The Sentinel (Jack Reacher)

by Lee Child

  ‘No. That’s all on me. And it’s bogus anyway. I just said those things to keep you under control. The gun’s not even loaded. It’s something I learned on the job. You make the bad guys believe you’re willing to hurt them. Then you don’t have to.’

  ‘OK. We’ll leave Goodyear aside for a moment. Who did you make this separate arrangement with?’

  ‘This is where things get difficult. I can’t tell you. Not because I don’t want to. Because I don’t know. He’s just a voice on the phone.’

  ‘So it’s a man, not a woman?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘So an unknown man calls you out of the blue and asks you to be an accessory to what? Kidnapping? Murder? And you say, sure, OK?’

  ‘It’s not that simple. It goes back to when I was a cop. I tried to do a guy a favour one time when I thought he’d gotten a bad break. I looked the other way on something and that was a mistake because as soon as he was off the hook he demanded more favours so as not to tell what I’d done. It went on for years. That’s why I quit the department in the end. I thought I’d be no use to him any more, so he’d leave me alone. But I was wrong. He made me deliver a package here. Collect some money there. Things like that. I thought it would never end. Then one day the guy died. He got run down crossing the street. By a drunk driver. I know it’s wrong to be happy about the death of another human being but I couldn’t help it. I was over the moon. I thought I was finally free. That I had my life back. It lasted a week. Then one evening the phone rang. A voice I’d never heard before said he’d inherited certain files from the dead guy and that unless I wanted them to be handed over to the police the previous arrangement would continue. He said it would be nothing too heavy. Just a little favour every now and again.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  ‘Honestly? I didn’t know. He did sound kind of serious. But I was tired and I was desperate so I decided to gamble. I told him, no dice. Leave me alone, or go ahead and do your worst. Which I guess he did. The next morning there was a knock on the door. By the time I got there someone had left a pair of packages. Same size. Same shape. They were numbered one and two. I opened number one first. Inside it was a man’s … private parts. All of them, if you know what I mean. I spent the next two hours in the bathroom. Then I opened the second box. It was empty apart from a piece of paper. There was handwriting on it. Some kind of old-school flowing script. It said if you want your manhood to end up in one of these, do nothing. Otherwise answer the phone at nine p.m. and follow the instructions to the letter.’

  ‘You answered the phone?’

  ‘Hell, yes. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘What did they make you do?’

  ‘A dump job. Four suitcases.’

  ‘The rest of the guy from the box?’

  ‘That would be my guess. But I didn’t look inside.’

  ‘OK. So. Back to the present. How did this mystery guy know that Goodyear asked you to run me out of town? Goodyear must be in his pocket, too.’

  ‘No. It was me. The guy put out an order to report any sightings of Rutherford. Or anything to do with him. Goodyear told me Rutherford was involved in these brawls you were in. I figured that connected you. Better err on the side of caution, right? So I called it in.’

  ‘Does he have other people watching out for Rutherford?’

  ‘I don’t know for a fact. But this is no small-time guy. I bet he has a whole network working for him.’

  ‘What does he want with Rutherford?’

  ‘You think I’d ask him something like that? Does he sound like the kind of guy it would be a good idea to antagonize?’

  ‘He sounds like exactly the kind.’

  ‘That’s probably why you’re the one being driven out of town and I’m the one driving.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  ‘Take it however you want. So, what happens next? I guess you want the car. Fine. Take it. Just do one thing for me. I need to make it look like you escaped. If he thinks I let you go, I’m dead meat. Worse than dead meat. So I need you to hurt me. And I need you to make it look convincing. I know you put three men in the hospital last night, so don’t hold back.’

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you. And I’m not going to take your car. Not yet anyway. I’m going to recce on foot first and then make a plan.’

  ‘Recce what? The highway’s to the north, like you said. Go now. Put your foot down. Get out of the state before they find me.’

  ‘I have no interest in getting to the highway. That was Goodyear’s idea. I have unfinished business, and evidently some of it is at the gas station. People have gone to a lot of trouble to catch up with me. It would be rude not to show.’

  ‘Staying here is a bad idea. Remember box number one? That’s the kind of thing they’re capable of. And the suitcases. I don’t want my next job to be scattering parts of you all across the county. And I don’t want someone else scattering parts of me. So the best thing would be—’

  ‘Pass me the gun.’

  ‘It’s not loaded. I told you.’

  ‘Give it to me anyway.’

  Marty retrieved the gun from the floor and passed it back. It was a neat little .22. A Smith & Wesson 2213. Reacher checked it over. It was lacking oil. And the magazine was lacking bullets. Marty had been telling the truth.

  ‘And your phone,’ Reacher said.

  Marty disconnected his handset from a holder on the dashboard.

  ‘Now your burner phone.’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  ‘Don’t waste my time. There’s no way you’re communicating with a guy who arranges murders using a traceable phone.’

  Marty pulled a small folding phone out of his pocket.

  ‘And your keys.’

  Marty sighed and passed Reacher a thing the size of a matchbox with four buttons and a logo. A bunch of other keys was attached. Most looked like they were for regular locks. But one was much smaller. Reacher held it up.

  ‘For your handcuffs?’

  Marty nodded.

  ‘Lock yourself to the steering wheel. One wrist is fine.’

  Marty did as he was told.

  ‘OK.’ Reacher opened his door. ‘Stay here. Relax. I’ll be back in a while.’

  SEVEN

  Reacher set out walking and after twenty yards he came to the entrance to a field on the right-hand side of the road. There wasn’t much growing. He guessed that tobacco had once been cultivated there, but that was more from half-remembered lessons in schools in distant parts of the world than from any familiarity with the stubby brown plants straggling across the surface of the crumbly red soil. He picked his way to the opposite side, which was bordered by a stand of thin trees, squeezed through a gap, and continued parallel to the road.

  After a quarter of a mile Reacher saw the rear of a pair of buildings. The nearer one was wider and taller. Foot-square patches of white paint were flaking off its pitted concrete surface. A pillar maybe a yard square sprouted from the far side, more than doubling the height of the roof. A set of large red capital letters was still attached and the backs of the S, T, U, D and E were visible before the rest of the name was obscured by the wall. The second structure was smaller. It was little more than a kiosk at the side of a roofed-in forecourt. There were no gas pumps any more. Reacher guessed they’d been removed and gussied up and sold in arty stores in affluent towns. He’d seen one in a gallery window one time, on sale for more money than a car could cost. A sign of the times, he thought. Like the shuttered gas station itself. Once booming, nurtured by its car-dealer neighbour. Then a lonely fight for survival, clinging on as the flow of people ebbed and weakened and slowed and finally dried up altogether. The road would be a hopeless place to do business now. That was for sure. No vehicles had passed by since Reacher entered the field. There were only two others in sight anywhere. Tucked in behind the larger building. A Suburban and a Toyota. Black and blue. The same as the previous day. The question was, had they carried the same nu
mber of people?

  Reacher figured they’d put one person on the roof to spot Marty’s car approaching and give the word to the others. The car would swing on to the forecourt, and if Reacher was calling the shots he’d have it continue between the buildings and stop when it was halfway out at the other side. One person would break cover, open the rear door on the driver’s side, then drop back. Another would follow with a tranquillizer gun and shoot the target before he had a chance to scramble out of the tight space. So three people, minimum. Enough to handle the job easily. But if they were cautious they could use two people to open both rear doors, and have two with dart guns. That would require a higher level of skill and training to ensure that the guys with the guns didn’t shoot each other across the back seat of the car, but it would avoid any problems if the target gambled and threw himself at the opening door or managed to grab the gun before it fired. So more likely five people. And if they were more cautious still, they would have someone mobile to sweep up if anything went wrong. Six people. Two pairs, two singles. The same complement as yesterday.

  Reacher decided to leave the lookout on the roof until last. They were too physically removed to pose a threat, and even if they were armed they wouldn’t risk shooting in case they hit their own people. The pairs were likely to be concealed somewhere near the adjacent rear corners of the buildings. The sweeper was the unknown factor. He or she would be the one to take off the board first.

  If one existed.

  Reacher settled in to observe. He could wait all day. Meanwhile his opponents would be getting jumpy. They’d no doubt been informed that Marty had left the courthouse. Concern would be creeping in by now. They’d be worrying that something had gone wrong. The longer the delay, the more stress they’d be under. The greater the stress, the greater the chance they’d make a mistake.

  Twelve minutes passed. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. Then Reacher heard a vehicle. It was approaching from the north. Reacher caught movement on the roof. Near the pillar with the letters. A head appeared, rising slowly. It was a woman. Dressed in black. With red hair. He’d seen her before. Yesterday. On the opposite side of the alley before she helped get her unconscious buddy into the back of the Toyota. She stayed still for five or six seconds then sank back down, raising her hand to her ear as she went. A car appeared. Moving fast. An ink-blue Mustang convertible with its roof down. A man was driving. There was a woman smiling in the passenger seat. It flashed past, engine howling, scattering gravel in its wake.

  The next vehicle Reacher heard was heading the wrong way so he stayed still, pressed into the ground, invisible. The engine note was the same so he guessed it was the Mustang coming back. The guy showing off, hoping for action that night. Or hurrying home after an earlier indiscretion. Five more minutes passed. Ten. Then he heard a vehicle coming the right way. Something slower and softer. Reacher pulled up into a crouch, ready to race forward.

  There was movement on the roof. The woman’s head appeared again. She was rising faster this time. She stood all the way up, touching her ear, and started running towards the centre of the building. She would have been looking right at Reacher if she wasn’t so focused on the rooftop beneath her feet. When the southbound vehicle rolled by she didn’t even turn her head. Then she was gone. Reacher guessed she’d jumped down through a hatch. He dropped down too, nestling into the ground. Ninety seconds later the woman wriggled out through a gap at the end of a length of plywood hoarding near the midpoint of the rear wall. The guy Reacher had knocked out squeezed through after her and they ran to the Toyota. The two shorter guys Reacher had exchanged words with emerged from the kiosk and sprinted to the Suburban. Then both vehicles fired up and sped away, wheels spinning on the loose surface, heading away from town.

  EIGHT

  Speranski was in his dining room, eating his breakfast, when the secure phone rang again.

  ‘We have a problem,’ the voice at the other end of the line said. ‘We’ve lost Rutherford.’

  ‘How the hell did that happen?’ Speranski hurled his newspaper across the room. ‘Two people were supposed to be watching his building. Were my instructions not clear?’

  ‘They were clear. Two people were watching. One was the senior agent. She got a text from Rutherford’s doorman. Rutherford had asked him to call a cab.’

  ‘So how did that lead to Rutherford disappearing?’

  ‘The agent told the doorman to go ahead. And to order a second cab to arrive at the same time. So they could follow. The two operational vehicles were both in use at the ambush site. She figured that if the doorman didn’t get him a cab Rutherford would have just run out and hailed one on his own. Or taken his own car. Either way, just as bad. Maybe worse.’

  ‘So what went wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know. Either the doorman screwed up or the cab company did. Only one car came and Rutherford took it.’

  ‘Tell me we at least know its number?’

  ‘We do. Number, description, and photograph.’

  ‘Did Rutherford state his destination?’

  ‘He did. You’re not going to like it. Nashville airport.’

  ‘No.’ Speranski stood up. ‘Rutherford cannot be allowed to board a plane. That would be an absolute disaster. Where are the agents who were watching him?’

  ‘En route to the airport. So is the balance of the team. Given the urgency of the situation I recalled them from the ambush site.’

  ‘Good. Keep me posted. I want to know the moment Rutherford is intercepted.’ Speranski paused. ‘Wait. What about the drifter? What’s his status?’

  ‘That’s unclear. There must have been some kind of a delay after he was taken from the courthouse. He hadn’t been delivered when the team pulled out. I judged that finding Rutherford was a higher priority.’

  ‘So where is he?’

  There was a momentary silence on the line. ‘That’s another thing we don’t know.’

  Reacher stayed where he was, silent, and still. He didn’t want to reveal himself only to come face to face with another half dozen ambushers who had been lying in wait all along, so he gave it fifteen more minutes before he risked leaving. He crawled back the way he’d come until he reached the trees parallel to the road. Then he stood and started moving faster. He’d covered a quarter of a mile when he felt something vibrating in his pocket. He took out Marty’s phones. The burner was buzzing. Reacher opened the phone and held it to his ear.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ It was a man’s voice, broken up and distorted.

  The signal must be weak, Reacher guessed. Probably due to the remote location. Probably not great for clarity. But just in case he pulled up his shirt, doubled over the material, and used it to cover the little microphone.

  ‘Two minutes out,’ Reacher said.

  ‘What’s taking so long?’ The other man’s words were almost drowned out by the pops and howls on the line.

  ‘That guy you sent me to deliver? He’s a piece of work. I had to knock him out.’

  ‘He’s unconscious?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘That’s good. There’s been a change of plan. The team that was sent to meet you has been reassigned, temporarily. Another situation. More urgent. But that’s my concern. Have you got any rope with you? Or plasticuffs?’

  ‘I have a pair of real cuffs. Police department issue.’

  ‘They’ll work. Now, do this. When you get to the gas station take the guy inside the building and cuff him to something. Make sure it’s secure, and when you leave make sure there’s no sign you’ve been there. And make sure to keep your phone switched on. I may have another job for you later.’

  Marty was sitting bolt upright when Reacher got back to the car. He was stiff, proprietorial. Attempting to reclaim a little dignity. Reacher climbed in on the passenger side and gave him his keys and phones and gun.

  ‘Did you find the place?’ Marty unlocked the handcuffs.

  ‘I did,’ Reache
r said. ‘Now drive.’

  ‘Where?’ Marty fired up the engine. ‘Please say the highway.’

  ‘To the gas station. Half a mile, like you said.’

  Marty tensed up. ‘Is that safe?’

  ‘Completely. There’s no one there.’

  ‘Then why are we going?’

  ‘Because I’ve decided to cut you a break.’

  ‘How? What are you going to do?’

  ‘Cuff you to something solid then borrow your car. I’ll leave the keys at the courthouse.’

  ‘You’re going to send the police to get me?’

  ‘No. The guy on the phone is sending someone. He thinks they’ll be collecting me.’

  ‘I’m not following.’

  ‘The guy called on your burner phone a minute ago. There’s some snafu at his end, causing a delay. Tell his guys you tried to cuff me like he told you to, but I must not have been as unconscious as you thought. I got the jump on you, and cuffed you instead.’

  ‘They’ll never believe me.’

  ‘I could knock you out if that would help?’

  Marty paused like he was seriously considering it.

  ‘How about this?’ Reacher said. ‘I’ll cuff you with your arms so high up behind your back there’s no way you could have done it yourself. It’ll be uncomfortable, but it should save your ass.’

  Marty didn’t answer. He just pulled the car on to the old gas station’s forecourt and trudged to the kiosk in silence. Reacher followed him inside.

  ‘Why are you helping me?’ Marty winced as Reacher tightened the cuffs. ‘I tried helping someone once. Look at the trouble it got me in.’

  ‘I’ve been in trouble before,’ Reacher said. ‘I survived. And right now I have bigger fish to fry.’

  Reacher’s general approach to driving was to find someone else to do it. He was capable of operating a vehicle, in a technical sense. The army had provided thorough training. He’d never killed anyone with a car. At least, not by accident. He’d never had any collisions. Not unintentional ones. His problem was mainly one of temperament. Good driving called for a balance of action and reaction, speed and restraint, measurement and control. A middle ground, stable and sustained. Reacher, on the other hand, was built for extremes. His default was to move extremely slowly or extremely fast. One moment he could appear languid, lazy, almost comatose. The next he could erupt into a frenzy of action, furious, relentless, for as long as necessary, then relapse into serene stillness until the next threat presented itself. But that morning, having shackled the only other person in the vicinity to a water pipe, he was out of alternatives. There were no buses passing by. No cars to hitch a ride in. And even if there had been, there was the issue of speed.