Chapter 10

The diner was Reacher's next port of call. He stepped inside and found the interior didn't match the outside at all. Instead of cutesy and affected, it was plain and simple, just as he liked it. There were sixteen four-top tables in two parallel lines, one large rectangular table at the far end for larger groups, and a hatch that led into the kitchen. The place was deserted, which wasn't surprising given the time. It was a minute shy of 1:00 a.m . Reacher moved across to the window and picked the seat that gave the best view of the front of the motel. He could easily see the door to room1. He could see the doors to all the rooms except 20. The diner was an excellent observation point. Vidic's claim about seeing Gibson's handler could have been true.

It could have been. That didn't mean it was.

A door to the side of the serving hatch opened and a waitress appeared. She was tall and thin with gray hair tied up in a bun on top of her head and a kind expression on her face. The name tag on her apron read, Hannah May. She said, "Back so soon? You must've liked us. You can't stay away."

Reacher said, "You've seen me before?"

Hannah May tipped her head to one side. "That's not much of a pickup line and this isn't a bar so I don't really know what to do with that."

Reacher held his hands up, palms out, as if to apologize for the confusion. "I was in a car accident this afternoon. I can't remember anything that happened this morning. The guy who pulled me out of the wreck told me he saw me here, earlier. I'm trying to figure out whether he was shooting straight or if he's trying some kind of angle."

"You were here. No doubt about that. I never saw anyone drink so much coffee in so short a time."

"When I was here, did you see another guy? Kind of stooped with a strange square head?"

Hannah May nodded. "A guy like that was sitting where you are now."

"Ever seen him before?"

"No. A head like his I'd remember."

Reacher wished he could ask her about Gibson, but he didn't know what the guy had looked like. He had no idea how to describe him. He swallowed his frustration and got to his feet. He said, "I'm going to switch seats. I don't like this one." He moved to a table near the wall, where he could keep an eye on the kitchen door, the main entrance, and all the other tables. The waitress followed. The look on her face said, Weird. But not the weirdest thing I've seen on this job . Out loud she said, "Want any food while you're here?"

Reacher said, "What did I have before?"

"A cheeseburger and a piece of pie."

"Did I like it?"

"There was none left on your plate when you were done, so I guess you did."

"OK. Sounds good. Let me have that again."

Hannah May stepped away and was back a minute later with a mug of coffee. "Don't worry. I'll keep them coming."

The food arrived after another ten minutes. Reacher picked up his fork, then said, "Tell me about this place. I heard a bunch of crazy houses were built somewhere nearby in the seventies."

Hannah May shrugged. "Guess so. Some fancy architect trying to lure people away from New York and places like that back when crime in the cities was out of control."

"Did it work?"

"I couldn't say. I don't know much about real estate. I know that there are people living in one of them."

"What kind of people?"

"I don't know. But when you drive past the place, sometimes there are SUVs parked outside. Pickup trucks. Box vans, a couple of times."

"And the other houses? Anyone living in those?"

"You thinking of buying?"

Reacher smiled. "Absolutely not. Just interested."

"Well, they were all vacant for a few years but I heard a couple have been bought. Maybe more. I don't pay too much attention."

"When did they get bought?"

Hannah May glanced up at the ceiling for a second. "I'm going to say, maybe January twenty-one. Around then. After the worst of the COVID madness, anyway."

"Ever see the people who live in them?"

"I don't know if people even do live in them. The lights are always off. No vehicles to be seen. They're some kind of investment, I heard. Someone else said it's to do with money laundering, but I don't know about that. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"Not right now. But I'll be back for breakfast."

—

Vidic was waiting for five minutes before Paris's Land Rover pulled up alongside his Jeep. He had picked the meeting spot carefully. It was ten minutes from the place they had been summoned to by Fletcher—the cave—so it was convenient. And it was hidden from the road by a screen of dense trees, so it was discreet. If Fletcher had a helicopter Vidic would have worried. Or a drone. But as things were, he was confident they wouldn't be seen.

Paris climbed down from her Defender and got into the Jeep's passenger seat. She said, "What's going on? Why does Fletcher want to see us?"

Vidic said, "Guess we'll find out."

"Why so late? And why at the cave? This doesn't feel good."

"Two possibilities, as I see it. One, Fletcher has found out about us and Bowery and he's going to shoot us in the head."

"Don't joke about that."

"Who's joking? Or two, he's cooking up something else."

"Like what?"

"No idea. That's why I wanted to talk before we see him."

Paris was silent for a moment, then said, "What if there's a third option? What if he's found out about the report and he wants a piece of it? What would we do?"

"Shoot him in the head."

"Ivan, this is serious. We're looking at a fortune. We could easily give him a chunk and not even notice the difference."

"No way, nohow. I hate that asshole. He's not seeing a penny."

"How do we say no?"

"We don't know he's found out. Don't jump to conclusions."

"But if he has? We should be prepared. We should have a plan."

"I do have a plan. You know the stranger that was with Gibson?"

"What about him?"

"Fletcher let him escape."

"Seriously? How?"

"The guy overpowered him would be my guess. But that's not the point. The point is that Fletcher doesn't know where he is. I do. And he's going to help us. I had something else in mind but we could use him for this, too."

"Why would he help us? He doesn't know us."

"He thinks there's something in it for him."

"Is there?"

"Of course not."

"So what do we do?"

"We make sure the Russian job goes ahead. Soon. It needs to be wrapped up tomorrow. The day after tomorrow at the latest. So if Fletcher balks, I need you to back me up. We still do the job. We just alter the timetable, OK?"

"And the stranger? Another loose end? How does that help?"

"Don't worry about him. He won't be a problem at all. Not for us, anyway."