by Lee Child
Sands read their body language and climbed out to join them.
‘Budnick’s an asshole,’ Rutherford said. ‘Reacher was right. He was lying.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Sands said. ‘He got his own unit number wrong. Maybe he got this one wrong too. We should start trying the others.’
‘Is there time?’ Rutherford said. ‘There are a hundred units. Someone might come and see what we’re doing. And what about the cameras? We can’t disable all of them. Even with two down we could have a problem. If someone’s monitoring them. They’re bound to investigate if they notice a whole row’s gone dark.’
‘We wouldn’t have to check all the units,’ Reacher said. ‘Budnick’s story might be bullshit. But if it’s not and the protection guy does keep his contraband here, he will use one of the end rows. They’re the only ones with units you can’t see into from the opposite side. And it’s more likely to be this one than the A block because it’s further from the entrance. Fewer people to see his trucks coming and going.’
‘So nine more to try,’ Sands said. ‘Nineteen, worst case.’
‘Maybe only one more,’ Reacher said. ‘Budnick told us his unit was A6 and the protection guy’s was E4. His was actually A4. So maybe he transposed the digits. Maybe the protection guy’s is E6.’
Reacher moved one unit to the left. Its lock was also slender and unobtrusive but it must have been made with some kind of specially hardened steel. Reacher had to put some serious effort into breaking it. He wrestled with the cutter for maybe half a minute before the stem finally gave way. Then he flipped the body aside. Pulled it clear. Dropped it into his pocket with the other two defeated locks. Took hold of the door handle. And froze. A sound reached him. They were too far from the gate to have heard it open but there was no mistaking the purr of a large motor. The thrum of tyres on concrete. It was a vehicle. Coming their way.
Reacher nodded towards the minivan. Sands and Rutherford jumped inside. Reacher heaved the door to the furniture unit back into place and followed them. A pickup appeared from around the corner of the building. A Toyota. Some kind of metallic bronze colour. Very shiny. No light bar on the roof. No security company logo. No wannabe gangsters with guns. Just the driver. He looked to be in his fifties. And he was in no hurry. He trundled by, gave a friendly wave, and continued towards the far end of the block. Stopped at the last but one door. E18. Climbed out, unlocked the unit, took a box from his load bed, and carried it inside. He was back in his truck within a minute. He waved again. Then fired up the engine and continued around the far corner.
‘Come on,’ Sands said. ‘I have a bad feeling about this. Let’s get it over with before anyone else shows up.’
They climbed out together and Reacher hauled up the door to E6. Only it didn’t open on to a space the size they’d seen before. This time four units had been knocked together. Two on the even side. Two on the odd side.
Rutherford hit a switch on the wall which caused a dozen fluorescent tubes to flicker into life. ‘Holy mother of God.’
Shelves had been installed throughout in rows about two yards apart. They held pretty much every kind of electronic gadget Reacher had ever heard of. Domestic. Commercial. Industrial. Even some low-grade military. But whether the servers were part of the cache, he had no idea.
‘I could live here for the rest of my life.’ Rutherford stepped inside and made his way slowly along the first shelf, scanning each item and muttering quietly to himself. Then something caught his eye a little further ahead. He raced forward six feet, dropped to his knees, and threw his arms around a stack of black boxes on the lowest level. ‘I don’t believe it. They’re here. We’ve found them.’
‘Do they work?’ Reacher said. ‘Have they been wiped? Can we test them?’
‘Not here,’ Rutherford said. ‘They’re not like laptops. You can’t just turn them on and see. You have to connect them to a network. Then you can use a computer to check what’s on them. Think of them as giant external hard drives.’
‘We’ll show you how, later,’ Sands said. ‘Networking them’s easy. Right now we need to get them in the van. Take them somewhere safe. Work on them there.’
Rutherford and Sands carried two servers each. Reacher carried four. They loaded them into the narrow cargo area behind the rear bench seat. Sands took another minute to make sure they were secure. Then she made for the driver’s seat.
‘Hold on,’ Reacher said. ‘If you want to copy what’s on a server, what do you need? Another server?’
Rutherford nodded. ‘And a network and some software. But basically, yes.’
‘Are there any other servers here? That would be the right kind?’
‘Sure. There’s a whole bunch.’
‘You used eight servers altogether. But only one from the archive project?’
‘Correct. The rest I scrounged from other places.’
‘OK. Let’s grab a couple we could copy on to. No. Let’s make it four.’
‘Why? What are we going to copy?’
‘Maybe nothing. I’ll explain once we’re out of here.’
TWENTY-TWO
There were five words on Reacher’s mind as they headed back to town.
Need to know. And Forty hours.
Five words rather than six. Because eight hours were gone. But the same two concepts remained. Along with a single question. Which begged a one-word answer. Had the servers been wiped? Yes, or no? Either way Reacher would have two things to do. If the data was intact he would have to persuade Rutherford to duplicate it, and get a copy to the FBI. If the data was gone, he would have to break the news to Agent Fisher and persuade Rutherford to leave town. He knew which was preferable. But he had no idea which would be easier.
Reacher looked at Sands and Rutherford in the front seats. They were different people from the ones who had entered the storage unit. Their fatigue was gone. And their worry. He could feel their excitement now. Their enthusiasm. Their certainty that with the servers successfully recovered, everything else was bound to fall into place. Reacher himself was feeling less confident. He was the only one who knew what was at stake. And he was the only one who had no experience with computers. He had no idea how to extract their secrets. Or how to find out if they even held any secrets. He would rather be dealing with humans, any day of the week.
Their first port of call was the apartment building so that Rutherford and Sands could pick up some clothes and toiletries and grab their laptops and all the cables and connectors they would need to hook the servers together. Next they collected Marty’s car, which Reacher drove. Then they headed north again, in tandem, back to the truck stop. Not for fuel or supplies this time. But because of its two motels. One in particular had caught Reacher’s eye. He figured it was the oldest part of the whole complex. The design was very traditional. He had seen similar places all across the country. It had a blue and red neon sign out front depicting some kind of mythical bird. The building was a single storey high. It was clad with strips of dark wood. It started at its south-west corner with an office, which had a covered entryway and machines outside for soft drinks and ice. Then it continued around three sides of a square with a regular pattern of window and door, window and door. Thirty-six pairs altogether. Each with a parking space outside. Leaving no distance to walk from your vehicle to your room. Making it easy to carry your luggage inside. And reducing the chances of anyone seeing what you had brought. However unusual it might be. Or incongruous. Such as three mismatched suitcases and a dozen sleek black boxes.
The layout suited Reacher very well. As did the fact that of the thirty-six parking spaces only four were occupied. Three were taken by ancient sedans, their paint bleached and blistered by years of sun. The other by a bright yellow Toyota SUV with red mud sprayed right up to its roof. Two of the sedans were on the office side of the courtyard. The third sedan and the Toyota were on the opposite side. Leaving one section completely vacant.
Sands pulled up next to the vending machines
, climbed out, and headed into the office. Reacher parked next to the minivan and went inside with her. The space was long and narrow. The reception counter was immediately to the right, followed by a tall freezer with double glass doors and a table with a microwave and a drip coffee machine. Three white plastic tables were lined up along the left-hand wall. Each had four white plastic chairs. And a vase with a red plastic flower.
Reacher rapped on the counter and after a moment a door opened and a guy came through. He looked about nineteen. His hair was shoulder length, he had round glasses, and he was wearing a baggy white T-shirt and a pair of faded, baggy jeans. He plonked himself down in the receptionist’s chair and peered at Reacher.
‘We need to talk about the price of your rooms,’ Reacher said.
The guy pointed to a sign on the wall behind him: Rooms $95+ / night.
‘Those are your standard rates, I guess,’ Reacher said. ‘I’m not interested in those.’
‘No discounts,’ the guy said. ‘Ninety-five plus tax. Take it or leave it.’
‘I’m not looking for a discount. I need something else. A special arrangement.’
‘No special arrangements, either. Whatever they are.’
‘Don’t be hasty. You haven’t heard what I have in mind. Do you want to miss out on a good thing?’
The guy paused. ‘Go on.’
‘Two rooms,’ Reacher said. ‘A week in advance. One at ninety-five a night, on a credit card, as normal. The other at one fifty a night, in cash, directly into your pocket.’
‘Go on,’ the guy said.
‘Three conditions. First, the rooms must be together in the centre of the vacant block facing out across the courtyard, and they must have a connecting door.’
‘Can do.’
‘Second, we register for one of the rooms as normal. The other you enter in your system as not available for occupancy.’
‘I don’t know what that is. I don’t think we have it here.’
‘Sure you do. All hotels have it. Or some version of it. For when a customer dies and you have to wait for the coroner to sign off. Or someone gets busted for drugs and you have to wait for the police to clear the scene. Or even if the plumbing breaks down and you have to wait to get it fixed. Look in your employee handbook. It’ll be there.’
‘Handbook? What century are you from?’ The guy woke his computer and called up a help screen. ‘Oh. OK. We do have it. No problem. What else?’
‘This arrangement is completely confidential. You don’t mention it to anyone. Not your boss. Not your co-workers. Not the people who clean the rooms. Not your friends. Not your mom or dad. Not even your cat or dog.’
‘I don’t have a cat or a dog. But I get your point. Can do. And just to clarify, you said a week for both rooms? As in seven nights?’
‘Seven nights. A thousand and fifty bucks, if that’s what you’re thinking about.’
‘All right then. We have a deal.’
‘Outstanding. My friend here will take care of the credit card and the forms. I’ll take care of the cash. Half now. Half when we leave. Assuming you’ve kept your mouth shut.’
Reacher and Sands walked out of the office with the keys to rooms eighteen and nineteen. Eighteen was above board. Nineteen was off the books. Invisible to anyone who might come looking for them.
Reacher parked Marty’s car outside room eighteen. Sands reversed the minivan close to the door to room nineteen. They carried the servers inside. Then the suitcases. Then the bolt cutter and the duct tape and the remains of the other supplies Reacher had bought. Four minutes’ exposure. An acceptable risk. Then Reacher took the minivan and dumped it way on the far side of the site. Sands would be able to return it to the rental office at the airport once everything was resolved. But for the time being it was too hot to use. Thomassino had seen it. Budnick had seen it. The random customer at Norm’s Self Storage had seen it. And it had most likely been recorded by half a dozen of Norm’s security cameras.
Reacher picked up three pizzas and three Cokes at the first restaurant he passed and took them back to the motel. He let himself into room eighteen and switched on the light. It was the kind of place that was probably considered luxurious at one time. Now most people would call it adequate. Or economical. There was a pair of queen beds with flowery covers and a scattering of cushions. An armchair. A TV. A fridge. A desk. A bathroom. And a closet. The floors were fake wood. The walls were painted in pale, neutral tones. Finishes selected for durability rather than comfort, Reacher figured. Even the wattage of the lightbulb was designed to save on the electric bills rather than to provide a cosy atmosphere. But none of that bothered him. There was a bed. A place to wash. And access to coffee.
Reacher opened his half of the connecting door and knocked. Sands opened the other side and he stepped through to room nineteen. It was a mirror image of eighteen. Identical, except for the modifications Sands and Rutherford had made. They’d taken the duvet from one of the beds and taped it over the window to prevent any light from spilling out. They’d taped all around the door frame, for the same reason. They’d set up one of the eight original servers on every flat surface they could find. And they’d created a rat’s nest of power cables and thick yellow wires to connect everything together. Except for Rutherford’s laptop. It was on the edge of the stripped bed, tethered to the other equipment with a thick blue wire. Rutherford was sitting in front of it, cross-legged, concentrating so hard on the screen he didn’t notice that Reacher had returned.
‘How’s it looking?’ Reacher handed a pizza and a drink to Sands, and dropped another on the bed next to Rutherford.
‘Good, I think,’ Sands said. ‘Rusty?’
‘What’s that?’ Rutherford said. ‘Oh. Thanks.’
‘How is it looking?’ Reacher said. ‘With the servers. The data. Is it still there?’
‘Oh. Yes. Seems to be. Cerberus is pretty messed up, though. Looks like the ransomware tried to rewrite parts of it. Might take a while to figure out what and how. And why. And how to build some protection into our final product. But I’ve got to say, this is better than I’d dared hope for. End of the day, Cerberus got bent, but it didn’t get broken. And that’s a result, in my book.’
‘That’s good,’ Reacher said. ‘But the records from the archive project. Are they still there? All of them?’
‘The disk is full. Nothing seems corrupted. So I guess so.’
‘Can you find out for sure?’
‘I could, but—’
‘Then do it now, please.’
‘But I need to figure out how Cerberus—’
‘Rusty, this is important. Check now. Please.’
Rutherford sighed then spent a couple of minutes tapping on his keyboard and prodding at his touchpad. ‘OK. Look. I haven’t opened every one of the thousands and thousands of scanned images – basically photographs of documents – but to the best of my belief, the archive records are all intact and undamaged.’
‘In that case I need you to make a copy,’ Reacher said. ‘No. Two copies.’
‘No way. Forget it. I already told you, I’m not letting anyone have a copy of anything. Not until Cerberus is perfected. My future depends on it. Sarah’s too.’
‘I understand. But here’s the thing. When I got back to Mitch’s apartment this morning, I told you the truth about what happened to me. But I didn’t tell you the whole truth.’
TWENTY-THREE
‘What do you guys know about a thing called The Sentinel?’ Reacher said.
‘Zip,’ Rutherford said. ‘Never heard of it.’
‘I’ve heard a little about it,’ Sands said. ‘Mostly gossip. From some people at the Bureau. Word is, about four years ago there was a major brain drain out of cyber crimes. A bunch of the top guns all upped and left, out of the blue. At first people thought one of the big Silicon Valley corporations was on a recruitment rampage. Then there was a theory that some start-up was throwing crazy money around. But finally someone found out the governmen
t was behind it. An emergency response. To the Russians having a new weapon that could totally shred our election systems. Everywhere in the country was vulnerable. No results could be trusted. The guys at Quantico did some modelling. They figured the fallout from even one compromised general election could be anything from civil disobedience to full-scale rioting to possible insurrection. Imagine some of these foil-hat militia guys if they had evidence someone stole an election. Some of them have serious firepower and are already a hair’s breadth from using it.’
‘You’re about on the money,’ Reacher said. ‘The Sentinel is the only thing that can stop this weapon. The Russians can’t defeat it. So they’re trying to steal it.’
‘How?’ Rutherford said.
‘They have a spy inside Oak Ridge Laboratory. Where The Sentinel was designed.’
‘Why don’t they arrest him?’
‘Because they only know a spy exists. They don’t know who it is. The Bureau thinks it’s a sleeper. With some kind of connection to this area. Which is where things start cutting close to the bone. A document surfaced in the town archive which could have revealed the spy’s ID.’
‘The archive burned down.’
‘Not a coincidence.’
‘The online archive had the same documents. It got locked by the ransomware attack.’
‘Also not a coincidence.’
‘And my server has some of those documents on it. Because Cerberus protected them.’
‘Which is why you almost got kidnapped. The Russians want those records. To destroy whichever one could incriminate their guy.’
‘How do you know all this, Reacher?’ Sands said.
