Chapter 21

The keypad was mounted at the center of the gate so it appeared at the front of an approaching vehicle, rather than being mounted on a post or wall on the driver's side, where it would be easy to reach. Fletcher pulled up just shy of the mouth of the driveway and glanced down at the note on his phone to check that he had remembered the code correctly. Then he climbed out, tapped in the digits, and waited. Nothing happened for a moment then the two halves of the gate started to swing open, slowly, without making a sound.

Fletcher got back in behind the wheel, drove through the gap, turned, and backed his Escalade until its tailgate was three feet from the door to the house. Vidic followed him in. He backed his Jeep, keeping Fletcher's Escalade to his left and leaving room for another vehicle to park on his right. Kane came in last and took the final space in the line.

Fletcher waited for the others to join him then entered the code into the keypad on the door. There was a heavy clunk as the bolts retracted into the frame, then Fletcher leaned on the handle and pushed the door. It didn't move. Then he remembered it opened outward and pulled it, instead. He held it open, turned to Vidic, and said, "Go ahead."

Vidic said, "Me? Why?"

"Why do you think? If anyone's getting trapped in this place, it's not going to be me."

Vidic swore under his breath then stepped inside. The door closed behind him. He crossed the hallway and stopped in front of a painting in a gold frame. It was a Turner seascape. Vidic reached for the frame, then corrected himself. He moved over to a painting on the wall to the right. A Van Gogh. He pulled the frame away from the wall. Revealed a keypad that was hidden behind it. Entered a code. And held his breath.

The keypad beeped. The words Arming—Wait appeared on its LCD display. They were replaced by an asterisk. It flashed four times, then scrolled across the screen from left to right. It did the same thing again, a little faster. And again, faster still.

Vidic said, "What the…?"

He glanced toward the exit. The door was still closed. For a moment he wished he'd asked Fletcher or Kane to hold it open, then realized there would be no point. The door opened outward. The steel mesh was on the inside. It could crash down regardless of the position the door was in. He would get more fresh air. Maybe someone could pass him food and water through the bars so that he wouldn't starve or die of thirst. But he would still be trapped. There was no way to tell how long for. He'd have no choice. He would have to wait for the Russians to show up. And then he'd no doubt wish he had died.

With the door closed there was no way for Fletcher and Kane to see what was happening. No chance of anyone helping him so Vidic took a gamble. He entered the code again. The asterisk froze, then disappeared. The pad beeped twice. Then the word Disarmed popped up in its place .

Vidic breathed out slowly then crossed back to the doorway. He opened it and said, "Guys, you should have seen what happened. The system wasn't even active. I almost locked myself in here when I entered the code. The last delivery guys must have screwed up. Forgotten to do it when they left."

Fletcher shrugged. He said, "Not our problem," and moved into the hallway. Kane followed him. The door closed again behind them. Vidic jumped at the sound it made, then stepped across and joined them in a little huddle. Fletcher pulled three sheets of paper from his jacket pocket. A list of items was printed on each. Some of these were highlighted in yellow. Fletcher handed one page to Kane. One to Vidic. And kept the last one for himself.

Fletcher said, "You know what we're looking for. Portable. Valuable. In demand. Check the list if you're not sure. Find everything. Bring it here. Then we'll load the vehicles together. Questions?"

Kane shook his head.

Vidic said, "Nothing from me."

—

Fletcher and Vidic headed up the stairs together. Fletcher took the branch to the left. Vidic went right. Fletcher moved along the corridor and opened the door to the first bedroom he reached. He went inside. There was no furniture in the room. The drapes were closed and only a little light was seeping in around the edges. Most of the floor space was taken up with wooden crates. None were very large and they varied in height and width and depth. A piece of paper was attached to the side of each one. Fletcher could see writing, but the light was too dim for him to be able to read it or the entries on his sheet of paper. He turned to look for the light switch.

And saw Reacher leaning against the wall.

—

Fletcher's uninjured left hand darted toward his waistband.

Reacher pushed away from the wall and said, "Stop."

Fletcher's hand was in limbo, hovering an inch above the grip of his Ruger.

"Use your thumb and finger only. Take it out. Drop it. Kick it away."

"You're not in a position to give orders."

"Aren't I?"

"No. For a start, you don't have a gun. I do."

"Does that help you?"

"Obviously."

"Remember last time we met? You had two guns. I was cuffed to a table. How did that work out for you?"

"Fool me once…"

"I'd fool you a hundred times if I could stand your company."

Anger flashed across Fletcher's face. His hand moved. His fingers closed around the Ruger's grip. Reacher stepped forward. He pinned Fletcher's hand, still holding the gun, with his left hand. But then he was short of options. He couldn't hit Fletcher with his right, because of the cast. He couldn't headbutt him because of the concussion. So he drove his right knee up into Fletcher's abdomen. It was an inelegant move. But it was effective. It rocked Fletcher up onto his toes for a moment and forced all the air out of his lungs. He gasped for breath. Gravity took over and dropped his heels back onto the floor. Reacher let go of Fletcher's hand, dodged around behind him, and smashed the side of his foot into the back of Fletcher's knees. The joints jackknifed and he crashed down, then flopped forward. Reacher stepped around and kicked him in the side of his head.

The endgame was the same as when they first met. And it had the same result. Fletcher, facedown on the ground, still as a fallen tree.

Reacher pulled Fletcher's arms up behind his back and secured his wrists with a set of plasticuffs he had taken from the improvised crime scene kit in the trunk of Knight's Toyota. He secured Fletcher's ankles, then checked his pockets. The pickings were slim this time. There was no new wallet. No cash. Just a phone and one key. It was on a leather fob with a Cadillac dealer's contact information embossed in gold leaf. Reacher dropped it on the floor and retrieved Fletcher's Ruger. He released the magazine, put it in his pocket, and worked the slide to make sure the chamber was empty. Then he moved to the door. Checked that the corridor was clear. And made his way to the first room on the opposite side of the staircase.

—

Vidic wasn't even trying to match the labels on the crates in his room with the list Fletcher had given him. He had no interest in the sculptures that were packed inside them. He didn't care about their value, or the ease of selling them. He had no intention of taking any with him. All he cared about was finding a crate that was a suitable weight and size. He needed one that was light enough to carry in front of his body, supported with just his left hand, and large enough to conceal the gun he would be holding behind it in his right. He would identify the crate then listen to Fletcher's progress. Let him make two or three trips down the stairs and back up, hauling boxes of jewelry or diamonds or whatever he had set his sights on. Then, when he figured Fletcher would have settled into the routine and his edge would have dulled, he would follow him downstairs. Stay behind him as he approached the front door. And wait for him to lean down and add his current armful to his pile of spoils.

What happened next would depend on Kane. If he was in the hallway at the same time, Vidic would shoot him first. He was the bigger threat. That was for sure. But if Kane wasn't there, Vidic would put a bullet in Fletcher's chest, then wait. Kane would hear the sound and come rushing in to investigate. A target so big in a space so enclosed, at such short range—it would be the easiest shot Vidic had ever taken. It would be impossible to miss. After that he would just have to stage the scene, which wouldn't be difficult. He would have to take a bullet from each guy's gun, assuming their magazines were full to start with, place the weapons in their hands, and make sure they were in a position to have shot each other. Two minutes' work. Three, tops. Then he would have plenty of time to get to the motel and collect Reacher. Take him to the cave. And open the safe.

Vidic smiled. He had been dismayed when he realized that the huge stranger had survived the car wreck. And now the guy was going to gift him two million dollars. God truly does move in mysterious ways.

Vidic heard a sound behind him. It was soft. High pitched. Metallic. A door hinge opening. He spun around. Fletcher interfering wasn't something he had anticipated. They had worked a couple of jobs together recently and the M.O. had been the same. Their roles were agreed in advance. They carried them out. They left. The only exceptions he'd heard about had been when something went catastrophically wrong, like when O'Connell had been shot by a security guard. But there were no security guards here. Vidic was certain about that.

"What…" he started to say, then a sudden realization stilled his tongue before he could form another word.

Reacher moved to within an arm's length before he spoke. "This is the part where you swear that it was all Fletcher's idea. He sprung a change of plan on you at the last minute. You tried to tell me. You couldn't, through no fault of your own. But there's no need to worry because you'll find a way to hold up your end. I'll get what you promised and we'll all live happily ever after. Right?"

Vidic's jaw was slack. His mouth sagged open but he didn't speak.

Reacher said, "But here's the problem. I don't have the stomach for any more of your bullshit."

Reacher raised his right arm. Vidic instinctively leaned away. He started to lift his left hand, ready to attempt a block. Then Reacher pulled his right shoulder back and swung his left fist out and around, accelerating all the way through its arc until it crashed into Vidic's temple. Vidic cartwheeled sideways, tumbling over a waist-high stack of crates, crushing another, and landing, crumpled, pressed up against an enormous jade Buddha that had been nestling inside.

Reacher moved to the side of the door and listened. No footsteps came racing up the stairs. Not heavy. Not light. He waited another minute to be sure, then crossed back to Vidic and checked his pockets. The contents were standard fare. Keys. Phone. And wallet. The only thing that interested Reacher was the stack of driver's licenses tucked away in a section designed for coins. There were five. Reacher spread them out on the ground. Each had an identical photo of Vidic, a gentle smile on his face, taken straight on to soften the distinctive shape of his head. Each was issued in a different state. One was from Michigan. One from Alabama. Washington. Nevada. Rhode Island. And each had a different name. Cameron Archer. Daniel Ings. Dean Saunders. Dalian Atkinson. And Kevin Richardson. Reacher examined each in turn. He was no expert but he figured they looked pretty authentic. He gathered the IDs up, then replaced them. He figured the FBI would be interested when they finally showed up. They might have questions about where the licenses had come from. And they would definitely want to know what else they'd been used for.

Reacher secured Vidic's wrists and ankles with plasticuffs, took the bullets from his gun, then left the room. He drew his Glock and started down the stairs. Two down, two to go, he figured. Kane and Paris were still unaccounted for. According to the floor plan in the presentation he had seen, two other rooms were designated for storing valuable contraband. The dining room, for wine. And the living room, for paintings. If the other information was correct, the wine wouldn't be there yet, and the paintings were the most valuable category. So it made sense that Kane and Paris would be working together in the living room.

Reacher decided to clear the other rooms first, to be safe. He started in the kitchen. The room was empty. There were no people. No crates stacked up on the floor. No appliances parked on the countertops. No dishes lined up, waiting to be washed. The only thing not fixed to the wall or the floor was a wooden rack hanging from the ceiling above an island counter. A bunch of copper pans was attached to it with S-shaped hooks. Reacher had seen similar collections before. He had never been sure if they served any purpose. The fact that these had been left behind when the rest of the kitchen clutter had been taken away made him think they were just for decoration.

Reacher moved back into the hallway. He saw that two crates had been moved to a spot near the front door. They were rectangular. Their height and width were of regular proportions but they were exceedingly shallow. Four inches, max. Designed to protect delicate oils or watercolors, no doubt. Then Reacher heard a sound. An angry grunting. It was coming from the living room. The door wasn't closed all the way. Reacher crept forward and peered through the gap. He couldn't see anything. He pushed the door open a little wider. A man came into view. He was at the far end of the room, wrestling with a giant version of one of the crates in the hallway.

Reacher said, "Need a hand?"

The guy pushed the crate away. It fell and knocked three others over like massive dominoes. He spun around and opened his mouth but before he could say anything his lips curled into a smile. He stepped forward. It was the guy, Kane. He was maybe an inch taller than Reacher, and definitely heavier. He must have weighed fifty pounds more, at least. Reacher had no doubt about that. But it wasn't Kane's height or weight that stood out. It was his eyes. They were like narrow slits, and the part surrounding the pupils seemed more yellow than white. They radiated menace, like a stuffed wolf Reacher had seen in a museum in Germany when he was a kid.

The guy took another step and looked beyond Reacher for a moment, into the hallway. He called, "Darren. Come down here. And bring your fifty bucks."

Reacher gestured to the crates that lay all around and said, "Short of cash in a place like this? How ironic."

"It's a bet, dumbass. The other guy thinks you're a Fed."

"And you don't?"

Kane shook his head. "I think you're a random asshole who just stuck his nose where it's not wanted for the last time."

Reacher's neck was beginning to tingle. His back was exposed. He knew Fletcher wouldn't be showing up, but he still hadn't located Paris. He didn't want a bullet in the head or a knife in the ribs while he stood listening to Kane's nonsense. He said, "I'll take that bet. Turns out you both owe me fifty." Then he stepped back into the hallway, closed the door behind him, and ducked into the kitchen.

He'd taken a good look at Kane. The guy was heavy, all right. He maybe had a slightly longer reach. But he seemed slow. The way he had been wrestling with the crate indicated a poor temperament. Reacher hadn't seen anything that worried him, but he didn't want to get involved in a brawl. Not just then. Not one with the potential to be long and drawn out. Not when there was a second opponent, probably armed, still unaccounted for. Plus he had to be careful with his right arm. And his head. Two of his favorite weapons. So he decided to cut the proceedings short. He stepped across to the island. Grabbed the biggest of the copper fry pans that were hanging from the rack. Moved back to the doorway. Tucked in tight against the wall. And waited.

Kane appeared after another thirty seconds. He took one step into the kitchen and paused, looking around. That put him exactly where Reacher wanted him. He swung the pan backhand, like a tennis player looking to bury match point against his greatest rival. The base caught Kane clean on the temple. He staggered sideways. Reacher came after him. He stepped around and swung the pan back the opposite way. It smashed into the other side of Kane's head. Kane's legs turned to jelly. He sank down onto his knees. Reacher whirled the pan around in a giant circle so that it crashed up under Kane's chin. His head whipped back. His eyes rolled into their sockets. His body collapsed, legs bent under him, and he settled into a solid heap, silent, and still.

—

Reacher secured Kane's ankles and wrists, then searched his pockets. He worked fast but turned up nothing useful. Then he stood and left the kitchen. Three down, one to go, he thought. The question was, where would he find her? He had heard Fletcher and Vidic talking when they came in and failed to realize why the alarm wasn't set. He'd listened to Fletcher give his briefing. But he hadn't picked up a woman's voice the whole time the others had been in the house. And he hadn't heard an extra set of footsteps moving around anywhere.

Reacher thought about the way Fletcher had deployed his resources. There were three kinds of merchandise. He had three people selecting and carrying it. Maybe Fletcher had figured the fourth would bebetter employed as a lookout, or to safeguard their escape route. Reacher made his way along the hallway, shoved Kane's crates aside,and eased the front door open. He could see three vehicles lined up, side by side in the driveway. Fletcher's Escalade. Vidic's Jeep. And Kane's truck. Paris wasn't in any of them. She wasn't near any of them. She wasn't by the gate. She wasn't watching from across the street. If the three men had brought their own cars, why hadn't Paris? Had she gotten a ride with one of the others, for some reason? Or was she not there at all?

Reacher went room by room, starting on the first floor. He checked the kitchen and living room even though he had already been there minutes ago. He tried the dining room. The pantry. The utility room. He looked in the powder room and the study. He stuck his head into the little closet-like room off the hallway. There was no camera equipment in this one. And no sign of Paris.

Reacher climbed the stairs and checked each bedroom in turn. He started at the rear end of each corridor and worked forward, smaller rooms to larger. None were furnished. And none were occupied. He checked the bathrooms. It was the same story. There was no sign of Paris. Nothing to suggest she'd ever been there.

Reacher returned to Vidic's room and picked his phone up off the floor. He used Vidic's face to unlock the screen, then dialed Knight's number from memory. He wasn't sure of her exact location but knew it would be somewhere close. They had worked out the plan in her car, on the fly. That came after the penny dropped in Reacher's head about Vidic's agenda. Four a.m. was a great time to raid a house. Reacher knew that from experience. But he realized it would be a terrible time to burgle one. Especially if you knew for a fact that it would be empty all day long. If someone drove by in the afternoon and saw a movers' truck outside they would think nothing of it. But if they passed in the early hours of the morning and saw guys hauling out a bunch of crates and loading them into random SUVs, their imaginations would go into overdrive. That was for sure. Their fingers would be itching to dial 911. Which meant Vidic had lied. Fletcher's job was happening before the attempt on the safe. Not after. Which had left very little time. Reacher's rendezvous with Vidic had been set for 2:00 p.m., which meant the break-in must have been scheduled for before then.

Knight had suggested calling the police. It was a natural reflex for a detective. But Reacher had balked at the idea. Vidic had told him on the phone that the police had done nothing about Gibson's accident, despite his earlier prediction that they'd be all over it. Reacher added their looking the other way to the fact that Fletcher's crew had been operating in their backyard for years and no one had even taken a sniff, and he didn't find a reason to have much confidence in the local law enforcement. Instead he called Wallwork. Agents were coming, Wallwork promised. But there was no way they'd arrive in time. So Knight had dropped Reacher at the gate and continued toward the other houses they'd driven by earlier in the day. Her idea was to find a discreet place to wait and, if necessary, block off Kane's guys if they somehow received an SOS and came racing back to help.

Knight picked up on the first ring. She said, "If this is a sales call, I'm hanging up."

Reacher said, "It's me."

"You have them?"

"I have three of them. I can't find Paris."

"How can I help?"

"You can come meet me. Look for places to hide. And if she's not holed up here, help me figure out where else she could be."

"Don't worry. We'll find her. I'll be there in five."

Knight ended the call but Reacher kept the phone to his ear. He moved out of Vidic's room and onto the landing. He raised his voice and said, "Understood. You're right. That's a better plan. I'll be out front in thirty seconds. You can pick me up there."

Reacher slipped the phone in his pocket in case Knight called back, and made his way down the stairs. He covered the length of the hallway and opened the front door. But he didn't go through. He stayed where he was and slammed the door closed. Then he stood completely still. He slowed his breathing and didn't make a sound. He wasn't optimistic, but he had drawn people out of hiding places that way more than once before.

A minute ticked by in Reacher's head. Then another. And another. The house remained completely silent. Reacher stayed where he was. Another minute passed and he heard tires crunching on the gravel driveway outside. A car door slammed. Footsteps approached, light and fast. He looked out and saw Knight. He let her in and she said, "Three cars outside? I don't think Paris is here. But let's find out for sure. I'm going to need Kane's phone. Then Vidic's."

Reacher led the way to the kitchen. Knight paused for a moment and stared at Kane's body. She stretched out and held the doorframe for a moment to steady herself. She took a deep breath then looked up at Reacher and said, "I'm sorry. This is the closest I've ever got to him. I didn't think it would hit me this way. What did you do to him?"

Reacher pointed at the dented copper fry pan lying discarded on the countertop.

"You hit him with that?"

Reacher nodded.

"Is he…?"

"Dead? No. He can still stand trial."

Knight shrugged and scooped up Kane's phone. She leaned over to hold it near his face and when it unlocked she straightened up and opened his messages. She searched through his conversations for a moment then selected the one she wanted. It was between Kane and four other numbers. No names were attached. Knight scrolled back through the last few days' worth to get a sense of Kane's style and vocabulary, then she typed: 911. Return to base, stat. Confirm receipt then radio silence, 48 hours. Full compensation to follow regardless of abort.

She hit Send, then waited. The first reply came in after thirty seconds. It was a cartoon thumbs-up. A second came a moment later. It showed a round, cartoon face with a hand at its temple like it was saluting. Reacher found it in poor taste.

Knight said, "Good. That rules out unwelcome guests." She dropped Kane's phone onto his chest. "Now, where's Vidic?"

Reacher said, "Upstairs. But his phone is here." He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to Knight.

She said, "That's some spooky kind of ESP."

"Not really. He was the nearest when I needed a way to call you."

—

Reacher showed Knight which room Vidic was in so that she could use his face to unlock his phone. She called up his messages, then shook her head. She tried his call log. His contacts. And she shook her head again.

She said, "He's a sneaky asshole, this guy. He deletes everything. His phone's like it's never been used. But don't worry. I have a couple of other tricks up my sleeve." She called up a menu and spent a moment sliding her finger up and down the screen, then shook her head for a third time. "Damn. There's a way to see the places a person's been, if you know where to look. Not many people do. He does, apparently. And he knows how to disable that feature. OK. Let's try one other thing." She swiped and prodded at the screen for another moment, then a smile broke out on her face. "Look at this." She held the phone out for Reacher to see. The screen was filled by a map with a dot on it, like the one she'd used to track Kane's guys earlier.

Reacher said, "He has a phone tag thing in her car?"

Knight smiled. "Don't be an idiot. They're sharing their locations. They haven't been doing it long."

"That's a thing?"

"Of course. Lots of people do it. Couples. Relatives. Co-workers. Creepy stalkers in abusive relationships."

Reacher took another look at the screen. "That dot is Paris?"

Knight nodded. "Her phone, anyway. It's not like she has a chip implanted in her."

"How do you know?"

"Implanting chips? That's not a thing. Not yet, anyway."

"How do you know it's Paris's phone? We don't have any messages or call logs to compare the number with."

Knight didn't reply right away. The smile faded from her face. "I mean, they're a man. A woman. They're absconding together. Who else could it be?"

Reacher said nothing.

"You got a better way to track her down?"

"No. I'm coming up empty. So let's give this a try. The location's not far away. It won't take long to get there. And if we find someone else, not Paris, maybe they'll be connected somehow. They might know where she is."

—

Reacher was first down the stairs and by the time he was halfway along the hall he realized Knight was hanging back. He said, "You coming?"

Knight crossed her arms. She said, "I think it's better you go alone. I'll stay here. Handle things if the agents get here before you're back. Or the police. Or Kane's guys, if they see through my message standing them down."

"You sure?"

"I think it's best." She held out her keys. "Here. You can take my car."

Reacher shook his head. "I'll take Kane's truck. That way if it is Paris, and she sees me coming, I'll have an extra couple of seconds before she figures I'm not a friend."

—

Reacher didn't have to adjust the driver's seat in Kane's Ford when he climbed in, which was a pleasant change. He fired up the engine and took his time to maneuver around Knight's car, which she'd left perpendicular to the other three vehicles and centered on Vidic's Jeep. He figured she'd be pissed if he damaged it, and he wasn't sure how much more punishment it could take. He didn't want to leave it in pieces on the driveway. That would take some explaining. He made it to the gate without incident then looked back toward the house. Knight was framed in the doorway, waving. Reacher couldn't tell what kind of wave it was. It could have been saying, good luck and come back soon . Or it could have meant, so long—you're never going to see me again . That made Reacher wonder if Knight would be there when he got back. And if she wasn't, whether Kane would still be breathing.