Chapter 11

Reacher stepped out of the diner and took a moment to scan the parking lot. He didn't expect that Vidic would have come back but he was a cautious man. A teacher in shop class had drummed into him, Measure twice, cut once, back when he was barely a teenager . He had never forgotten. He had foreseen little use for woodworking in his life but he appreciated the sentiment, all the same. So he adapted it. Made it into something more relevant. Look twice, act once. That became a key principle. It had served him well over the years. It had helped him stay alive while the fools who rushed in had wound up six feet underground.

There was no sign of the Jeep but one shape did attract Reacher's attention. A man's silhouette. He was in front of the motel office, ten yards from the door. He was maybe six feet two or three. He was wearing jeans and a black leather vest and the light from the office window was reflecting off his shaved head.

It wasn't so much the size of the guy, or his clothing, that caught Reacher's attention. It was his movement. He seemed agitated. He was pacing from side to side. Fifteen feet one way, then fifteen feet the other, back to where he started. Over and over. He didn't pause. He didn't change his pace. It was like he was mad about something and was looking for someone to take his aggression out on. The direct route to Reacher's room led right past the guy. That was fine by Reacher. He wouldn't bother the guy. Not as long as the guy didn't bother him. It was his rule.

—

The guy in the leather vest turned and started to walk away from Reacher. Reacher set off at the same time. In the same direction. The two men were sixty feet apart. They stayed that way until both had covered fifteen feet. Right on cue the guy turned and started walking back toward Reacher. Reacher continued, directly toward the guy. The gap closed to fifty feet. Forty. Thirty. Then the guy broke his routine. He didn't turn. He stopped and stood still with his head tipped to one side. Reacher kept moving but adjusted his course slightly so that he would pass the guy on his left-hand side. The guy stepped across to block Reacher's path.

Reacher thought, Mistake . He shifted back to his original course. The guy stepped over to block him again.

Bigger mistake .

The guy stood with his arms bowed and his fists clenched. He scowled for a moment, then said, "You the one who's been bothering my girl Mary?"

Reacher said nothing.

"Don't deny it. It was you. She described your ugly ass. You were asking questions. Poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Reacher said nothing.

"Questions about girls and missing husbands. That stops now. Get it?"

Reacher said, "Rooms."

"What?"

"I asked about rooms. Not girls."

"Same thing."

"You think that, you're doing something very wrong, my friend."

"Whatever. The point is, the questions stop. You leave. And if you ever come around here again, you'll regret it."

"Regret it, as in I would wish I'd chosen to spend my time somewhere else? Where the company's more engaging?"

"I'm warning you, smart-ass."

"You're warning me?"

"Damn straight."

"You're not doing a very good job. Warnings have two parts. If you do X, the consequence will be Y. I'm not hearing about any consequence, other than some vague idea of regret. Spell it out for me. Say I don't leave. What are you going to do about that?"

"Stick around and you'll find out."

Reacher spread his arms wide. "Here I am. Sticking around."

"I'm warning—"

"Enough. I've used up all the time I have for your nonsense. Go back to your boss or whoever sent you and tell them I have no interest in whatever you've got going on here. I'm not looking for trouble. Stay away from me and no one needs to get hurt."

"As soon as I see you leave…"

"That's not going to happen. I'll leave when I'm ready."

"Leave now."

"Make me."

"Happy to."

"Go ahead. Try. But before you do, think about this. You can still walk away. You should. While you still can."

"What are you going to do? You've only got one working arm."

"If I only had one working finger that would be enough. Be smart. Walk away."

—

Reacher could see the guy weighing up his next move. A twitch of his right arm. A shuffle on his left foot. He was slow off the mark. That was for sure. Reacher guessed the guy usually got by through intimidation. But that had already failed. Reacher felt his neck muscles flexing. He was ready to drive his forehead into the guy's face. It would be a brutal move. Vicious. Devastating. One of his favorites. A kind of Pavlovian response to being confronted by an asshole. But Reacher stopped himself. He remembered the doctor's words. Don't hit your head on anything. It's important. So he decided to play it safe. He watched the guy draw back his right fist. Then he stamped on the guy's front foot. He used all his weight. He felt the little delicate bones beneath the guy's instep crush and shatter. He stepped to the side. The guy screamed and doubled over. Reacher drove his left knee up into his face. For a moment the guy looked like an acrobat on a balancing pole, hanging in midair, then he landed on his back. His legs slammed into the ground a moment later. And after that he didn't move.

Reacher looked around. He could see no one in the parking lot. He checked for cameras. Didn't spot any. He checked that the guy was still breathing, then walked over to the office door. He shoved it open and stepped inside. Mary, the woman with the red hair, was standing behind the counter. She looked like she'd seen a ghost.

Reacher said, "Mary? Come with me."

Mary stood still. She didn't respond.

"Come here."

Reacher's voice had become a low rumble. Mary could feel it in her chest. She closed her eyes for a moment. Reacher could see her lips moving but he couldn't hear any words.

"Come here. Now."

Mary crept around the end of the counter. Her arms were rigid by her sides and her legs were straight and stiff.

"Who did you call?"

Mary's eyes widened. "How did you find out?"

"Who?"

"I don't have a name. Just a number. For the man who rents the three rooms. For the girls who…you know what they do in there. Listen, I'm sorry. I had to call. I need money for…you can probably guess. And he said if I go against him he'll put me in one of those rooms. And I figured, with your questions, you must be some kind of rival. A newcomer looking to muscle in."

"I'm not."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Here's what you're going to do to fix it. Look out of the window. When I'm gone, call that number again. Tell whoever answers what happened to the guy he sent. Tell him that if he sends anyone else, the same thing will happen to them. Then, when I have a spare five minutes, I'll come for him. And he won't send anyone, anywhere, ever again."

—

If a chivalrous man suspected he was walking into a possible ambush, he would volunteer to go first. Give his partner a chance to escape if things went south. Vidic was not a chivalrous man. He killed his Jeep's headlights. Coasted up to one of the heaps of spoil that hid the approach to the cave. Checked that his dome light was switched off. Opened his door. Climbed out. Crept forward until he could see the entrance. Waited for Paris to pass him. And watched to see what kind of reception was in store for her.

The place they called the cave wasn't really a cave. It was the entrance to a gold mine. Only it wasn't really a gold mine, either. A local guy, fresh back from California in 1856, had taken a gamble. He used his last few ounces of black powder to blow a hole in a rock face, planted the few miserable gold nuggets he'd been able to find out West in the rubble, and sold the mineral rights to a wannabe millionaire from Chicago. A few months and a couple dozen yards of fruitless excavation later, the venture was abandoned. It was briefly reactivated in the 1940s in the pursuit of uranium, but that search proved futile, too. The entrance was shuttered. Metal rusted. Weeds grew. People forgot that the place existed. Until Fletcher arrived. He was looking for somewhere remote to store any wares that were too hot to sell right away. When he spotted the place on a satellite image online he figured they could build something secure. But when he visited for the first time and pried open the rusty barricade he realized the hard work had been done for him. All he needed was a new set of doors. Something substantial. With keys that couldn't be duplicated. And a security camera linked into the existing system at the house, just to be safe.

The doors to the cave were open when Paris arrived. The nose of a panel van was sticking out. Paris had never seen the vehicle before. She pulled up next to Fletcher's Cadillac Escalade and jumped down from her Land Rover. She looked around, saw no one, then heard footsteps crunching on the gravel. Fletcher appeared from the cave's entrance and strode toward her.

Paris said, "Darren, what's going on? What happened to your hand?"

Fletcher glanced at his splinted fingers but ignored her question. He said, "Good. You're here. Kane's inside. We just need Vidic to show up."

"Why?"

"All hands to the pumps: 911."

"What's happened?"

"We've been targeted by the FBI."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure enough to get the hell out of Dodge."