The Jack Reacher Files: Fugitive

by Jude Hardin

  Colt raised a palm and said, “Di, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  He wanted to assure her that this was not the man they were looking for.

  But then Mac opened his left hand, revealing an older-model flip phone.

  “There’s a brick of C-4 in my office,” he said. “All I have to do is push the green button, and this whole building will go up in a ball of flames.”

  Maybe it was him after all.

  Benny.

  Mac.

  Mr. S.

  If so, the disguise was amazing.

  “Go ahead and push the button,” Diana said. “You’ll die right along with us.”

  “Not part of the plan. You might have noticed my nice new security cameras. I have a nice new video monitor mounted on the dashboard of my Corvette to go along with them. Hundred-mile range. I’m going to walk out of here now, and if either of you get up from that table in the next two hours, I’ll blow this place to smithereens.”

  “I have a question before you take off,” Colt said. “Why did you go back to the Kisham house to look for the missing earring? That’s the one thing that really doesn’t make much sense to me. I mean, I know the diamond’s worth quite a bit of money and all, but—”

  “Goodbye, now,” Mac said, his tone colored with impatience and perhaps a little bafflement. “Enjoy your meal.”

  He slapped at his neck as he turned and walked away.

  As if he’d been bitten by a mosquito.

  He exited the building dragging a steel travel case on wheels, one that was probably stuffed with hundred dollar bills. He walked out to the parking lot, climbed into the Corvette, and drove away.

  “How did you know it was him?” Colt said.

  “I didn’t. If he had maintained his innocence, I would have been forced to explore a different strategy. But what we have now is, in essence, a confession. Which gives us the green light on the L and E.”

  “How long before the drug kicks in?”

  “Let’s give it a couple of minutes, just to be on the safe side. He might have been lying about the C-4, but we don’t want to take any chances.”

  “He’s going to pass out while he’s driving,” Colt said. “That’s not good.”

  “No, it’s not. But it was the best I could do under the circumstances.”

  “You could have let him get away.”

  “Do you know how long we’ve been after this guy?”

  “He’s going to crash the car. He might kill someone.”

  Diana raked her fingers through her hair. “Are you going to sit here and make me feel guilty for the next two minutes?”

  “One and a half. Thirty seconds have already gone by.”

  Diana pulled the magazine out of the 9mm, gave it a quick glance. Her eyes were bright and clear and focused, her hands dry and rock steady. She shoved the magazine back home with her palm. It locked in with a definitive click.

  “Let’s go,” she said. “He should be getting groggy by now. Lightheadedness, blurred vision. He probably won’t be able to see the monitor well enough to know if we’re sitting here or not. If there really is a monitor in the car. I have my doubts about that as well.”

  “You’re the boss,” Colt said.

  Diana rose from her seat.

  Colt did the same.

  They stood there for a few seconds.

  The building didn’t explode.

  Either Mac had been bluffing, or he was already feeling the effects from the micro-dart.

  “United States Deputy Marshal,” Diana shouted, raising her badge on the way to the door. “There has been a bomb threat. We need everyone to evacuate the building immediately. I repeat: evacuate the building immediately.”

  Colt looked back as he and Diana headed for the Charger, saw the customers and staff filing out the door.

  Colt climbed into the passenger’s seat. “Want me to call it in?” he said.

  “You have a burner?”

  “Yeah. I bought one at Walmart a while ago.”

  “Call it in. Go ahead and tell them where to find Felisa Cayenne while you’re at it.”

  Colt made the anonymous call to the police as Diana burned rubber out of the parking lot.

  45

  Colt loaded his revolver.

  It took a few minutes to catch up with the red Corvette. Diana had guessed right. Mac had avoided the interstate. He’d stayed on the two-lane heading west, out past the suburbs and into farm country, and now he was swerving off to the shoulder one second and crossing the center line the next. Colt cringed every time he saw an eastbound vehicle in the distance, knowing that this might be the one Mac smashes into, knowing that a head-on collision at these speeds would probably prove fatal for everyone involved.

  “You think he knows he’s being followed?” Colt said.

  “I don’t think he knows much of anything right now. I’m surprised he’s still conscious. He shouldn’t be.”

  “You might want to have a word with whoever’s manufacturing those darts.”

  “Don’t worry. I will.”

  Colt looked at the speedometer. The needle was hovering over the 110 mark, jittering like a nervous finger.

  “And I thought that elevator was scary,” he said.

  “You don’t like my driving?”

  “You’re doing a fine job. I have no—”

  Before Colt could say complaints, the Corvette went into a skid and started spinning in circles. Diana slammed on the brakes, came to a stop inches from Mac’s passenger side door.

  Colt grabbed his .38, jumped out of the Charger, walked around to the driver’s side of the Corvette.

  Locked.

  He smashed the window with the butt of his gun, reached in and thumbed the electronic slide, heard the instantaneous metallic snick of the steel bolts receding into their chambers.

  He slung the door open and pressed the barrel of the .38 against Mac’s left temple.

  Mac didn’t move. He was out. No apparent injuries, so the drug from the dart must have finally taken full effect.

  No video monitor on the dash. Mac had lied about that, so maybe he’d lied about the bomb as well.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Diana said.

  She was standing behind Colt, a few feet off to the side. He could see her in his peripheral vision. Knees bent slightly, feet shoulder length apart, both hands on the grips of her pistol, which was aimed at Mac’s torso.

  “You want me to shoot him?” Colt said. “Don’t we usually interrogate these guys?”

  “Not this one. We don’t want the slightest possibility of him escaping, and he’s not going to give up any information anyway. Just pull the trigger. We need to get out of here.”

  Mr. S was an enemy of the United States. A known terrorist, a menace, a constant threat to the American way of life. Killing him would be a service to the country, and it would go a long way toward getting Colt off the hook with The Director. In that respect, it would be better than retrieving the Jack Reacher files from Annex 1. It would be better than almost anything. Colt knew all this, and if the man sitting in front of him was indeed the notorious Mr. S, then taking him out with a bullet to the brain was indeed the right thing to do.

  The only thing to do.

  But Colt still wasn’t sure that this was right man. Not as sure as Diana seemed to be. Not a hundred percent.

  He didn’t pull the trigger.

  Instead, he pulled the mustache, expecting it to peel away and reveal a clean-shaven upper lip.

  But it didn’t.

  It was real hair.

  Meticulously groomed, growing from follicles deep under the skin, firmly rooted in the face of M.A. Chronis.

  “It’s not him,” Colt said.

  “What?”

  Colt inspected the hair on Mac’s scalp. It was real as well.

  “It’s not him. Benny didn’t have a mustache, and he was balding on top. This is definitely not the same man.”

  “Then why did he run?
Why did he take off like he did? Why did he threaten to blow the diner up?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Colt holstered his weapon, walked around to the other side of the car and opened the door. Diana stayed where she was, kept the 9mm pointed at Mac’s chest.

  The steel travel case was on the passenger’s seat. Colt pulled it out and opened it.

  “What is it?” Diana said.

  “There’s some money and some clothes and a passport.”

  “How much money?”

  Colt did a quick count. “Twenty stacks of twenties,” he said. “How much is that?”

  “Ten grand.”

  “Well, he’s not Mr. S, but he’s obviously into something illegal. He had his suitcase packed and ready for a nice long trip somewhere. What do you want to do with him?”

  “He probably has tax problems or immigration problems or something. Let’s push his car out of the way, and then we’ll make another anonymous call to the police. I don’t think The Circle is going have any interest in him.”

  “All right.”

  “Do you see his cell phone anywhere?”

  “You mean the one he was supposedly going to use to trigger the explosives?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s in his hand.”

  “Get it,” Diana said. “We’ll take it with us, just in case.”

  Colt reached for the phone, but before he could get his fingers on it, Mac opened his eyes and sat up straight and flipped it open and pressed the green button with his thumb.

  Something rumbled in the far distance.

  Like thunder.

  But Colt knew it wasn’t thunder. He looked at Diana, whose expression had gone from steely resolve to complete astonishment.

  “Want me to shoot him now?” Colt said.

  “No. We need to take him somewhere and have a nice long talk with him.”

  “Can we stop by the Kisham place? I need to get my briefcase out of the car I rented. All that stuff on Jack Reacher.”

  “Okay.”

  Diana handcuffed M.A. Chronis, and then she and Colt forced him into the Charger. Colt sat next to him in the back seat while Diana called The Director.

  46

  When Felisa woke up, she knew right away that she was in a hotel room. She’d been in a thousand similar spaces over the past few years, all of them pretty much the same. What she didn’t know was why she was there, or how she’d gotten there, or how long she’d been there. The last thing she remembered was hitching a ride into DC with JR.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Loud.

  Urgent.

  Maybe they’d knocked before. Maybe it was what woke her up.

  She climbed out of bed and looked through the peephole. Nothing. She parted the drapes just enough to peek outside, but all she saw was a white SUV parked in the space directly in front of her door.

  “Who is it?” she said.

  No answer.

  This wasn’t a horror movie, and Felisa wasn’t stupid. She had no intention of opening the door and sticking her head out. She secured the deadbolt and the swing bar, walked over to the nightstand and picked up the phone.

  Which was dead.

  “It’s me,” a voice from outside said. “Benny. I just want to talk to you.”

  Benny. The one who’d been hit in the head with a hammer when he was a kid. He was a criminal, but unlike the others, he’d treated her with kindness and respect.

  “Why did you cut my phone line?” Felisa said.

  “Because I knew you would call the police. This won’t take long. I promise. Then you’ll be free to go home.”

  “Where’s JR?”

  “He’s dead. Everyone’s dead except me, and I’m not going to hurt you. Please open the door now.”

  For some reason, Felisa trusted Benny. He’d been almost like a friend to her. He’d offered her Fruit Loops. She remembered that.

  She walked to the door and undid the locks and let him come in. He was wearing a dark blue pinstriped suit and a dress shirt and a nice tie. He looked different, something besides the clothes, but Felisa couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

  He sat at the little round table by the window, and Felisa sat across from him.

  “What do you want?” she said.

  “I have something for you.”

  He reached into one of his sports coat pockets, and then held his closed fist over the center of the table. When he opened his hand, Felisa’s diamond earrings dropped to the laminated wood surface, bouncing and rolling to a stop like a pair of dice.

  “Thank you,” Felisa said. “It was very sweet of you to bring those to me.”

  Benny reached into his other pocket and pulled out a strip of paper with a long number written across it in ballpoint ink.

  “This is one of my offshore bank accounts,” he said. “Sometime before midnight tonight, I want you to make an electronic transfer. Ten million dollars should be enough for now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the deal you offered me. Money for your freedom. I’ve come to collect.”

  “I’m confused. Did you bring me here? Are you—”

  “The details aren’t important. All you need to know is written on that piece of paper. Ten million. Tonight.”

  “I don’t think I even have that much. I mean, I do, but I have people who take care of all that for me. They’ll want to know why I’m doing this.”

  “Just make it happen,” Benny said. “For every hour you’re late, a member of your family will disappear.”

  Felisa’s pulse quickened. “Who are you?” she said. “You seemed so nice before.”

  “They call me Mr. S. And I’m not nice. I’m not nice at all.”

  “It was all an act, wasn’t it? You’re nothing but a—”

  “One more thing. I want you to forget about testifying at the Sam Gosswald trial. This whole ordeal has given you a bad case of amnesia, okay? You don’t remember anything about the night of the murder.”

  He rose from his seat and opened the door and walked outside.

  Felisa peeked through the drapes. Benny—or Mr. S, or whatever his name was—started the SUV and backed out of the space and drove away.

  Felisa sat back down at the table and stared at her diamond earrings. So beautiful, yet so inconsequential, really. Totally meaningless in the big scheme of things. She thought about that, and then she thought about falling in love and seeing the world. About exploring small villages, about eating the food and drinking the drink. She thought about making love by the ocean, under the moonlight, and about children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. She thought about having the time for those things now. About making the time for those things now. About making the time for life.

  A few minutes later, someone else knocked on the door. This time, it was the police.

  47

  After a lengthy conversation with The Director, much of it in a foreign language that Colt didn’t recognize, Diana drove to the safe house, the cabin by the lake where all this had started. They escorted M.A. Chronis inside and told him to have a seat at the kitchen table. He was still handcuffed. Diana sat in the chair to his left, Colt in the one to his right. Diana did most of the talking.

  “This can be as easy or as difficult as you want it to be,” she said.

  “Who are you? And don’t tell me that you’re a United States Marshal. That was a lie!”

  “Let’s get something clear right off the bat. I’ll be asking the questions, and you’ll be giving the answers. That’s how this is going to work. If you cooperate, things will go easy for you. If you don’t, it’s going to be a long day.”

  “I have rights. I want to speak to my attorney.”

  “You gave up your rights when you got involved with Helve,” Diana said.

  “Who?”

  “Nicholas, there’s a pair of bolt cutters in the cabinet under the sink. We can start with Mac’s left pinky finger,
see if it helps his memory.”

  Colt started to get up.

  “Wait,” Mac said. “All right. You win. I’m going to tell you what you want to know.”

  “I’m listening,” Diana said.

  “There was a man. He called himself Mr. S. That’s all. No first name, no last name. Just the initial. He came to my restaurant one day, and he wanted to talk to me in private. Said he had a business proposition. I invited him into my office, and I closed the door. He said there was going to be a robbery, and that I must cooperate, or else everyone in my family would disappear. He never said that he would kill them, just that they would disappear. My family is still in Greece, but he said that it didn’t matter. He would find them, wherever they were. Naturally, I was frightened. I didn’t know what to do. What could I do?”

  “You could have gone to the police,” Diana said. “They would have helped you.”

  “I was afraid. Mr. S said he would give me ten thousand dollars for my troubles, and also that I could collect the insurance money after the robbery. I didn’t care about the money, but I was afraid to go to the police. Do you understand? I was afraid for the lives of my family members.”

  “Why would he offer you ten thousand dollars? There couldn’t have been much more than that in the safe.”

  “That’s what I wanted to know. Then he told me that Felisa Cayenne would be there, and that he and his men would kidnap her.”

  “How could he have known that she was going to be there that night? Unless—”

  “Unless United States Deputy Marshal Clete Garrison was in on it too,” Colt said. “That’s the only possible way. Which means that the reenactment I saw at HQ was inconsistent with what actually happened. Garrison never went for his gun. The robbers might have said something that made everyone think that he did, but that’s not what really happened. They probably shot him to have one less person on the payroll.”

  “That’s the way Mr. S operates,” Diana said. “Once he’s done with you, you’re gone.”

  “Maybe he would have killed me too,” Mac said.

  “Actually, I’m surprised he didn’t.”

  “What about the bomb in your office?” Colt said. “What was that all about?”

  “He made me do that. He said it was important for me to have that insurance, in case the police ever figured out what was going on. He rigged the C-4 and gave me the cell phone. It was all Mr. S. I am not a bad man. You must believe me.”