Chapter 27

Reacher woke first the next morning. He got dressed, slipped out of the room, and went to the diner. He got coffee. Two carry-out cups. He brought them back and when he got to the room Knight was awake. She was sitting up in bed with a sheet pulled up to her chest.

She said, "Is everything OK?"

Reacher said, "Yes. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Your expression. You look worried."

"I'm not worried. I thought I smelled smoke, is all. Very faint. I was trying to figure out where it came from."

"Maybe it came from in here? Things did get pretty hot last night." She folded back the covers on Reacher's side of the bed. "Maybe we should re-create the conditions. See if it happens again. Purely in the interest of science."

Reacher set the coffee cups down on the desk and stepped toward her.

Her phone began to ring.

Reacher said, "Ignore it."

Knight checked the screen. "It's your buddy Wallwork. Shouldn't you see what he wants?"

"Damn." Reacher took the handset and hit the answer key. "Yes?"

Wallwork's voice sounded hoarse. He said, "Where are you?"

"At the motel where Gibson met his handler. Although we have new information about that meeting." Reacher looked at Knight. Her sheet had slipped down a few inches. He had a feeling that wasn't an accident.

Wallwork said, "Shame. I was hoping you'd be far, far away by now."

"Why?"

"Two agents are on their way there. To look for you and Detective Knight."

"Us? Why?"

"Pretty much everything you touched yesterday has gone to shit. When the agents got to the Russian place, Kane had escaped. At the cave, Vidic and Paris had gone missing. Bowery was dead. And when they searched the gang's house an agent tripped a booby trap. A vial of phosphorus had been propped up behind a door, right by Gibson's body. The entire place burned down."

"Sounds like a fiasco."

"No kidding. Although it's not a total loss. They have Fletcher. And several vehicles, including Gibson's, which was recovered from the crash site. His cellphone was still inside, wedged down the side of the driver's seat. They pulled prints and DNA from all over the place. The DNA will take a while but the prints were confirmed as his. And when the fire department releases the house, I'm sure our techs will confirm human remains. Probably won't be able to pull DNA from them, though."

"So why are the agents coming after us? None of this is our fault."

"They want to talk to you both. I guess Knight is about to find out what happens to people who help you."

"Talk to us about what? We didn't lose any suspects. We didn't light anything on fire. And we only left the scene because you asked us to."

Reacher heard a rustling sound from the bed. He glanced over and saw that Knight was kneeling up, now. The sheet was pulled right up to her chin and her face was suddenly pale.

Wallwork said, "I know. But the loss of Gibson's body complicates the formal ID. And with a couple of the other guys in the wind the bosses want as much information as possible to help kickstart the search. And, Reacher?"

"Yes?"

"I need you to do me a solid here. Go along with these guys. Don't resist. Don't run. Answer their questions. And don't get smart. Can you do that?"

Reacher didn't reply.

Wallwork said, "This is important. You know how the politics work. If we had gotten a result I would be a genius for thinking outside the box. That's kind of my thing. But if this goes south all the blame will land on me, instead. For sharing sensitive information with an unauthorized person. You. I could be in seriously hot water. I could get fired. I could lose my pension."

Reacher didn't respond.

"They'll only need you for twenty-four hours. Forty-eight, max."

Reacher laughed.

"What's funny?"

"That's exactly what Vidic said to me at the start of all this. I didn't believe him, either."

—

Reacher was standing at the window, looking out for the agents' cars. Knight was sitting on the bed, lacing up her shoes. "I'm so pissed at myself. So pissed. I should have seen it."

Reacher said, "Take it easy on yourself. You weren't the only one there. I saw it. I didn't figure it out."

"I don't mean seen it literally. I should have seen the implication. The possibility. The blindingly obvious certainty. How could you have done that? You're a Luddite. You don't even own a phone. What do you know about Siri? Virtual Assistants? Voice control?"

Reacher shrugged.

"Exactly. How could you know? But I do. I use Siri all the time. And I was so taken up with wanting to put the fear of God into Kane, to making sure he knew I could have killed him if I wanted to, I didn't make the connection. His phone was right there by his side. It didn't matter that his hands were tied behind his back. He could have called anyone he wanted."

"The four guys we sent away, presumably. We must have missed them by minutes."

Knight threw herself back on the bed. "So it's even worse. I should have kept his phone when I sent that text. Or smashed it. But he was unconscious then. I didn't think about him waking up and being able to talk. And I figured the Feds would want the phone when they showed up. Maybe there was something useful in it. And I had no idea we'd be coming back to the house."

Reacher gave her a minute to clear her head, and then said, "What did you make of the hooker's story? The woman from room2. I meant to ask you last night. But I got…distracted."

Knight sat up again and said, "It was kind of strange, wasn't it? Do you think Vidic could have been confused? He said he was watching the rooms from the diner. We don't know what his eyesight is like. There could have been people in the way, milling around. He could have mixed up the door numbers. Rooms1 and 2 are next to each other."

"Possible."

"The woman said she was dressed smart. As smart as a typical agent, maybe, from a distance? She said she left the room a few minutes after Gibson. And if she drives an old detective special that could easily be confused for a Bureau car by a layperson."

"I could buy Vidic being confused. Or paranoia playing a part. But here's the thing. The Bureau confirmed that Gibson was an agent. Now they've ID'd his prints from his Lincoln, too. If Vidic actually saw him with a hooker, not a handler, and jumped to the right conclusion for the wrong reason, isn't that a little coincidental?"

"Not necessarily."

"No?"

"No. Here's an example. Were you good at math at school?"

"I got by."

"See, I was terrible. But I remember this one time, in sixth grade, we got a new math teacher. She came in early, her first morning. Wrote a problem on the board. Told us to try to solve it. It was super difficult. She was sure no one would be able to. It was supposed to be a motivational thing for the rest of the year. Work hard, and you'll get it in the end. But the funny thing is, when I tried, I completely scrambled the method, but somehow got the answer right. It was a total fluke. A mistake. The teacher was so mad at me. Maybe Vidic did something like that?"

"Maybe. But I guess the clincher is whether there actually was a handler at the motel that day. We have some quality time coming up with the Bureau. Let's see if our new friends will share."

—

Reacher saw a pair of vehicles approaching. Chevy Suburbans. Both black. They were close together, one in front of the other, and hints of shiny paint glinted through a thick coat of road dust. They ignored the open spaces in the parking lot and drove right up to the motel room door. Reacher stepped outside. Knight followed him. An agent jumped down from each of the SUVs. Hands were shaken. IDs were checked. Then the agent from the lead Suburban helped Knight into his backseat. He climbed in and pulled away. The second agent opened his back door. Reacher stayed where he was. He said, "Where are we going?"

The agent said, "I'm not at liberty to—"

"I am at liberty. Literally. And I'm going to stay that way unless you lighten up."

The agent thought for a moment then said, "Fine. You'll see for yourself soon, anyway. It's a house. One of the crime scenes. Owned by some Russians and crammed full of smuggled goods. Everything's been confiscated now and the building's been commandeered. There's nothing else suitable nearby."

"Do you have a coffee pot there?"

"I don't know. I don't drink coffee."

"Think. This is important. I can't be sequestered somewhere with no available caffeine. That wouldn't end well for anyone."

"One of the agents brought something. Not a pot. One that works with pods."

"As long as it makes coffee, it'll do."

Reacher walked around the Suburban and got into the passenger seat. The agent shrugged, climbed in himself, and headed for the exit. He hit the gas a lot harder than the agent who was driving Knight had done. Reacher thought it was maybe a good job that the guy had no caffeine in his system. He knew firsthand what happened to drivers who took the upcoming switchbacks too fast.

—

Fletcher's Escalade was gone when Reacher arrived at the house. So were Vidic's Jeep and Paris's Land Rover. Their places in the driveway had been taken by three more black Suburbans. Knight was standing by the front door. She was talking to a guy Reacher hadn't seen before. He was tall and thin. He was wearing a plain black suit. His head was shaved and the morning sunlight was reflecting off it. He was wearing small, round wire glasses, which made him look studious. And he was gesticulating enthusiastically with his hands. Reacher pegged him as the local guy in charge. Probably looking to make a good impression with his people before the bigger hitters arrived from Quantico.

Reacher waited for the agent to come around and open his door. Then he climbed down and made his way toward Knight and the tall guy.

"I'm Supervisory Special Agent Dokonaly," the guy said. He offered his hand. "Thanks for coming. We'll take up as little of your time as possible." He nodded toward the door. "Let's get started."

Inside, the house was fundamentally the same as it had been the day before, only all the crates and packages had been removed and it had already picked up the vibe of an office or an institution rather than a home. Dokonaly led the way to the dining room. A picnic table had been set up in the center. It had a plastic top and folding metal legs. Four collapsible chairs were arranged around it. They looked like they'd been bought from a camping store, Reacher thought. Maybe this was an example of the kind of out-of-the-box thinking that Wallwork aspired to.

Dokonaly ushered Reacher through the door. He said, "Wait here, please. Someone will be with you in a minute." Then he guided Knight toward the kitchen.

Reacher looked at the chairs and decided to sit on the floor. Five minutes ticked by. Ten. He smiled to himself. The accommodations might have been unconventional and the furnishings improvised, but the Bureau's tactics were still the same. That was clear. Make the suspect wait, alone, and in silence. Isolation ratchets up the tension. Silence breeds the urge to speak. And speaking in a tense situation can easily lead to a confession. Reacher assumed they would be doing the same with Knight. He hoped she could keep a lid on the guilt she felt about not realizing Kane had summoned help, which had led to his escape. Especially since it looked like her interview was going to happen in the place Kane had escaped from. It was possible that a smart agent could connect those dots without her saying anything. If that happened, they would deal with it, down the line. But there was no point in inviting trouble by incriminating yourself.

Reacher lay down. His mind wandered back to the drive from the motel. Figures floated into his head. Speeds. Distances. Given a spell of downtime he could never resist running random calculations. The shapes and patterns that numbers form themselves into always soothed him, like the harmonies in a perfectly constructed musical phrase.

He started with distance. The stretch of road from the motel to the house was roughly ten miles long. He had been driven on it by three people, that he could remember. Vidic. Knight. And that morning's agent. The agent had been the fastest. He had averaged a whisker over sixty miles per hour, making the journey last ten minutes. The agent driving Knight had left two minutes earlier. Knight was already talking to Dokonaly when Reacher arrived at the house, so he assumed that she must have arrived at least a minute before him. That meant the slowest her agent could have driven was 54.5454 miles per hour. Reacher liked that. He enjoyed coming across quirky results, like prime numbers or recurring decimals. He shifted his focus to the split time from the motel to the switchbacks, hoping for more of the same. But he came to a much less satisfying conclusion. Not because of the numbers involved. Because of the people.

The distance from the motel to the switchbacks was roughly five miles. According to Vidic he had left the motel five minutes after Gibson, and he had caught up with him just before the switchbacks. There was a problem with that, Reacher realized. Even if he assumed that Vidic had raised his game and had driven as fast as the agent had done that morning, all Gibson would have had to do was average above thirty miles per hour. Then he would have been through the switchbacks before Vidic got to them. Gibson was a trained agent. He knew his cover was blown. He was effectively running for his life. Was it reasonable to believe that he would drive at less than thirty miles per hour? When it was possible for people with the same training to do fifty-five or sixty on that stretch of road? Reacher didn't think so. It was another anomaly in Vidic's story. And Reacher didn't like anomalies.