by Diane Capri
Fern said, “If you believe that, Fern, you should buy a lotto ticket. Your luck is just not that good.”
No one argued with her. She gave herself a decisive nod. Her conclusion seemed sound.
“So where’s your car?” she asked.
A moment later, she replied, “Petey Burns.”
The more she considered it, the more certain she became. Fern’s last client of the day had stolen her car. Stealing German vehicles was his specialty, Petey Burns had said several times. He’d told her all about how he could clone the signals from a distance using a small device he acquired online.
During their client conference this afternoon, she’d had her key fob in her briefcase the whole time. Petey could have cloned it, and she’d have had no way of knowing.
She recalled how antsy he’d been. How he’d left their meeting early, something he’d never done before.
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became. Petey must have cloned her key fob and stolen her car.
“A device like that would have been contraband inside the prison,” she reminded herself.
Didn’t matter. Fern absolutely believed he’d obtained the device, somehow. She talked it through. “All kinds of contraband finds its way into that prison. There must be a thousand ways it could have happened. A visitor brought it. Or another inmate acquired it and gave it to him.”
And used it to steal her car when the opportunity presented itself.
But he hadn’t been walking around with the cloning device in his pocket for weeks or months, just waiting for the chance to use it. That made zero sense.
Somehow, he’d known that today was the day to clone her fob’s signal and steal her car.
“Question is, how did he know to do it today? Petey’s a good car thief. But he’s no criminal mastermind,” she said, head cocked, staring into the distance as if she might find the answer there. Nothing like flashing lights popped up with the answer.
“Come on, Fern. It’s not rocket science. You said yourself that Petey’s no genius. How’d he know?” she coaxed herself aloud, but it didn’t help. She came up with nothing.
She shook her head and tried a different approach.
Fern knew she’d been used. She’d known she was being used all along, just like the partner who’d had this gig before her.
But she hadn’t known anything like the prison break would happen. She hadn’t expected a jetliner crashing into the building. How could she have?
She’d received cryptic messages from Denny and passed them along on a burner cell phone to a nameless man she’d never met.
That was all. Nothing more. Nothing criminal, certainly.
Surely, she couldn’t be held accountable for any of this. Could she?
She reviewed every meeting she’d had with Walsh, Denny, and Petey Burns again. She recalled every message she’d relayed on the disposable cell phones.
She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her body as she watched the television screen, imagining the constantly replayed video as if it was unfolding one frame at a time.
When Chief Mitchell had released her from the lobby earlier, she’d expected him to take her in for questioning. When he didn’t, she began to hope that her part in the disaster might stay a secret.
She whispered the disjoined prayers of a terrified lawyer. “Please. Let no one else be dead. If no one dies, if they get away… Maybe they’ll never find out. Or I could make a deal. They might let me go…”
Fern switched the television on again and changed to another station to watch the report again. Nothing new. The flicker of hope she held in her heart burned a little brighter, even as she realized how foolish her hope was.
She thought about her dad. About Noah.
The longer the news story droned on, the more her thoughts turned to her own escape.
Canada was not that far away. If they left tonight…or early in the morning.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Saturday, May 14
Bolton, South Dakota
12:05 a.m.
“We’ll find Smithers and let him know we’re here.” Burke nodded and asked, “Got a headcount on the escaped inmates yet?”
“At least forty tried, as far as we’ve been able to count. We’ve already recaptured about half of them,” Mitchell replied. “We got the prison locked down to keep the rest of them inside where they belong. It’s just a matter of dealing with the damage and the fallout.”
Woody said gravely, “Bolton is a maximum-security federal prison. Inmates tend to be violent offenders. Some are confirmed psychopaths. Until we get a handle on who’s missing and who’s not, keep your wits about you.”
“How about prison personnel? Did you lose any?” Kim asked.
Woody shook his head again. “Some injuries, but they were lucky to get out with just broken bones, mostly. The pilot of that cargo plane was not so lucky.”
“Any intel on the pilot yet?” Kim asked. “Was this a terrorist attack?”
“Besides the fact that the dude must have been stone cold crazy, you mean?” Mitchell shrugged and shook his head as if he’d seen crazy stuff in his day, but deliberately crashing a jet into a prison might have been the topper. “We’ve got plenty to worry about on our end. The pilot is someone else’s problem.”
Burke said, “How about civilians? Any visitors involved?”
“Caught a break there. It was late in the day, so deliveries were already done. No family visits allowed on Friday. Only one civilian was on site that we know about at this point, and she wasn’t injured. We’ll debrief her later,” Mitchell replied. “You’d be smart to stay inside tonight and lock up your vehicle. It’s gonna be cold out. Anybody still running around out there will be looking for a warm place to bed down.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes after the waitress delivered food and scurried back to the kitchen.
Then Woody asked, “Where were you guys working when you got called out here? You must’ve been pretty close to Bolton already since you intercepted that BMW.”
“That’s right,” Kim replied. “We were on our way here. From Rapid City.”
Mitchell looked up, eyebrows raised, surprised. He swallowed a mouthful of pot roast and asked, “What for?”
“Routine. We’re working with the Special Personnel Task Force. Completing a background check on a former army officer who is being considered for a classified assignment,” Kim explained, using the official cover story.
“Hard to believe somebody living here in Bolton has indispensable skills,” Woody said between big bites of potatoes and gravy.
“Not the job candidate,” Kim shook her head. “Our interview subject lives here. A lawyer. Her name is Fern Olson. Know her?”
Woody and Mitchell exchanged glances. Mitchell took a big swig of coffee and swallowed. “Everybody in Bolton knows Olson. She’s something of a pain in our ass.”
Burke gave him a brothers-in-arms look. “How so?”
“She challenges just about every felony case we put together, and she’s damned good at it. We lock ’em up, and she gets ’em out. That’s pretty much how it goes. Nobody working the job is happy with that. Olson doesn’t have a lot of friends around Bolton PD,” Mitchell said before turning his full attention to the food as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks.
“If your candidate was one of Olson’s clients, it’s hard to see how he’d be fit for any kind of special classified assignment, for damned sure. She doesn’t represent the choirboys if you know what I mean,” Woody concluded as if the matter was resolved. “Who is the guy, anyway?”
“His name is Jack Reacher,” Burke said.
This time, Woody and Mitchell exchanged the kind of look Kim had seen before. No one ever had a neutral reaction to Reacher. These two wouldn’t be nominating him for sainthood anytime soon.
Mitchell and Woody pointedly returned their attention to their plates without further comment.
“Reacher came through here a fe
w years ago when you were having trouble with methamphetamine trafficking,” Kim said. “Did you meet him back then?”
“Yeah, we met him,” Mitchell said gruffly, in a menacing tone. “Reacher walked into town, and by the time he was done here, good friends were dead.”
“I see,” Kim said. That story was familiar. She’d heard it several times before. Different towns, different troubles, but always a trail of violence that lingered long after Reacher moved on.
Mitchell finished his potatoes and cleared his throat. “Straight up? He was like a bad luck charm. Things were bad when he arrived and got worse the longer he stayed. A lot of what happened wasn’t his fault. He was actually helpful now and then. But we were glad to see him go and hoping we’d never see him again. You’re not telling me he’s on his way, are you?”
“If Reacher’s coming here,” Woody added with a scowl, “five bucks says Olson’s right at the center of whatever brought him back.”
“Why would you say that?” Burke asked.
“Coply intuition,” Mitchell deadpanned as he shoveled the last of his food into his mouth.
“Tell me more about Olson,” Kim said, taking a calculated tangent. “When’s the last time you talked to her?”
Mitchell looked up from his plate and shrugged. “Few hours ago. She was trapped in the lobby at the prison when they went on lockdown.”
“What was she doing there?” Burke asked, eyebrows raised.
“Seeing clients, she said. Three prisoners. She goes in every Friday, I guess,” Woody explained.
A familiar frisson ran up Kim’s spine and made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. “Which three prisoners did she meet with today?”
“We haven’t had a chance to ask her about that yet.” Mitchell turned to look directly into her eyes. “Has Reacher been a guest of the feds lately?”
Kim’s first reaction was to answer truthfully, no. First because she’d checked all the federal prison records when she received the assignment. Reacher had never been in prison, according to the databases. He’d been in jail a few times, but not here, as far as she knew.
Beyond that, she believed Reacher had been with her in Carter’s Crossing, Mississippi, yesterday.
She hadn’t actually seen him there, though.
She hadn’t seen him anywhere since that first night in Washington DC, back in November.
But she’d connected with him several times since then.
He’d called. Left her voicemails. He’d texted.
He’d even saved her life once or twice.
Hadn’t he?
Kim cleared her throat. “Olson would have arranged those client meetings in advance. The prisoners had to be permitted to meet with her. There must be records. We can find out who she met with pretty easily.”
Mitchell nodded. “You offered to help. Why don’t you do exactly that? Then we’ll see if we can find her clients.”
“Because you believe all three men will be on the escaped prisoners list?” Burke asked.
Woody snorted. “And you don’t?”
“Well again, they won’t get far tonight. Let’s table this conversation until the morning,” Mitchell said. He stood up, tossed bills on the laminated surface, and handed her a business card. “My cell number’s on there.”
Kim fished a card out of her pocket and gave it to him. He slipped it into his pocket and left.
She and Burke walked out of the restaurant together a few minutes later. Burke pressed the fob to unlock the SUV and they climbed inside, shivering in the cold. He started the engine and they rode the short distance to the hotel in cold silence.
When he parked out front, Burke said, “You think the lawyer, Olson, was involved in the jailbreak? She took advantage of the crisis situation to get her clients free?”
“Maybe.”
“You think Reacher was there?”
She shrugged. Kim didn’t think Reacher could have been there. Could he?
She wasn’t sure. That was always the problem. She was never sure, where Reacher was concerned.
He turned off the SUV and they trudged through the cold to the hotel. The kid at the desk was staring into the blue glow of a laptop screen. He nodded as they walked past, headed toward the elevator.
“Call you in the morning,” Burke said, as the doors dinged open on the third floor.
“Sounds good.” She turned toward her room.
When she’d locked the door behind her, she glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was well after midnight. But Gaspar wouldn’t be asleep.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Saturday, May 14
Bolton, South Dakota
12:35 a.m.
Kim opened her laptop and, using the secure encrypted server, located the files Gaspar had sent. While she waited for the download, she flipped the television on and found a twenty-four-hour cable news station. She muted the volume and read through the crawlers at the bottom of the screen.
All the news on the jailbreak was old.
She pulled out the two cell phones she’d been keeping in her pockets and glanced at the screens. Two missed calls from the Boss, spaced two hours apart. The first one came in while they were still in the woods searching for the driver of the red BMW.
She hit the redial.
“Good to hear you’re still alive,” Cooper said snidely when he picked up on the fourth ring.
She found the mini-bar and pulled a small bottle of cheap red wine from the back, rooting around for a glass. Plastic was the best she could find.
“Nothing new to report. I figured you knew more than I did,” she replied, kicking her boots off.
“Which is why I called,” he said.
“I’m listening.” She poured the wine and settled onto the bed, letting the wine warm up before she drank it. It was late and she was tired. Wine would help her sleep. Maybe.
She closed the lid on the laptop. He’d want to know what she was downloading if he noticed her looking at it while they talked.
This hotel room had equipment he could hack into to spy on her. It was always safer to assume he could see and hear everything. She’d learned not to rely on him, though. He definitely did not always have her back. Which was another reason she needed Gaspar.
The Boss interrupted her thoughts again. “Fern Olson. The lawyer. Did you find her yet?”
“You already know we didn’t. We found her car, though. One of the inmates stole it from the parking lot during the prison break.”
“Yeah. I saw the video from our satellites. Guy’s name is Petey Burns. One of Olson’s clients,” he said.
Kim narrowed her eyes. “You suppose it was pure coincidence that one of her clients stole her car and made a run for it during the boldest prison break this century?”
“As you would say, what are the odds?” the Boss replied with heavy sarcasm and a snide chuckle.
“Beyond slim,” she said just as snidely.
“Indeed.”
“Where is Olson now?” Kim asked.
“Unclear. Past few months, she’s been living with her father. Out in the country. North of the prison. She has a son who lives with her. Do your homework. Everything even remotely relevant is contained in the files Gaspar sent you,” he said, telegraphing that he was well aware of her ongoing connection with Gaspar, and he didn’t like it.
Keeping Gaspar in the loop was, of course, a violation of her orders and every protocol on the planet. Her investigation was under the radar. She was allowed to share minimal intel and only when she absolutely couldn’t avoid sharing.
Kim didn’t bother to argue with the Boss. She hadn’t even seen Gaspar’s files yet.
But somehow the Boss obviously had.
He was no doubt monitoring Gaspar’s every move, just as he monitored hers. Which was illegal as hell, especially since Gaspar became a private citizen.
She’d bet a million dollars that the Boss didn’t have a warrant to watch Gaspar and couldn’t get o
ne if he tried. Which he wouldn’t.
But the rules didn’t apply to Charles Cooper. Never had. Never would.
“Get used to it, Sunshine,” Gaspar had said back when he was in the field with her.
She shrugged and returned her attention to the Boss. “So why did you call?”
“We’re getting intel on the pilot. It’s looking like a direct hit on the prison rather than an equipment malfunction.”
She shook her head. “That’s just crazy, though. Was he suicidal?”
“Just the opposite. Solid guy. Family man. Veteran. The whole nine yards,” he said, clucking his teeth as if the news baffled him as much as her. “Point is, we haven’t found a motive yet. He wouldn’t be the first veteran to go berserk. But this doesn’t feel like that.”
She nodded and sipped the wine, thinking it through. “Usually, a hijacked jet is not a lone wolf operation. Too many moving parts.”
“Exactly. We’ll find out who was involved. Meanwhile, watch your back.” He paused, inhaled deeply, and blew out a long stream of frustration. “Find Fern Olson. Stick with her. Whatever this is, she’s right in the middle of it.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, not really expecting an answer. But it never hurts to ask.
A couple of moments passed while she watched the news replay of the video view from the helo chasing the red BMW. Nothing she hadn’t seen before.
“What does Olson have to do with Reacher?” Kim asked again, but he’d disconnected the call and she was left with nothing but dead air.
She didn’t bother to call him back. No point. Asking him wouldn’t get her anywhere. If he knew how Reacher and Olson were connected and he’d wanted to tell her, he’d have done it already.
Kim finished the wine, but she was still wide awake. She climbed off the bed and went back to the mini-bar for another four-ounce bottle. This was the last one, and the wine wasn’t all that great, either.
She made a mental note to buy a better bottle and bring it back with her tomorrow, if they remained stuck here. She always carried a corkscrew in her travel bag.
