Chapter 25

The Tennis Club guys arrived at the cave twenty-five minutes ahead of their deadline. They bounced along the track between the spoil heaps, skirted around another panel van and a Land Rover that were parked close together, and pulled up a couple of feet shy of a white Ford truck. The driver shut off the engine. He left the keys in the ignition and climbed out. The passenger joined him. They looked around for a moment, taking in the rock and the gravel and the shiny metal door. The driver nudged the passenger and pointed to a spot above the center of its frame. He mouthed the word camera.

The passenger nodded and said, "Come on. Let's go." He climbed up into the Ford.

The driver got in behind the wheel and turned the key. The engine took a moment to catch. He said, "What a piece of garbage. I can't believe we're stuck with this."

"Don't worry. I'll tell the property guy he owes us a bonus."

"A big bonus." The driver nodded toward the back of the van. "I was looking forward to some fun."

—

The driver swung the truck around and started toward the exit. The passenger was fiddling with the stereo. It wouldn't make a sound. Then the silence was shattered by a gunshot. The truck bucked a little. Steam started to pour from somewhere at the front. There was another shot. More steam gushed out. A hole was ripped in the dead center of the hood. The windshield shattered. A bullet tore through the wheel arch at the side of the load bed and the left-hand rear tire exploded. The truck pulled to the side. The driver hit the brake and tried to correct the steering but he was too late. He couldn't avoid planting the truck's nose six inches deep in the side of the spoil heap.

The driver climbed out. He was shaking. The passenger tumbled down at the other side. They both looked around, stunned, trying to figure out who had fired on them.

"Up here, gentlemen." Reacher got to his feet at the top of the right-hand spoil heap. The Glock was in his left hand. "Now move back behind the vehicle. Get down on your knees and lace your fingers behind your head."

Neither man moved.

Reacher put a bullet through the roof of the truck's cab. He said, "The next goes through one of you."

The driver started to shuffle away from the truck. The passenger followed. They moved ten feet clear of the tailgate then slumped down. Reacher stayed still. The cave door slid open a couple of feet and Paris appeared. She was holding half a dozen plasticuffs. She hurried toward the Ford and stopped when she was behind the driver. She guided his arms behind his back and looped a cuff around his wrists. She pulled it tight then repeated the procedure with the passenger.

Paris called, "They're good." Then she started toward the van the guys had brought.

Reacher made his way down the spoil heap. He took his time, gun in hand, switching his glance back and forth between the two guys and the rocks and pebbles beneath his feet.

Paris made it to the van. She took the keys from the ignition, looped around to the rear, and unlocked the double doors. She pulled the first one open. Then, from Reacher's viewpoint, it looked like a giant, invisible hand had flung her onto the ground. Knight appeared in the open doorway. She jumped down. Stepped across to Paris. Grabbed her by the blouse. Lifted her head and chest. And punched her square in the face.

—

Reacher herded the two guys across to the van. Neither would go near Knight, who was rubbing her bruised knuckles. Reacher said to her, "That's Paris. Not one of the guys who grabbed you."

Knight shrugged.

"Solves a problem, though." Reacher pointed to the plasticuffs Paris had dropped.

Knight scooped up a couple and secured Paris's arms and legs. She said, "In the van?"

Reacher nodded. Knight was favoring her left hand but she was still able to haul Paris into a sitting position, lift her under the armpits, and push her through the open door.

Knight looked at the two guys. She said, "Which of you assholes took my phone?"

The passenger said, "It's in the front."

Reacher opened the second of the van's rear doors and turned to the driver. He said, "Sit on the edge. Lift your feet. Do anything stupid and my friend will work out some more of her anger on you."

The driver did as he was told and Knight slipped a cuff around his ankles. She tightened it and then shoved him in the chest. He toppled back into the van's load space. She repeated the process with the passenger, told them both to bend their knees, then slammed the doors, closing them in.

Knight breathed out heavily and stepped away from the van.

Reacher said, "You OK?"

"My hand's been better. The rest of me's fine. A little bruised, maybe, from being bounced around on the metal floor." She gestured to the truck and the wrecked Ford. "This was all you? How did you do it?"

"A phone call. A couple of emails. Nothing to it."

"You sent emails?"

"Not personally."

"I was worried for a minute. I thought you must be a ringer." She rubbed the skin on her wrists. "But seriously, Reacher, thank you. Bowery's in there. He's in bad shape. Mistook me for Paris and told me a bunch of things. Including how those two guys made him watch them torture a man to death. They have a whole setup for it. A torture chamber with a viewing gallery for their next victim. If they'd got me there…" She turned away and shivered.

"What else did Bowery say?"

"He got captured. Was forced to give up Paris and Vidic. Then he promised to give them some kind of stolen document in return for his life. It's worth a fortune, he said. A report from a company called Cone Dynamics. Ever heard of them?"

"No. I wonder what their big secret is?"

"I can't imagine. Probably some boring finance thing."

—

Reacher retrieved Knight's phone from the passenger door pocket in the Tennis Club van and used it to call Wallwork. He wrapped up his summary and said, "So unless you know where I can get ribbon around here, to tie a bow around everything for your agents, this is me signing off."

Wallwork said, "Good. Go. The agents are only a half hour out now. Maybe less. And if I've learned anything it's that the more daylight there is between you and the Bureau, the better I sleep."

"You don't mean that."

"I do. And, Reacher?"

Reacher didn't respond.

"Lose my number. Don't call me anymore. I mean it."

"Until next time, Wallwork."

"There won't be any next time."

"Then let me ask you one last thing. Have you heard of a company called Cone Dynamics?"

"No. Why?"

"It's Paris's next hacking victim. I don't know anything about them. She stole a report. Apparently it's worth a fortune. And that makes me curious. How could one document be so valuable?"

—

Reacher checked the van's doors one last time then climbed into the Land Rover's passenger seat. Knight was already in the vehicle, waiting for him behind the wheel. She started the engine and took off slowly, threading her way through the gap between the spoil heap and the wrecked Ford. She picked up speed once they reached the smoother road and drove the rest of the way to the Russians' house in silence. Reacher watched her out of the corner of his eye. The expressions on her face kept changing. She looked angry one moment. Then sad. Then scared.

Knight left the Land Rover on the street to save having to maneuver it into the space Kane's truck had been in. She finally smiled when she saw her old Toyota. Reacher jumped down, made his way through the gate, and climbed in. Knight followed but diverted to the car's trunk. She popped the lid, leaned in, then a moment later straightened up and started for the house's front door. Reacher saw that she had something in her hand. A gun. It was the Sig he had taken from Fletcher and later stowed in her lockbox.

Knight worked the keypad and pulled the handle. Reacher went after her. He caught the door before it closed and followed her into the hallway. She kept going straight. All the way to the kitchen door. She paused outside it long enough for Reacher to catch up. She took hold of the handle, turned to him, and said, "Give me a minute?"

Reacher said, "Whatever you need. But are you sure about this? Some things can't be undone."

"Am I sure? When did you become a comedian?"

—

Kane was conscious. He had rolled over and pushed himself up into a sitting position then shuffled back until he could lean against the wall. His phone and wallet were lying next to him on the floor.

Kane's head snapped around toward the door. "What…Who the hell are you?"

A smile crossed Knight's face, but it was full of sadness, not humor. She said, "Who am I? You don't know me. For weeks I've dreamed of finding you. Making sure you know my name. I've pictured dozens of scenarios. Hundreds. None like this, though. In my dreams any time you'd been dumped on your ass and tied up, it was me who'd done it."

"Did I knock you up? Sleep with your sister on prom night? You're pissed about something. I can see that."

She took a step closer. "I'm Jenny Knight."

Kane glanced at the gun in her hand. "You say that like it should mean something to me."

"My father was Dennis Knight."

"Are you going to run through your whole family tree? Because I can save you the trouble. I don't care who you are. I don't care about your relatives."

"Dennis Knight. My father. You killed him."

Kane shrugged. "If you say so."

"You shot him down like a dog when all he was doing was his job. Earning an honest buck."

"Well, there's his mistake. Honest jobs don't pay for shit. Means you have to work long hours. Increases the risk of a workplace accident."

Knight looked around for a chair but there were none in the room so she sat on the floor, cross-legged, six feet in front of Kane. She raised the gun so that it was lined up on his stomach. The muzzle was rock steady. She said, "You shot my father in the chest. Left him to bleed out. It took hours. I came to return the favor. Only you ran away after you pulled the trigger. I'm going to stay. I'm going to watch until the last breath has left your body."

Kane swallowed. "Don't do that. Let's talk. There must be something—"

"What I came to do. Past tense. I've changed my mind." Knight lowered the gun and got to her feet. "See, if I shoot you, it'll feel good for maybe an hour. But then I'd regret it. I know I would. Because you wouldn't die fast. Oh no. But it would still be too fast. Faster than spending the rest of your life in jail. Which is what's going to happen. The FBI will be here in minutes. They have a dead agent." Knight looked Kane in the face. "I hope no one meets them outside. Tells them you're to blame for that."

—

Knight was quiet until they were safely through the set of switchbacks. Then she glanced at Reacher and said, "So what's next for you?"

Reacher shrugged. "I'll get back on the road, I guess. You?"

"Go home. Get my job back. With Kane out of the picture there's no reason not to."

"I wish you luck."

"Thanks. Where are you heading?"

"New Orleans."

"What's in New Orleans?"

"A new club opened. A band I like got a residency. I helped them with a thing, a while back. Thought I'd catch a couple of shows. See how they're doing."

"Some good clubs in Phoenix. You could come there."

"Maybe I will, one day."

"You'll head out in the morning?"

"Maybe. Or tonight."

"Tonight? So soon?"

"Why not? There's nothing to keep me here."

"I guess not." Knight glared at him then leaned a little harder on the gas.

—

The four guys hadn't taken much of a bite out of the drive back to Phoenix when they got the call from Kane. They had set out heading north on US 65 and then looped clockwise around the outskirts of Springfield. But instead of continuing until they hit I-44 like their phones told them to, they dived southwest onto US 60 and kept going until they reached a roadside bar between Monett and Yonkerville. The place was owned—indirectly—by a guy they had met in the state pen in Tucson. A live band was playing. The food was cheap. The portions were generous. The beer was cold. But the most attractive feature in their minds was the barmaids. As the neon sign above the door promised, they were all topless, all the time.

—

The conversation got off to a rocky start. Kane didn't know that Knight had sent the guys a text from his phone telling them to stand down so he was expecting them to still be a couple of miles away, watching the other Russian houses. He was expecting them to be sitting in their cars, keeping a low profile. So he couldn't understand why there was so much background noise. And why, when he told them to come to his location, stat, they said they would need such a long time to get there. It took a moment to straighten things out. Kane couldn't argue with them following "his" instructions, but he still wasn't happy. There was only one reason he could think of for Reacher to have tied him up and left him in the house. Fletcher had been right. Reacher was working for the FBI. Agents must be on their way. He told the guys not to spare the horses.

—

Kane didn't say he was worried about the FBI showing up but the guys weren't stupid. They could listen between the lines. When they got back they drove past the house twice to be sure there were no nasty surprises waiting for them. Then one guy stayed in each car. One car was facing one way, one the other, and both had their engines running. The other two guys hurried to the house. One of them entered the number Kane had given them into the keypad. Panicked for a moment when the door wouldn't open. Then the other guy remembered to pull it. They hurried inside. Ran down the hallway. Found Kane in the kitchen. Cut his ties. And helped him to his feet.

—

Kane led the way out of the house. He moved slowly at first. His joints and muscles were stiff after being tied in an unnatural position for so long. He was back to something like full pace when he reached the front door. But after he took one step out onto the driveway, he stopped.

He said, "Where the hell is my truck?"

The two guys looked at each other and shrugged.

The first one said, "This guy, Reacher. Maybe he took it?"

The other said, "Why not take the Caddy? Or the Jeep? That truck was a dog. You're better off without it."

"Do you need another vehicle? We can take you wherever you need to go."

Kane said, "I don't need the truck. But I do need the tools that are in it."

—

Kane figured he had two decisions to make. Whether to see if Fletcher and Vidic were still in the house. And whether it was still worth going to the cave, even without his tools. He decided not to go back inside. The FBI could arrive at any moment. And if they found Fletcher and Vidic that could work to his advantage. They would be occupied with arresting them. Processing them. They would have questions to ask. Procedures to follow. Those would all take time. If they found the place empty that would leave more agents free to search for him. He checked his pocket. He still had the key to the box van. Not as convenient as a heap of cash, but better than nothing.