by Lee Child
They left the car at one of the regular pumps and headed into the main building. Rutherford took a moment to get his bearings, then led Reacher to a cabinet full of knives. Reacher picked out two. A large one and a small one. The large one he didn’t particularly like because of its dull, cheap steel but he took it anyway because he figured it looked intimidating, which could be a useful quality. The smaller one was much more satisfactory. Its blade folded so it would fit easily in a pocket. It had a good sharp edge and a mechanism that allowed it to open with a flick of the wrist. Reacher paid for the knives with cash then loaded two rolls of duct tape into his basket, along with a can of pepper spray for Rutherford. He was heading back to the register when he spotted a clothing section. Of sorts. He rooted around until he unearthed a pair of khaki pants and a pale green T-shirt that he thought would fit. He added a denim shirt he figured could double as a light jacket. Then he settled up for his goods and pre-paid for some gas. He handed a bag containing everything but the clothes to Rutherford and went to the restroom to change. He transferred his toothbrush and passport and ATM card and cash into his new pockets, and dumped the old garments in the trash. When he emerged he found Rutherford between two heated cabinets which dispensed the sausages for self-assembly hotdogs.
‘I got these for you,’ Rutherford said, and held out a different bag.
Reacher took it and looked inside. He saw two brightly coloured boxes. One contained a cell phone. The other a Bluetooth earpiece. He handed the bag back to Rutherford. ‘Thanks, Rusty. I appreciate the thought. But I’m not a cell-phone guy.’
‘Please take it,’ Rutherford said. ‘It’s really for me. You can’t be at my side twenty-four seven and it would make me feel better knowing I could call if I needed you. Even waiting here just now got me so nervous I almost followed you into the bathroom. And look.’ Rutherford reached into the bag and took out the phone. ‘I got you the oldest-fashioned kind they had. It was the last one left. It doesn’t even go online. It can make calls, and it can text. That’s all. I’ll set it up for you. I’ll keep it charged. And when this is all over, if you don’t want it any more, give it back. I’m sure there’s a museum somewhere that would take it.’
Reacher said nothing.
But he did let Rutherford pass him the bag.
The same time Reacher was changing his clothes, Speranski’s burner phone was starting to ring. He picked up right away. It was a very short call. From a man a short distance away. A report. First, a fact. Then an opinion. Brief and concise. Leaving Speranski feeling mightily relieved. He took a sip of iced tea, then dialled a number on his secure phone.
‘You can recall the team,’ Speranski said when the call was answered. ‘Rutherford and the drifter are back in town.’
‘You’ve seen them?’ the voice at the end of the line said.
‘No. My contact in the police department reported it.’
‘He didn’t arrest them?’
‘He didn’t come into contact with them. Not directly. Another officer did. She mentioned it without realizing the significance.’
‘Why did they come back?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe Rutherford got cold feet about flying. Maybe the drifter contacted him and called him back. We’ll find out.’
‘They give any clue where they’re going?’
‘Nothing concrete.’
‘OK. We’ll cover Rutherford’s building, the coffee shop, and the diner. He doesn’t usually stray far.’
‘Good. One other thing. Have the team swing by the ambush site on their way to town. Or a couple of them, at least. My guy was supposed to deliver the drifter. Something obviously happened to him.’
‘I’ll have them check. We can arrange clean-up if necessary. And if it’s not necessary?’
‘Make it necessary. The man failed. Or he sold us out. Either way, he’s no use now.’
Back outside Reacher pumped the gas, then told Rutherford to drive to the street behind his building and stop twenty yards short of the entrance to the garage.
‘Is there a camera on the outside?’ he asked when they arrived.
‘Yes.’ Rutherford pointed. ‘There’s one right above the door. Sometimes if it’s late and it’s raining and a nice doorman is working you can flash your headlights and he opens it for you remotely. Saves you getting out.’
‘How do you open it normally?’
‘With a fob. You just hold it up to a sensor. And there’s a keypad for backup.’
‘Does the code get changed frequently?’
‘No.’ Rutherford rolled his eyes. ‘It’s been 1 2 3 4 ever since I moved in.’
‘How’s the garage laid out?’
‘You drive down a ramp, which curves to the left. You’re supposed to honk but no one does. Then the main space is just a basic rectangle. There are pillars every three car widths apart. Spaces along each side. And a double row in the centre.’
‘Cameras?’
Rutherford thought for a moment. ‘Yes. There are those little half globes dotted around on the ceiling. I couldn’t say how many.’
‘Is there pedestrian access to the building?’
‘Yes. There’s a door at the far end. It leads to a flight of steps up to the lobby. You need your fob to open it, or there’s another keypad you can use.’
‘Good. We’ll risk one drive-by, then I want you to loop around to the front of the building and stop somewhere with a clear view of the main entrance.’
Rutherford drove slowly past the garage entrance then cut through an alley, squeezing past a pair of dumpsters, and rolled the car to the kerb diagonally opposite the diner. He left the engine running, ready to go. Reacher scanned the street ahead, working systematically, projecting a mental grid across the storefronts and the sections of sidewalk. No one was loitering. No one was waiting in any of the parked cars. No vehicle passed them more than once. No one was out walking. Rutherford took the new cell phone out of its box. Reacher repeated his scan, looking behind them this time. Rutherford worked at a credit-card-sized piece of plastic until he’d separated a section which held a little gold chip. He inserted it into a slot in the back of the phone. He slid the battery into place over it and hit the power button. Reacher repeated his scan to the front. Saw no one. The phone lit up and played a tinny electronic tune. Reacher repeated his scan, behind. Saw no one.
‘There’s a little charge in the battery,’ Rutherford said, and passed the phone to Reacher. ‘Are we going to be in the car for a while? I could charge it the rest of the way.’
‘No,’ Reacher said. ‘The coast’s clear. It’s time to move. Here’s what I want you to do. Go into your building and tell the doorman you came back from the airport because you forgot something. Tell him you rebooked your flight for this afternoon and you’re going to drive to the airport this time but need his advice about when you should leave to get there by a quarter after four. Whatever time he suggests you should thank him, say you’ll see him in a couple of weeks when you get back, then head upstairs. Only don’t stay in your own apartment. Go to your neighbour’s. Wait for me there. OK?’
‘OK.’ Rutherford handed the car key to Reacher and opened his door. ‘And I’ll text you when I get there. You have a phone now. You might as well use it.’
TWELVE
Rutherford’s text arrived after five minutes. It contained two words. In. Safe. Reacher read it, waited another five minutes, then took the truck-stop bag from the back seat, climbed out of the car, and headed into Rutherford’s lobby.
The doorman’s booth jutted out from the side wall, opposite the elevators, equally spaced between the front entrance and a door which Reacher assumed led to the stairs to the garage. It had mahogany sides which matched the panels on the walls and its green-veined marble top was the same pattern as the floor. As far as Reacher could tell. At least eighty per cent of its surface was covered. There were ring binders full of directories and procedures and regulations. A computer monitor. A phone, bristling with all kinds
of buttons and displays. And a cell phone with a large screen. The space behind the counter was probably the regular size but the doorman seemed to completely fill it. He looked like he was in his late twenties, with a shaved head, a doughy face, small eyes and a heavy build. Very heavy. The kind of guy who had done well on the high-school football team, Reacher figured, but whose life had been all downhill from there.
‘Help you?’ the guy said.
The years Reacher spent in the military police had taught him that most investigations go with the numbers. A wife turns up dead, it’s usually the husband who killed her. Something goes missing from the stores, it’s usually a quartermaster who stole it. Someone shares secrets, it’s usually for the money. Unless they’re being blackmailed, which is less common. Or tricked. Or acting on principle, which is the rarest thing of all.
‘Name your price,’ Reacher said.
The guy stared back, blankly. ‘For what?’
‘You just made a call. Or sent a text. Or an email. Name your price to message me instead in future.’
The guy stretched out and covered his phone. It completely disappeared beneath his giant paw. ‘I didn’t send a text. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Sure you do,’ Reacher said. ‘You just had a conversation with Mr Rutherford. Then you told someone what time he’s leaving for the airport. Just like you told them he asked for a cab this morning.’
The guy was suddenly on his feet. He was as tall as Reacher. As wide as Reacher. Maybe faster than Reacher. ‘You want to hurt Mr Rutherford? Try it. See what happens.’
Reacher paused. Investigations go with the numbers. If the guy wasn’t motivated by money, then what? Blackmail was next in line, statistically, but Reacher couldn’t see it. And principle is the rarest thing of all.
‘Outstanding.’ Reacher held out his hand. ‘I knew you’d pass. But we can’t be too careful. Not when Mr Rutherford’s safety is at stake. I’m glad you’re on the team.’
‘We’re on a team?’
‘Of course. Keeping Mr Rutherford safe. You heard he got attacked on the street yesterday?’
The guy nodded.
‘I was the one who saved him,’ Reacher said.
‘That was you?’ The guy shook Reacher’s hand. ‘Thank you. I like Mr Rutherford. He’s always nice to the building staff. Not like some of the assholes who live here. I could tell you some stories …’
‘I bet you could,’ Reacher said. ‘But after yesterday we have to be extra careful. There might be a leak. That’s why they sent me here. To see if anyone changed sides.’
‘Not me.’
‘Clearly. What about the other doormen? Can we trust them?’
‘I think so. The day guys, anyway. The others I don’t know so well. But Mr Rutherford doesn’t go out much at night anyway. Unless he’s working. Then he’s out all night, sometimes, if he’s upgrading the systems or whatever those computer guys do.’
‘OK, good.’ Reacher leaned forward and gestured for the guy to move in closer. ‘Now here’s the thing. I’m going to level with you. We think whoever tried to hurt Mr Rutherford yesterday is going to try again today. I’m here to stop them, but I need your help. I need you to do two things. Are you with me?’
‘What two things?’
‘First, show me how I can see the pictures from the garage security cameras. Then I need to take your place for a while.’
‘You can watch the cameras on here,’ the guy said. He pressed the space bar on the computer keyboard and the screen lit up. It was divided into nine rectangles. The one at the top left showed the street outside the garage entrance. Each of the others gave a different view of the inside in clear, crisp colour. ‘It records so I don’t have to watch all the time, but I do when I’m bored.’
‘Sounds good,’ Reacher said. ‘Now, is there a closet anywhere?’
‘Sure.’ The guy pointed to a door disguised amongst the panels to the side of the booth. ‘Right there. Why?’
‘This is the part where I really need you to trust me.’ Reacher set the bag from the truck stop down on the countertop. ‘I need to make it look like I overpowered you, in case anything goes wrong. We need to safeguard your cover. I need you to lie low in there for a while and I have to warn you, it could be a couple of hours. I don’t know exactly what kind of schedule these guys are on. And I have to make it look convincing. These are animals we’re dealing with here. So I’m going to use a little tape. Just a bit around your wrists. And your ankles. I better put a piece over your mouth, too. I’m sorry. I know it’s not pleasant. But it’s the only way to keep Mr Rutherford safe.’
Speranski was poring over a large-scale map, thinking about parking and power supplies for his next project, when his secure phone rang.
‘Two things,’ the voice at the other end of the line said. ‘First, the team found your man. Trussed up with his own handcuffs at the place he was supposed to deliver the drifter. He’s no longer on the payroll, as requested.’
Speranski didn’t reply.
‘Second, Rutherford has been located.’
‘Where?’ Speranski said.
‘At his building.’
‘Damn. If he’s holed up again he could be in there for weeks.’
‘No. He’s leaving this afternoon. Going back to the airport. In his own car. Because he’s taking something with him.’
‘This is via the doorman?’
‘Correct. The poor sap thinks he’s helping to keep Rutherford safe.’
‘Where’s the drifter?’
‘Unknown.’
‘Where’s Rutherford’s car?’
‘In the building’s garage. We have the make, model, and licence plate.’
‘I know the garage for that building. It’s underground. Enclosed. I don’t like it.’
‘Ambush?’
‘That’s what I’m thinking.’
‘Struck me that way too.’
‘Tell the team to be extra careful. We can’t afford another spectacle.’
Reacher sat in the doorman’s chair for forty minutes, then his eye was drawn to the monitor. To the rectangle at the top left. The one fed by the camera above the garage door. The image was slightly fish-eyed to give a wide field of view, but a black Suburban was still an unmistakable vehicle. It pulled to the side of the street ten yards short of the entrance, close enough for Reacher to make out the blond splashes of the driver’s and the passenger’s hair. A blue Toyota passed it and pulled up in front of the garage. A mark in the demerit column, Reacher thought. Time had no doubt been tight but they still should have replaced their vehicles.
Reacher watched as a woman got out of the Toyota’s rear seat. It was the red-haired woman from the alleyway the day before. Reacher saw her work the keypad. 1, 2, 3, 4. The same code ever since Rutherford moved there. The car pulled forward and the woman got back in. It momentarily disappeared then showed up on the next segment of the screen, emerging from the bottom of the ramp and swinging into the middle of three vacant spaces in the central bank. The driver got out. It was the woman he’d seen behind the wheel the day before. The second woman joined her. Then the guy Reacher had knocked out. Then the one he’d thrown through the window.
The four fanned out through the space. They checked both regular entrances and looked for alternative ways in or out. Then they located Rutherford’s car. An off-white 1970s VW Beetle, parked more or less at the centre of the left-hand wall. There was an empty space on each side of it. Beyond that to the left was a Jeep Grand Cherokee. To the right a Ford F150. A good set-up from an ambusher’s point of view. Both were tall vehicles. They offered plenty of concealment. The guy Reacher had knocked out pointed to each of them in turn, then to another empty space perpendicular against the far wall. Reacher could tell what the guy was thinking. The plan practically made itself. The driver could tuck the Toyota into the space by the far wall. One guy could hide behind the Jeep. One could hide behind the Ford. The other woman could conceal herself near
the pedestrian door in case Rutherford got spooked and tried to run back into the building. Otherwise they would wait for him to reach his car. Then the Toyota would pull forward. In electric mode, like yesterday, so there’d be no sound. No warning. The two guys would emerge. One would open the door. The other would grab Rutherford and push him inside. A piece of cake.
The garage was a good set-up in a broader sense, too. It was a known location. There was no uncertainty over which route Rutherford might take if they tried to tail him to the airport. No concerns over traffic, or parking. A lower chance of any passers-by becoming involved than if they mounted an operation on the street. And no need to worry about the security cameras, as they had an ally covering the monitoring station. Or so they believed.
The garage was a good set-up, but it wasn’t perfect. The chance of members of the public entering the scene was reduced, but not eliminated. That left the possibility of witnesses. And of collateral damage. Too high a possibility, in Reacher’s judgement. But he wasn’t planning the ambush. The ones who were remained huddled for a minute. Pointing. Waving their arms. Arguing.
Reacher would have liked the image to be bigger, but from what he could make out, the guy he had knocked out was at odds with the driver. The other two had eased back, staying out of the argument. Finally the driver shook her head and pointed towards Rutherford’s Beetle. She put her hands on her hips and waited until the knocked-out guy returned to the Toyota. He opened its trunk, took something out, and carried it to the VW. Around to its rear. He knelt down and stuck one hand beneath the car. Reacher’s first thought was: Bomb. Then he reconsidered. The box was too small to hold much explosive. It had to be something else. The guy gave up on the underneath and slipped the device into the hollow in the centre of the Beetle’s chunky rear fender. The driver pulled out her phone. She checked the screen and nodded. A tracker, Reacher realized. A smart tactic. A mark in the merit column.
