his pockets, and shook his head when the cop tried to steer him towards the rear exit. He took the public stairs instead and hurried past the bank of framed portraits hanging in the echoey marble foyer. He pushed through the central door in a row of three, skirted a roughly boxed-in temporary structure where an access ramp was being constructed, and turned to head back to the main street. He wasn’t about to hit the road without his coffee. Priorities were priorities. He started across the lawn and as he drew level with the parking lot he heard a voice calling to him. It was Rutherford. He had been waiting by the metal door but now he was scampering forward with one arm raised.
‘Excuse me, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. Please wait.’
Reacher slowed and allowed Rutherford to catch up.
‘My name’s Rusty Rutherford.’ He held out his hand.
‘Jack Reacher.’
‘Mr Reacher, would it be OK if we talk for a moment?’
‘If we talk while we walk. There’s somewhere I need to be.’
‘Please.’ Rutherford was out of breath and he was becoming flustered. ‘Stop. Just for a moment. I can make this quick.’
Reacher stopped.
‘Two things. First, thank you. I guess you saved my ass back there.’
‘My pleasure.’
‘And second, I need to ask you something. Am I in danger? The detective kept talking about a carjacking, but that’s not what happened. I had some time to think in the cell before they questioned me. What happened wasn’t random. It was planned. Those guys were waiting. At first I thought they must have been there for you. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. But then I remembered, one of the men tried to grab me before you intervened. He tried to push me into the car. The detective said I was confused. That I was wrong. But I’m not, am I? I just want to know what’s going on.’
‘I have no idea what’s going on,’ Reacher said. ‘This isn’t my town. I don’t know you. I don’t what you may have done to upset people. I don’t know what you have that’s valuable. But something strange is happening here. That’s for sure.’
‘So what should I do?’
‘That’s your call. My philosophy is hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. So given the circumstances I’d say the smart thing would be to leave town. Let whatever’s going on blow over on its own. Come back when things have settled down.’
‘Leave town?’ Rutherford’s eyes stretched wide. ‘No. I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘It would make me look guilty.’
‘Of what?’
‘That’s a long story.’
Reacher thought for a moment. It was already late afternoon. He was hungry. He needed to eat, whether there or somewhere else. It would be harder to hitch a ride in the dark. There’d be less to see from the road. And he was intrigued to find out why a mousy little guy in a coffee-stained shirt thought not looking guilty was more important than his own safety. ‘Anywhere around here sell good burgers? We could grab a bite and you could tell me about it.’
‘You said you had somewhere to be?’
‘I do. But I can wait a while to get there. No need to be inflexible. I hear it’s bad for your health.’
The same time Reacher was talking to Rutherford, two people were trying to call Speranski. One on a burner cell. One on the secure phone he’d used earlier. Neither call got through. Not right away. The signal was blocked. Because Speranski had gone down to the generator room. Just for a couple of minutes. He wanted to see the place one last time before his housekeeper cleaned it up. That couldn’t wait much longer, he knew. Some of the blood was already more than two weeks old. The subject had held out a long time. She had yielded some critical information. She’d told them about Rutherford. What was in his possession. Which was gold, professionally. And personally, she’d made him feel young again. He didn’t get to do much wet work these days. He missed it. He looked at the dark pools on the floor. The droplets sprayed up the walls. The manacles. The tools lined up on the stainless steel trolley. The cleaner patches where the suitcases had been. He relived his favourite moments. And smiled. Normally he didn’t know when his next opportunity would arise. Or who it would be with. But this time he knew both.
It would be very soon.
And it would be with the traitor. As soon as she was no longer useful.
The first phone to ring when he got back to ground level was the burner. It was a short call. From a guy a short distance away. A report. First, facts. Then opinions. Brief and concise. The way Speranski liked it. Which meant that when the secure phone rang a few moments later, Speranski already knew what the guy at the end of the line was going to say: ‘Rutherford got away.’
‘OK,’ Speranski replied. ‘So we try again.’
‘We may not. The Center is concerned. The failed attempt caused a spectacle. And Rutherford had help. We don’t know who from, or what size of force is involved. Trying again might draw more attention. It could be counter-productive.’
‘So the Center is proposing we do what? Nothing?’
‘The final decision has not yet been made. Watch and wait is the current stance. See if the item surfaces on its own. And if it does, see if it’s actually dangerous.’
Speranski took the phone away from his ear and fought the urge to smash it into a million pieces. This was the worst part of working in the field. Having to deal with spineless cretins who hid behind their desks all day. Who never put their own necks on the line and then gambled with the lives of the people who did. And then were too timid to take a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to turn the tables on the enemy even when it was handed to
them on a plate.
He lifted the phone to his ear again. ‘You need to get back to them. Right now. Convince them that watching and waiting is not an option. The item may never surface. That’s true. And if it does, it may not be dangerous. That’s also true. But neither of those things matters. If the FBI doesn’t find it here, what will they do? Give up? No. They’ll keep on hunting. At the source. Until they’re successful. Which could be before the mission is complete. Which would be a disaster. And even if it was afterwards, it would be the end of … the agent concerned. Which, obviously, I will never allow to happen.’
‘I understand. And I agree. But the Center is worried about exposure. About attracting attention. Tipping our hand.’
‘Tell them there’s no danger of that happening. The interference was a one-off. A fluke. A drifter, some kind of ex-military cop read the situation and stepped in. He won’t do it again. He’s been told to leave town.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve operated in this town for more than fifty years. I have contacts.’
‘Are they reliable?’
‘This is coming direct from the police department.’
‘OK. That’s good. But what if the drifter doesn’t leave town?’
‘Then I’ll take local action.’
‘Like you did with the journalist?’
‘Exactly like that.’
‘All right. I’ll talk to them. Try to get them to start surveillance up again, at least.’
‘That’s not enough. We have to take Rutherford, and fast. They don’t understand what it takes to whip up the hysteria. I’ve used everything. Local press. Whisper campaigns. A whole army of bots on social media. It’s holding for now, but it can’t last. The bubble will burst. Something else will happen and take the spotlight. Rutherford needs to disappear while everyone in town still hates him.’
