by Scott Blade
Reacher said, “What the hell is going on?”
Amita said, “I don’t know, but I think that your CIA agent is lying to you.”
Reacher said, “I know he’s lying. He’s CIA. They lie. But what is he lying about?”
Amita said, “What do you think?”
Reacher said, “I think that he’s telling the truth about Jacobs. He might be telling the truth about the terrorists. Someone is attacking us. But I’m not sure about this Ebola thing.”
Amita said, “Maybe his ass is on the line for something else. Maybe he’s just using you because you aren’t affiliated with them. Plausible deniability.”
Reacher said, “Makes sense.”
Amita said, “Call him and ask him. Confront him.”
Reacher said, “No. Better if we find Jacobs ourselves. Get the truth.”
Just then, Amita’s radio burst to life. The radio waves worked again. The storm had ceased enough to allow for the antennas to receive transmissions.
Amita’s father was on the channel.
He said, “Amita! You’d better get back here. Reacher too.”
Amita acknowledged with an affirmative and they headed back inside.
They reached the double doors and found that Chief Red Cloud was waiting outside for them.
He said, “Ray Collins who lives up there on the mountain just came down. He’s inside and scared. He’s spouting off something about an intruder in his house.”
Reacher said, “Where does he live exactly?”
Amita said, “He’s the closest neighbor to Jacobs’ house.”
Reacher said, “We’d better talk to him.”
They went inside the community center, following Chief Red Cloud.
Inside the people were all awake. They sat on the floor or on cots side by side. There were folding chairs mixed up along the back walls with people sitting and facing each other like they had been deep in conversation.
Chief Red Cloud said, “He’s over there.”
He pointed to a short old bald man with a long dark blue sweater and thick boots caked in snow. Reacher figured that he must’ve run from his house and marched straight to the community center and police station.
Amita walked over to him first, greeted him, and patted his shoulders. She had genuine concern in her eyes. Reacher thought that she would make a fine sheriff someday. No doubt about that. He had seen the good qualities needed in an extraordinary sheriff in his own mother and Amita had those same qualities, for the most part.
Then Amita asked him to explain what was going on now that he was calmer. Reacher figured that he must have burst in on a large group of sleeping people and then started making frantic noises, waking everyone up, probably startling them. Now they were confused and scared.
Ray Collins had some fear left in his voice. He described a scene where a large explosion woke him. The Jacobs’ house, Reacher presumed. About 20 minutes after that, a man barged into his house with a gun. He didn’t recognize the man. He said that the guy’s face was covered in blood and snow and grime. But he said it was strange because the man knew his name.
The guy made him wait for a while. The guy took the keys to his truck, even though it couldn’t drive because of the snow. Then the guy just let him go. Told him to run and not come back for a few days.
Amita didn’t wait for any more of the story. She pulled Reacher by the arm and said into his ear, “We’d better get up there. Must be one of the bad guys.”
Reacher shook his head and said, “I doubt it. Why would the bad guy let Mr. Collins go?”
Amita stayed quiet.
Reacher said, “I think that we’ve found Mike Jacobs.”
Chapter 38
Before they left, Reacher decided that it was best to take the Heckler and Koch G36 with him. So he took it outside and test fired it like he had the P99. And it worked perfectly. With single shot fire selected, he aimed and fired a round straight through his earlier target. He hit almost the same area.
Amita shook her head and acted like she was unimpressed. Then Reacher needed a strap to carry the gun, so he asked if Amita had anything that would work, like an old worn pair of boots. He could use the laces. She took him into the stationhouse and opened a cabinet of what appeared to be old lost-and-found items. Reacher found a pair of boots, looked at the size and it was one inch bigger than his own, which was acceptable. So instead of taking the laces from the boots, he took off his own shoes and traded them for the boots. After he laced them up and tested them and was satisfied, he grabbed the old shoes and took the laces out of one. He tied one end of the lace to the handle, made it a tight knot, and then he tied a duplicate knot to the stock. Now he had a useable strap. He double checked that the safety was on and slung the gun over his shoulder and across his back. He carried it like an ancient barbarian carried a sword.
Reacher asked, “Do you have a long gun available?”
Amita said, “I have a shotgun in my police cruiser.”
“Reacher said, “Get it.”
And then he unlaced the other shoelace and readied it. He waited. One minute. Two. Then Amita returned with the shotgun.
It had no strap, as Reacher had figured. So he tied two more knots. One around the barrel and one around the stock. Amita slung it across her back and now they both looked like ancient warriors carrying their weapons this way. Like a husband and wife of old, fighting their way across the land on horseback.
Reacher smiled.
Amita and Reacher mounted the horses and headed out onto the snowy terrain and up the mountain. They followed a similar route as before, making a similar journey, and using the same amount of time, only they turned at a junction that Reacher hadn’t paid attention to the last time and they veered off to the northeast. They came to a clearing and an open spot of land that must have been a snow-covered driveway. There was an old wooden house standing tall with large windows that were much newer than the rest of the structure. Hurricane windows, Reacher guessed.
There was a flagpole with no flag. It was surrounded by a small rock base.
The rope on the pole flapped and batted up against the steel.
Reacher saw that the snow had covered the steps leading up to the house, but that there were footprints through it. And there was clearly a path of footprints that led off toward the main center of the reservation.
“Mr. Collins,” Amita said.
Reacher nodded. He imagined Collins being attacked by CIA agent Mike Jacobs. Jacobs took him hostage, but only to keep him safe from the bad guys in case there were more of them. Then when the coast was clear, Jacobs let him go. And probably buckled down for the rest of the night to ride out the storm. Since Collins was still alive and had only just arrived at the community center, then perhaps he had left his house a little over an hour ago. Running down the mountain, gravity on his side, and adrenaline pumping through his veins, not to mention fear driving him, the guy probably made impressive time. Maybe even less than an hour.
Reacher hoped that Jacobs was still there.
They made their way into the clearing and approached. They decided to tie the horses off on the mailbox at the end of the drive. They didn’t want to approach on horseback in case the intruder started shooting at them. Better to approach on foot.
They both drew their weapons and readied them in case they had to use them.
Reacher took point. He led Amita up to the house. The occupants would have probably heard the horses in the distance, but maybe not. So far they had no problems.
The goal of approaching a house with armed combatants inside is to reach cover as quickly and as quietly as possible.
Reacher had no problem with the quiet part, but moving fast in the snow wasn’t easy. He had to watch where he stepped while watching the house for signs of the enemy.
Amita was good. She approached from the left and Reacher came in from the right.
He glanced at every window and back to the front door. No sign of awareness on the part of
the hostile inside.
Amita was faster and quieter than Reacher. She crept up and reached the porch before he did. She stopped, turned, and kept the shotgun pointed toward the front door.
Reacher made it up onto the porch. The boards creaked underneath his bulk and he paused a beat to wait to see if anyone had heard him. Nothing happened. So he continued over to Amita and they paused in front of the door.
She leaned into him and whispered, “I should announce ‘police.’”
Reacher whispered back, “Don’t do it. Let’s breach.”
Amita nodded.
They both prepared to breach the entrance. Amita stood back to the left of the door and Reacher stood in front in a position to kick the door in.
First he reached forward and tried the knob slowly, while prepared to jump right if gunfire came back at him from the other side of the door. The knob turned and the door popped open with a faint groan. Reacher moved to the right with his G36 pointed at the entrance. He pushed the door open with the muzzle.
The door swung open all the way and Reacher peeked in. He saw nothing. He opened it all the way and stepped in, keeping his gun sweeping slowly from side to side, checking corners, and checking doorways. No movement. Nothing happened.
The house was mostly dark. A dim light from a lamp lit up the living room and shone on the floor in the hallway. There were pictures of kids and grandkids littered on the walls. Reacher saw bloody handprints smeared down the wall toward the stairs. One print was right on top of a picture of the whole Collins family.
Amita followed Reacher with the shotgun pointed in the opposite direction and downward. She was careful to keep him out of the area of fire.
He signaled to her to show her the prints along the wall. She gazed at them and nodded. Together they thought of the possibility that their intruder was wounded. They continued to search the hallway and they found nothing.
The living room had more family pictures all over the place. The owner had no television. Reacher liked that. Instead it was obvious what the old guy did for entertainment because on the eastern wall there was a huge bookshelf. It stretched the length of the wall—about ten feet.
Reacher took a glance at the books and scanned the titles. Lots of science fiction. Old ones too.
Then they heard a noise from above—a creak and a thud.
They turned and headed quickly to the staircase. It was in the hallway and faced an open doorway which led to the kitchen. The kitchen was wide open. They could see perfectly into it without having to enter. There were no hiding places.
They both pointed their guns up the stairs. No movement. A light stretched out across the top landing and over the top three steps.
Reacher took point again. Placed his hand up in the air and closed his fist—standard military signal to stop. At least that’s what he thought. He had never been in the military, but had come from a military family and he was sure that he had seen such a signal somewhere before. Probably some bad movie. Amita seemed to understand because she halted. He went first.
The G36 was smooth and comfortable in his hands like it was an extension of him. One thought and his finger would squeeze the trigger and kill the first hostile bad guy that he saw. But no bad guys came out at him. No one moved from the top floor.
As Reached neared the top he saw that there was only one room. It was an open bedroom. It was huge. Took up the whole top floor.
Reacher completed the stairs and entered the bedroom. More books littered the room. They were stacked up high—three feet in some places.
The bed was a king-sized bed that Reacher was sure made Mr. Collins feel lonely if he slept in it alone. There were no signs of a female inhabitant. Reacher figured that Mr. Collins had lost his wife. Imagined that the old guy lived alone.
A lonely life, Reacher thought—solitary like his own. Reacher understood the attraction to such a life. Understood the appeal of it to his father. Some people were meant to settle down. Some people are comfortable with that. Some people are not. Mr. Collins had tried both, apparently.
Reacher lowered the gun because lying on the bed and snoring like a man who hasn’t slept in days was Mike Jacobs. The noise from earlier must’ve been his collapsing in exhaust. He was covered in blood, but obviously alive and well.
Chapter 39
Blood covered CIA Agent Mike Jacobs’ clothes, but none of it was his apparently because there were no visible wounds on the man. Also he snored like a man in a coma and Reacher had never heard of a man who was bleeding to death snoring and sleeping so soundly.
Reacher knew it was Mike Jacobs for two reasons. First, simple deduction: A man broke into a home and released his hostage unharmed. A bad guy would’ve just killed Mr. Collins. But not this guy.
The second reason was Amita Red Cloud’s reaction. She dropped her shotgun and ran to the guy like a woman still in love with her ex. She had recognized his face. Reacher imagined that the only difference was this guy was probably thinner than he once was and he had a full beard. Reacher figured that the guy was once heavier because this version of Mike Jacobs was skinny, like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. His body was bony and frail. And there were two open and empty boxes of cereal sprawled across the bed. As well as two empty bottles of mineral water.
It looked like he had fought the mercenaries at his own house and killed one, gotten the guy’s blood all over him, and then run here. Reacher imagined that for some reason he hadn’t eaten or slept for days. Maybe he was holed up in that house. Maybe in the attic. Maybe the old guy that lived there, Mr. Gareth, hadn’t even known. Jacobs’ stowing away in his attic got the guy killed.
Reacher figured that that was why he sent Collins out on his own so quickly. To keep another innocent man from being killed because of his actions. Now Reacher needed to know what was going on.
Amita shook Jacobs and said, “Mike? Mike? Wake up!”
Reacher stayed quiet. He looked down at a Beretta 9mm. It lay on the bed. He picked it up. It was very light. He ejected the magazine. The gun was empty. He pulled back the slider. No bullet chambered. The gun was completely empty. Jacobs must have fired all of the bullets back at Gareth’s house.
Reacher said, “He fired all of his bullets back at his house. He took Collins hostage with no intention of hurting him. And I think that it’s obvious this has something to do with the Mexican boy.”
Amita stopped shaking him and turned and asked, “But what?”
Reacher said, “I don’t know, but maybe this case will tell us.”
He showed her a bulletproof briefcase that he found near the bed.
She stared at it confused and she asked, “Is that the Ebola?”
Reacher said, “No way! It wouldn’t be in a briefcase.”
“It looks tough,” Amita said.
“It’s bulletproof. No doubt about that, but it’s not made to transport a biological weapon. It’d be a lot bigger and look different. Different metal.”
“So what’s inside?”
Reacher plopped it down on the bed near Jacobs and looked at the combination lock on the outer lip.
He said, “Find a toolbox. We need a hammer.”
Amita nodded and got up and headed downstairs. Went straight to the kitchen and checked under the sink, which she figured was the most obvious place to keep one besides a garage or tool shed. The house had neither, so the kitchen was the next best place to check.
She found a large toolbox. She lifted the whole thing. It was heavy. The tools inside shuffled around and rattled as she moved. She didn’t bother opening it. She figured that it was better to bring the whole thing upstairs.
After a few minutes, she returned to the bedroom rattling a large toolbox. Reacher got up and grabbed it one-handed.
He took all of the weight from her with no problem. Then he set it down on the floor and moved the briefcase to the floor, better to hammer on the lock on a harder surface than on the bed.
He popped open the toolbox and saw a large hammer, gr
abbed it, slid the toolbox aside, and then hammered hard at the combination lock. It only took three powerful blows and the lock was destroyed. The case had cracked open on the second smash of the hammer and Reacher flipped the hammer and pried open the case with the back of the hammer’s head. In two powerful attempts the case opened.
Reacher jerked up on both feet like he was a jack-in-the-box. He just shot straight up. Amita covered her mouth, which had dropped open in shock.
They both stared without blinking for almost a minute. Soundless and silent. Nothing could be heard in the entire house except the light snow outside and the loud snoring from Agent Jacobs.
The briefcase’s contents sparkled and glimmered at them. It was full of diamonds. More diamonds than Reacher imagined possible.
Chapter 40
Scared the shit out of me is an expression that means you scared me—bad! Those were the words that best expressed how Mike Jacobs felt when he woke up to see Cameron Reacher standing over him.
Jacobs woke up in a strange bed in a strange house. He had confusion and fear in his eyes. Reacher watched as he reached quickly for his Beretta. But Reacher had moved it, not that it would’ve mattered since it was empty anyway.
Amita stepped into view and said, “Mike, calm down. It’s me. It’s Amita.”
Jacobs said, “Amita?”
“Yes. It’s me.”
Jacobs said, “How? Where am I?”
“You don’t remember?”
Jacobs began to sit up and it became obvious that he had a headache like a truck had hit him. It was like someone had shot an arrow right through his head.
Mike Jacobs was a good-looking young guy. He was a short guy, probably 5’8” or 5’9”, but despite the fact that he was skinny, it looked like once he had been built solid like a triathlete. Reacher figured that this guy must have taken his spy craft seriously and especially the physical side. He spent lots of hours in the gym, unlike Reacher who had a naturally solid build combined with walking constantly.
