Chapter 12

Reacher waited until he saw Mary's face disappear behind the blind in the office window then he leaned down, grabbed the unconscious guy by his belt, and dragged him through the gap between the office and the diner. He moved deep into the shadows, stopped, and looked around. A dumpster was sitting in the center of the space behind the office. It was small. Not a suitable place to deposit a body. The area behind the diner was much more promising. There was a large dumpster for regular waste. Another for recycling. A tall, cylindrical container for collecting used cooking oil. And another shallower, rectangular container. It was painted green and it had a bunch of symbols stenciled on its side. Reacher didn't recognize them so he lifted the lid and looked inside. The thing was full of food. Lettuce. Tomatoes. Onions. Various other vegetables that Reacher wasn't familiar with. Hunks of bread. Scraps of meat. All in different stages of decomposition. All giving off a disgusting stench.

Reacher weighed his options. He came down in favor of the food container. It was long enough. Deep enough. And it was the lowest, which made it the most convenient to throw the guy's body in using only his left hand.

—

Reacher emerged from between the buildings and started to turn left, toward his room. Then he stopped. He turned right instead. Went back to the diner and saw Hannah May sitting at the table he had used, drinking coffee.

Hannah May started to get to her feet. She said, "Breakfast time already?"

Reacher gestured for her to stay in her seat. He said, "Not yet. I have a question. The green dumpster out back. What happens to all the waste food that's in it?"

Hannah May shrugged. "Goes to a farm, I think. Gets fed to the pigs. They'll eat anything, those critters."

"How often does it get emptied?"

"Every two or three days. Unless it gets full quicker than that. Then the boss calls someone. Gets them to come an extra time."

"When's the next collection?"

"Tomorrow, I think. Why? Want me to check?"

"No need. I'm just curious."

—

Vidic kept his eyes on Paris's hands. If she clasped them low down behind her back, that was the emergency signal. It would mean Fletcher was onto them. That the meeting was a trap. It would be Vidic's cue to charge in, guns blazing, and rescue Paris. He was ready to jump back into his Jeep if she gave the sign. That was for sure. Only he wouldn't drive toward the danger. He would drive the opposite way.

Vidic watched for five minutes. He saw Fletcher approach Paris. Saw them talk. Saw plenty of arm waving on both sides. Something major was being discussed. That was clear. But Paris's hands stayed far apart. And they stayed in front of her body. So when Vidic was sure he was safe he drove around the heaps of ancient spoil and parked next to her Defender.

Fletcher waited for Vidic to jump down then turned and started toward the cave entrance. "Come on," he said, over his shoulder. "We have things to talk about."

—

Reacher left the diner and strolled back to his room. He locked the door behind him, stripped off his shirt and pants, placed them under the mattress so that they would get pressed while he slept, then went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and thought about taking a shower. It was late but his body was sore. His right shoulder hurt. So did his arm. His rib cage. All probably as a result of the accident, earlier in the day. And his head was aching. He figured a little warmth and some steam might help. But before he could decide, the room phone started to ring. Normally he ignored calls late at night. They were usually bad news. He knew. He had made plenty of them himself over the years. But this time it could be Wallwork calling. Or Vidic. He could be checking that Reacher was still there. Or giving word that it was time for the next step in the plan. So to be on the safe side, Reacher picked up.

"Mr. Austin?" It was a woman's voice. Mary, from the motel office.

Reacher said, "Yes."

"Mr. Austin, I thought you should know, a couple of detectives were just here looking for you."

"Really?"

"Yes. A minute ago."

"Were they wearing suits? Or undercover clothes?"

"Undercover, I guess."

"Which division were they from?"

Mary paused. "I'm not sure. They just said they were detectives. They showed me their badges and everything."

"What did they want?"

"They were asking all about you. Where you were? If you were in your room? Like that."

"What did you tell them?"

"I said I didn't know."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I thought you'd want to know. I would, if the police were looking for me in the middle of the night."

"Mary, is someone there with you?"

"No."

"Did someone get you to make this call?"

Mary was silent.

"Mary?"

"Remember the thing with leaving the files or the computer or whatever and me not saying anything, but you finding out, anyway? Can we pretend we're doing that?"

"Understood. Goodnight, Mary. Thanks."

—

Reacher set the handset back in its cradle and retrieved his clothes. He put them on but he didn't go outside. There were no detectives looking for him. That he was sure about. He guessed that a couple of buddies of the guy he'd thrown in the pig slop had shown up. Maybe in response to the call he had told Mary to make. She must have given up his room number. But if these guys were friends of the motel, and needed it to run their business, they wouldn't want to risk causing damage. They would want to lure Reacher outside before starting whatever trouble they had in mind. And if they wanted trouble, Reacher had no problem with giving them some. But it was going to happen on his terms. On his timetable. And it could wait till morning. That would be best from a tactical standpoint. It would leave plenty of time for their adrenaline to drain away. They would be much less brave in a few hours' time. Reacher was confident about that. But he slept with his clothes on, just in case. And he kept his left hand under his pillow with his fingers against the Glock's grip.

—

The entrance to the cave was twenty feet wide by ten feet tall. The opening was square and true, and Fletcher had installed a metal frame to carry the weight of the doors. The first fifteen feet of the excavation was also relatively neat and smooth, but beyond that the floor became ragged and the walls and ceiling began to slope and weave at crazy angles until they met to form a rough shelf another twenty feet back. Fletcher had rigged up a lighting system that ran off a series of car batteries. He'd set up shelves along the left-hand side, constructed a mesh cage in the center for securing the most portable valuables, as well as adding an old safe against the right wall. He'd also dragged in three old couches. They were arranged in a U shape between the cage and the safe, and when Fletcher led Paris and Vidic inside, they saw that Kane was already there, sprawling on the central one. He had a can of beer in his hand and when he caught Paris scowling at him he let out a huge belch.

Paris took a seat as far from Kane as she could get. Vidic sat next to her. Fletcher remained standing. He moved to the center of the U and said, "All right. Listen up. There's no easy way to put this. We always knew this day could come. We hoped it wouldn't, but hope doesn't keep you out of jail. It looks like the Feds have finally picked up on our scent."

Paris said, "Because of this stranger showing up? How can you be sure that's what it means?"

"I'm not sure . The people who wait around to be sure are the people who get locked up. But look at the facts. The stranger targeted Gibson. To do that he must have known Gibson's routine. Which involves surveillance. Manpower. Resources. Then he set up an incident—the failed carjacking—so that he could gain Gibson's trust. If it wasn't for the accident, which Ivan witnessed, he could be sitting here with us now."

"You can't know that the stranger set the carjacking thing up. Sometimes a crime is just a crime."

"He was making himself out to be a bum. A drifter. Who just happened to be carrying a Glock? That's an expensive weapon. Where would he get the money for one? And look at how he escaped. He was cuffed to a table. Then—gone. Disappeared. Not a trace. Does that sound like the skill set of a random hobo?"

Paris shrugged. "I guess not. But the setup thing. The carjacking. I still don't buy it. The simple explanation is usually the accurate explanation." Like with the bruises on Fletcher's head and throat, Paris thought. It was more likely the stranger kicked his ass than pulled off some magical escape.

Fletcher said, "What are you driving at?"

Paris said, "Maybe the stranger didn't need to gain Gibson's trust. Maybe he already had it. Maybe they didn't run into each other at the motel by chance. Maybe Gibson went there to collect him. Maybe the car bozos were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Fletcher took a step closer to her. "That would mean…"

"…that Gibson was a Fed. Yes."

Kane crushed his can and tossed it aside. He sat up straighter in his seat.

Fletcher took another step. "No. Gibson was my friend. I brought him in. Do I need to say any more?"

Paris looked away. She shook her head. She got the picture. If Gibson was a Fed, and Fletcher had brought him in, then the ultimate screwup lay at Fletcher's door. And that was something he would never accept. Just like he'd never admit he'd gotten his ass kicked.

Fletcher said, "Good. Now this is an emergency. There's no doubt about that. The only question is, level one or level two?"

The different levels of emergency had been laid down long ago. One was measured in minutes. It meant drop everything and run. Two was measured in hours. It meant tie up loose ends, grab what you can, and run.

Vidic shuffled nearer to the front of the couch cushion. He said, "Level two. For sure. The Feds needed to send a guy in undercover, which shows they were fishing. They didn't have anything solid to justify an immediate bust. They still don't. The stranger was unconscious when you brought him to the house, and groggy when he somehow got out. He certainly didn't have time to search the place. And he didn't come here."

"Good points. So what do we do?"

"You have a van here, so clearly you're ready to load up. Fold the tents. Which I agree with. But we should give ourselves twenty-four hours. Do the Russian job. Take what's already arrived. Forget the final delivery. Split directly from there."

"Paris?"

Paris said, "Works for me."

"Kane?"

Kane grunted. "We can't leave without doing the Russian thing. I don't care what is there and what isn't. We need to teach them a lesson. That's the priority."

Fletcher nodded. "Good. We pack up here. We do the Russian job. But that's not all."

Paris said, "What else is left?"

"Two other houses. Some Russians own those as well."

"You're not suggesting—"

"I am. We take all three."

"It's not justified. We don't know if anything's there. Whoever bought them might not be using them yet. So we'll spend time, maybe for nothing. And we've done no surveillance. Which means it's dangerous. There could be booby traps. Guards, even."

Fletcher nodded again. "Fair points. We might waste time. We might face opposition. But there's a way to mitigate those risks. When Bowery disappeared I called in reinforcements. I was worried someone was moving in on us. That's moot now. So we use the extra manpower to help with the additional properties. And to help find the stranger."

Vidic threw up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "Wait a minute. Reinforcements? You should have told us. Who are they? How do we know if we can trust them? When will they get here?"

Fletcher said, "Sometimes decisions have to be made on the fly. It's called leadership. I brought in four guys. All vouched for by Kane. He's worked with them before. And they're already here. They arrived this evening."

"Arrived where?"

"That weird motel by the highway. They can stay there till they're needed."

"This is a mistake. You should have—"

"Enough. It's done. Accept it. OK?"

Vidic shrugged.

"Good. Next. We need a new schedule. How long to get this place packed up?"

Kane scratched his armpit. "Couple of hours, max."

Fletcher nodded. "Then we'll sleep now. Pack up in the morning when we have more light. Everything except for the industrial metals. They're too dangerous to transport. Too hard to sell. We'll hit the first Russian place at noon, followed by the other two. Then we'll split."

Paris said, "What time do you want us back?"

"Back? No. We're not leaving. We'll sleep here."

"All of us?" She couldn't help shooting a scowl at Kane.

"All of us."

"OK. And we clear our house when? After we're done here?"

"No. We don't go back to our house. None of us. Assume it's blown."

"But I need to get something."

"What?"

Paris was silent for a moment. "My books."

"You can buy new books."

"I want my old books. They have sentimental value."

"The answer is no. It's too dangerous. Any other questions?"

Vidic cleared his throat. "This is a delicate one. Speaking of the house. Gibson's body is there. Aren't we going to retrieve it? Give him a proper funeral, or something?"

"We're not going to retrieve his body. Too much risk, too little reward. Assume the house is under surveillance, twenty-four/seven, from now on. But we are going to give him a funeral. A Viking funeral. The moment we're finished with the Russians I'll light the house up like a pyre. We'll say goodbye to Gibson. Destroy everything that could come back and bite us. And create a diversion while we split. A perfect triple play."

"How can you light the house on fire if you can't go near it?"

"I don't need to go near it." Fletcher pulled out his phone and held it up. "Smart switches. Tap a couple of buttons. The deep fat fryer overheats. The dryer malfunctions. A table light short-circuits."

"A home-arson app. Who knew? It was only a matter of time, I guess. We could license it. Make a fortune."

"Already been done. Some guy out of Pensacola, Florida." Fletcher paused. "Anything else?"

"Just one thing." Vidic swiveled and pointed at the safe. "You said pack everything up, apart from the metals. That, too?"

"What's inside it, sure. We'll split it five ways. Gibson had a kid. She'll get his share."

"That's fair, I guess."

"But we'll do that last. After the Russian thing's a wrap."

"What if something happens to you? No one else knows the combination."

A smile crept across Fletcher's face. "Guess you better take care that nothing does happen to me. I know how you'd hate to lose all that cash."