by Diane Capri
Sanchez coughed a little. “Could I get some water? My throat is parched. Room temperature, not chilled, if you have it.”
“Absolutely,” O’Donnell said as he hurried out. In the few seconds he was gone, Sanchez reached over and pressed the speakerphone button. The call connected but no words were spoken.
Kim pressed the pause button on the remote and turned to Neagley. “Can you identify the phone number?”
“It was a burner. We are working on identifying the location. No luck yet.”
Kim restarted the video.
O’Donnell returned with a plastic bottle of water and handed it to Sanchez, who opened it, took a swig, and dropped it into his jacket pocket.
If O’Donnell found the water bottle stashing odd, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he asked, “Where’ve you been? We were in California and we were trying to find out what happened to you guys. And the news was bad, man. We found Franz and Orozco. They were dropped out of a helicopter onto the desert floor. While they were still alive, Sanchez. Can you imagine? We never found Swan. Or you. We looked, but we failed.”
Sanchez said nothing.
O’Donnell swiped his sweaty face with his palm, forehead to chin, and ran both hands, fingers splayed, through his hair. “We made them pay, Sanchez. You know we did. And we did what we could for the families. We collected some spoils and Dixon converted them and we shared it, with extra for the families, not so much for the rest of us.” He smiled at Sanchez, shook his head. “I can’t believe you made it out alive. How’d you do it? You’re one tough bastard, aren’t you? Reacher always said that about you.”
Sanchez seemed more agitated the more O’Donnell talked. His pacing was jerky, and deteriorated as O’Donnell continued. Sanchez’s lips pressed into a hard line and his brow furrowed into deep horizontal lines. Nostrils flexed.
When O’Donnell finally wound down, Sanchez seemed to have a little trouble getting started. But once he began, his words flowed nonstop. Even the third time she heard it, Kim felt punched by an opener that was almost as shocking as his close.
“I’m confused, Dave. I thought you’d feel a little bit guilty, at least.”
“What are you talking about, man?”
Where Sanchez had halted his circuit of the room, he was looking right into the camera. His expression was chilling. Wrong. “You left me for dead,” he said, quietly, almost pleasantly. “Never even tried to find me. Can you imagine what it’s like to be out of your mind with pain because some goons beat your shins to bone meal with iron rods? And then you’re laying on a pile of rotting garbage in a desert landfill for three days, when the summer heat reaches 110 degrees, watching the circling buzzards just waiting to pick your carcass clean?”
O’Donnell’s face was ashen now. Maybe he’d started to pick up on the fact that Sanchez was clearly mentally unbalanced. Maybe he remembered he was sitting in a deserted building, too late at night, too late in the week. Maybe he just figured out that this could go bad very quickly.
To his credit, O’Donnell remained seated and calm. “That’s not how it went, Sanchez. We looked, and we looked hard. Came up empty.” Sanchez had started his circuit again, so when O’Donnell next spoke, he had to crane his neck to find him. “Do you need money? Because I’m doing okay now. I can help. Dixon and Neagley, too. They’d help us out.”
Sanchez flashed a tight grin that revealed a gold tooth. “How about Reacher? Does he have money? Is he going to help out?”
“If we can find him, he might. The guy’s a drifter now. No address. But Neagley found him once. She might be able to do it again. How much do you need?” O’Donnell talked like a hostage negotiator. He didn’t seem afraid, but he should have been. Maybe he was.
“I need $65 million, Dave,” Sanchez said quietly. “How long will it take you to get that together?”
“What in hell are you talking about? You think we got $65 million? That’s cra—” He stopped himself. Took a breath. “We didn’t get $65 million. Not even close. I got about a hundred grand. Like I said, I really needed it. Spent it probably in the first ten days.”
“What happened to the rest of the money?” Sanchez sounded encouraging, almost reasonable again.
“Some of it was in a Swiss bank. We couldn’t touch it. Dixon had to liquidate the rest. Like I said, we took care of the families. We repaid Neagley’s expenses. Then we all got equal shares,” O’Donnell said, matter-of-factly. If he suspected Sanchez was reaching the breaking point, he didn’t show any concern.
“Where’d you stash the rest of the money? Reacher? Swiss banks? What?” Sanchez asked.
“I told you, man. We divided it up, just like I said.”
And then the final two minutes replayed again, no less shocking than the first time.
When the video stopped, Kim asked Neagley. “Does his story track?”
Neagley looked tired now. As tired as the rest of them. She had dark circles under her eyes. Her clothes had long ago lost their starch, but she was as stiff as ever.
“Not that it can possibly matter at this point, but yes. We found the paper trail. We talked to witnesses. Confirmed. Sanchez was tortured and his legs were broken and he was left for dead by the same New Age guys who killed the rest of our team: Franz and Snow and Orozco. But Sanchez was the first one they tried to kill and they hadn’t figured out the helicopter technique yet. They tossed him in a landfill, maybe thinking the crime techs would never sort out all the trace evidence because his body would be so contaminated and decomposed by the time it was discovered.” She raked her hands through her hair. Drew a breath. “He was eventually found and eventually completed surgery and rehab. And eventually he moved to Mexico and married Orozco’s widow and adopted her kids. By all accounts, they were living their version of happily-ever-after when this started.”
Even Neagley’s dry recital of Sanchez’s ordeal sounded horrific to Kim. Sanchez’s story in his own words was that much worse. Kim had watched the video several times, partly hoping that the retelling would blunt its impact, but it did not. She vacillated between wanting to know the rest of Sanchez’s story and avoiding it as long as possible.
She could only guess how Gaspar must be feeling. Maybe he’d had enough, too. His next words were professional and detached.
“So Dean and Berenson figure Reacher has $65 million,” Gaspar said. “That’s why and how he lives off the grid.”
Kim was more than ready to detach, too. “Dean and Berenson want the money. They figure Reacher’s team has some of it or knows where it is. They figure it belongs to them.” Kim looked at Neagley. “Where did the money come from? New Age?”
Neagley shrugged. Flipped off the screen. Stood and poured herself a drink. Said nothing.
Kim tried again. “Five years ago, four members of Reacher’s team were tortured. Three were killed. Sanchez almost dead. Berenson and Dean did all that? And Reacher let them get away?” she asked, unable to hide her incredulity. “Sounds like a monumental screw-up, doesn’t it?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sunday, November 14
5:53 a.m.
Chicago, IL
“Exactly,” Neagley said, tossing back the whiskey and pouring another.
Kim kept pressing. “In the mix, Reacher stole the $65 million Sanchez now wants. Did Reacher cut the rest of you out? O’Donnell said he got $100,000. That doesn’t seem like a very big share.”
Neagley said nothing.
“Berenson and Dean have been, what? Hunting Reacher for five years?” Gaspar asked.
“Doubtful,” Neagley said. “Reacher lives off the grid, but he’s not invisible. If they’d been looking for him all that time, he’d have heard about it, done something about it.”
Maybe Neagley wasn’t issuing a warning, but Kim’s body felt it that way. “Why surface now, then?” Kim asked. “What kicked this thing off?”
Neagley said, “When I found out about Sanchez four days ago, I put my team on him. We’ve been running down his
backstory. Like I said, he was hospitalized a while. Did a long stint in rehab. And about two years ago, he moved to Mexico. Married Tammy Orozco.”
“Manny Orozco’s wife,” Gaspar said. “Another member of your old unit. How convenient. Were they having an affair? Somehow caused all this?”
“No,” Neagley said. “All that happened afterward.”
“Where is she now?” Kim asked. “Mrs. Sanchez?”
“We haven’t found her. Or her kids. Or her elderly mother, who lived with them in Mexico.”
Kim thought about the video again. Sanchez’s desperation. A man who had lost everything, including half his body and most of his life. Finds something to live for. And years later he goes berserk. Most likely cause? Probably not $65 million, although Kim had seen people go berserk for less.
As always, Kim’s mind circled back to the Boss. He’d been leading them on this grim chase. What was his involvement? He at least suspected something. Otherwise, why task her with finding out about Reacher from these people?
Gaspar said, “So we go on the assumption that Berenson and Dean do have Sanchez’s family, like he said. He knows firsthand they’re capable of torture and murder. Sanchez freaks out and kills O’Donnell when O’Donnell doesn’t have the money. That how you see it?”
Neagley swallowed the second whiskey and set the class down softly. “Sanchez looked steady as hell to me when he pulled that trigger. Stood there afterward, over Dave’s body, watching the blood pulsing out of his head wound. Then, presses the off button on the speakerphone. Walks out. Shows up at Dixon’s place the next day.” Neagley shook her head twice. “Sanchez was cool. Deliberate. He either killed Dave on orders—”
“Orders from whom?”
“—or he improvised in the moment for a solid tactical reason.”
“Such as?”
“Such as he believed O’Donnell didn’t have the money,” Neagley said. “He believed O’Donnell didn’t know where Reacher was.”
“Meaning O’Donnell was of no further use to Sanchez,” Gaspar said.
“And that O’Donnell might actually get in the way of Sanchez’s mission,” Kim said.
“What mission?” Gaspar asked.
“Dixon. Neagley. Reacher,” Kim replied. After a few moments, Kim asked Neagley, “Franz had a wife and kid, didn’t he?”
Neagley said, “She’s remarried. Moved somewhere. But we should have contact shortly.”
“How did you find her?”
“I can usually find things,” Neagley said.
Which is why it was frightening that she hadn’t found Dixon or Paul or Sanchez’s family, Kim thought. Or Reacher, for that matter. If she really hadn’t located him, which, given all the things she said she’d already accomplished since O’Donnell’s murder, seemed even more unlikely. The Boss said Reacher was on his way. Maybe he knew that because he’d tapped Neagley’s phones.
“How much of all this does the Boss know?” Gaspar asked.
“Cooper usually knows things,” Neagley replied.
“Where is Reacher?” Kim asked.
“Hard to say,” Neagley said. Not an answer.
The house phone rang before Kim could ask again. Neagley picked up. Listened. Her body language revealed nothing. She hung up the phone softly.
“Berenson?” Kim asked.
Neagley nodded.
“What does she want?”
“Reacher.”
Gaspar said, “Who doesn’t?”
Neagley smiled. “Berenson should be careful what she wishes for, Gaspar. And so should you.”
“Meaning what?” Gaspar demanded.
A fight with Neagley right now would not be helpful. Kim didn’t have the patience for it. Better to move forward.
“Speaking of Berenson and Dean,” Kim said, figuring that she could trust Neagley enough at this point to follow the Boss’s orders, “the Boss said he was sending encrypted video. It should be available by now. I need my laptop to download it. I’ll go get it.”
Kim walked toward the exit. Before she reached it, a fast rap on the panel by a beefy-knuckled paw preceded Morrie slipping his body into the room before the panel opened completely. He moved stealthily for such a big man, Kim noticed.
“All set,” he said.
Neagley told Kim, “We’ve already collected your equipment and your luggage and moved your car into one of the garages.”
Kim’s controlled tone was deceptive. “You held us in here while you invaded my equipment? Seriously?”
Neagley’s whiskey-weary voice said, “We tried. Unfortunately, your encryption was beyond the reach of my onsite hacker. We can’t spend any more time on it. You’re going to have to show us what you’ve got. Morrie, take Otto and Gaspar to their rooms.”
Kim’s body quivered with anger. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
Neagley said, “I’ll have your equipment brought in and set up while you’re gone. See you back here in ten.”
“Good plan,” Kim said, exercising control beyond what she thought she could muster. “Bring our cell phones and car keys, too. You can prepare to tell us exactly where that $65 million is and how you plan to get it back.”
“Why waste time on that? It’s history,” Neagley replied.
“Because we’re going to need ransom money if you expect to see Paul or Dixon alive again. Unless you have it hidden in your basement or decorated this castle with it, we’ll need to collect the money from wherever it is now.” Kim glanced at her Seiko. It was already after seven. Paul had been a hostage for almost ten hours. Dixon had been held for thirty-one. Long enough for Berenson and Dean to have met up and made a plan. “It’s likely we’ll be hearing from them very soon, don’t you think?”
The scowl that tortured Neagley’s face felt like a small but significant victory. Kim savored it as she followed behind Morrie and Gaspar all the way upstairs to her room, where she planned to take a long, hot shower and change into clean clothes before she came back. Neagley could just cool her jets.
When she closed the door behind her she opened her travel bag. It had been rifled. Nothing seemed to be missing, but everything was slightly rearranged. The bag contained nothing sensitive or confidential. Still, she felt violated. And confused. Was Neagley friend or enemy? Either way, Neagley would answer for this and everything else she’d done soon enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sunday, November 14
7:26 a.m.
Chicago, IL
Twenty minutes later, Kim was showered, dressed and ready to return to the battle of wits with Neagley that seemed a constant tug-of-war between Neagley’s insistence on controlling everything and Kim’s desire to get out before she and Gaspar got sucked in beyond the point of no return.
Whatever was going on between Reacher’s team and the Berenson/Dean gang, Kim didn’t see any benefit to standing in the line of fire. Her job was to build Reacher’s file, not to stand between him and every criminal he’d wronged.
Gaspar knocked twice on her door. Kim opened it and said, “I’d like to be on the road by nine.” She wanted to tell him what the Boss had said about Reacher, but Neagley would no doubt be listening here and everywhere.
“Works for me,” he replied as they began retracing their route to the security room. “Marion Morrison. The former secret service guy. That’s his real name. I asked the security guard outside.”
“I guess ‘Morrie’ is a better guy’s name. I can see why he’d want to ditch ‘Marion.’ Good thing he’s a big fellow. How’d you like to have to defend that one in the schoolyard?”
“Did the Boss say anything about what’s on the video he sent?”
“You’re worried Neagley’s guy was able to hack in? Don’t be. The Boss would have planned countermeasures for that.”
“They do have full and mutual admiration for each other’s skill sets, don’t they?”
Kim replied, “That’s only one of the things that worries me.”
“Agreed.”
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His answer surprised Kim. Gaspar rarely admitted to worrying about anything. Given the likelihood that Neagley’s house was fully monitored, Kim didn’t ask what else Gaspar was concerned about.
They’d traveled the full distance back to Neagley’s security room. Now, they stood outside the heavy door panel. Kim raised her fist to knock, but the panel slid open smoothly, as if it sensed her presence, which it probably did.
Neagley and Morrie were inside. Both had showered and changed into clean duds, too. Kim’s laptop rested on the conference table in the corner of the room. Four cell phones she recognized as theirs were placed adjacent to the laptop. Nearby stood a wheeled table laden with breakfast foods and coffee.
Kim accepted Neagley’s peace offering graciously, but not because she thought for a moment that Neagley was capitulating in their war of wills.
Nor would she win.
Gaspar collected his usual ration of sugar-laden goodies from the cart. Kim snagged a cup of black coffee, sat down at the laptop and powered up. Entered her security codes. And waited for the Boss’s video file to download. The entire process consumed ninety-four seconds.
Neagley noticed how simply Kim completed the task Neagley’s team couldn’t. She said, “Everything’s easy once you know it, Otto.”
Kim smiled, sipped, said nothing.
After the file was downloaded, she opened the first of two videos, but hesitated before starting it. She didn’t like the set-up. She couldn’t watch Neagley and the video simultaneously. And the Boss had told her to show the video to Neagley alone, not with Morrie in the room.
The moment’s indecision resolved—she had no options—she pushed the play button.
Instead of everyone gathering around her laptop as she’d expected, the video popped up on the big television screen where they’d watched O’Donnell’s murder. Neagley may not have been able to hack into the Boss’s encrypted file, but she’d invaded the laptop in other, insidious ways.
