Chapter 28

Reacher had moved on from math in his head to music when the door to the room opened. He was halfway through a live version of "You Done Me Wrong" by Shawn Holt. He was enjoying it. He was inclined to make whoever had finally arrived wait until the end of the song before he acknowledged them. But in the end he didn't, because of something he smelled.

He sat up and saw a woman in a dark pantsuit and cream blouse settling into one of the collapsible chairs on the far side of the picnic table. She had dark hair, cut short. Minimal makeup. Flat shoes. And no jewelry. A disposable plastic cup was sitting on the table in front of her. She pushed it toward Reacher and said, "I heard you like coffee. This is from my own supply. If you enjoy it, let me know. I have plenty."

Reacher stood and crossed to the table. The woman's expression turned to concern. She said, "Are you all right?"

Reacher said, "I'm fine. Thank you. Why?"

"No back issues? Sciatica?"

"No."

"That's good. I was worried when I saw you lying on the floor. That's what a lot of people do when they have back problems."

"Not me. I was worried about having a chair problem. Conserving tax dollars is admirable but maybe next time spring for the adult size."

"You have a point. These look a little delicate. But they're stronger than they appear."

Reacher eased his weight down onto a chair on the opposite side of the table to the woman's. The material sagged. The leg joints groaned. But the structure held. He picked up the coffee cup she had brought and sampled the aroma. He nodded, then took a taste. He smiled. "This is excellent. Thank you."

"I'm delighted you like it. My name is Agent Devine, by the way. Laura. I'm here for a rather somber reason, unfortunately. We have a personnel file to close. That's the diplomatic way to put it, according to our training unit."

"Agent Gibson's file. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Let's call him Albatross for now. Gibson wasn't his real name. Agents use pseudonyms when they're undercover, obviously. They're supposed to be recorded in the file, but that doesn't always happen. Some handlers are more accommodating than others and turn a blind eye or put in a place holder entry. Some agents are more security conscious—or paranoid, in the original English—and don't want anything in the computer at all. We have a saying. There are old agents. There are bold agents—"

"But there are no old, bold agents."

"You know that. Of course. Thirteen years in the Military Police. Lots of overlap between our worlds. Anyway, his real name needs to remain confidential for the time being. The family. Privacy. You know how this works."

"I do. So what do you need from me?"

"I want to home in on the identification. We have the technical side covered. We took prints and DNA from the wreck of his vehicle. The prints are already back and they confirm it's him. The DNA is at the lab, and it's being expedited. I have no doubt that it will corroborate what we already know. But this is a dead agent we're dealing with. We have to keep one eye on the future. When we catch the assholes who are responsible—and you can bet your house we will—we need to make sure we don't leave any cracks in our armor. Nothing that a defense lawyer could exploit."

"Makes sense."

"So I don't just want the testimony of machines. I want warm bodies involved. People who can stand up in front of a jury and win their hearts and minds. Normally we would start with the agent's handler. Have him or her identify the body and swear to it if necessary. But this time we can't do that because we don't have a body."

"It got burned up in the fire."

"Correct. Which further reinforces what we know. The point of the fire was obviously to prevent the body being identified as an agent's. Hence the phosphorus. To destroy the DNA and avoid a match being made. Which leaves, who?"

Reacher didn't answer.

Devine said, "Fletcher. But he's no use. Uncooperative and unreliable. Your basic evidentiary nightmare. There's no reason to believe that Kane, Paris, or Vidic will be any better when we recapture them. Detective Knight never met him."

"She took pictures of him. Of his body, when we found it. She got a couple of good shots of his face. And she took his prints. Give me your info and I'll get her to send them to you."

Devine took a stainless case from her purse, pulled out a business card, and slid it halfway across the table. "She can if she wants. No rush. It could be interesting background, I guess, but we couldn't bet the farm on it. There's no chain of custody, so it would be no use in court. Which just leaves you."

"I have no memory of meeting him. I can't recall anything. Not the crash. Not the hour before."

"You can't recall yet. But let's be positive. Let's assume you will. Maybe the best thing is to take it easy for a couple of days. Give your memory a chance to heal. And when it does, think what an asset you'll be to the case. A decorated army major as an eyewitness."

"I'm retired."

"Doesn't matter. You still scrub up just as well, I'm sure. And in the meantime we'll do our best to take care of you. We really are grateful for what you've done. The time you bought us has made all the difference. Without that we'd have responded to Albatross's missed contact in the regular way and found Fletcher and Co. blown to the four winds and nothing else apart from a burned-down house."

"And the Lincoln. With the prints and the DNA."

"Yes. That was their only mistake. They probably thought it would burst into flames when it hit the bottom of the gorge. Just goes to show. There's no such thing as the perfect crime."

"What's happening with funeral arrangements? That kind of thing?"

"Too early to say."

"Did you know Gib…Albatross personally?"

"No. I only knew him by reputation."

"What about his handler? Must be tough on her. I bet she has all kinds of survivor guilt now. She's probably thinking, What if I'd kept him talking five minutes longer? What if I'd wrapped the meeting up ten minutes sooner? "

Agent Devine smiled and wagged her finger. "Come on, Major—Mr.—Reacher. You know better than that. I was born at night. But not last night. I'm not going to reveal any details about Albatross's handler, or his or her location, or movements."

Reacher shrugged. "You can't blame me for trying."

"Any other questions?"

"Just the standard ones. Food? Billet?"

"You'll find basic refreshments in the kitchen, twenty-four seven. We'll get you guest access to our portal so you can order main meals. Oh. Wait. You're the one who doesn't have a phone?"

Reacher nodded.

"Not a problem. I'll arrange for a pad of paper and a pen. You can write down what you want. We'll have a delivery once a day, for the duration. As for sleeping arrangements we're using the bedrooms, upstairs. You're in room 6. Number cards are going up on the doors. Then we're just waiting for some furniture to arrive. Nothing fancy. Just a bed, really. More of an army cot. So I guess you'll feel at home."

"Honestly? I never liked those things. Never could get comfortable. So I'll just go back to the motel. Stay there for another couple of days. Then you'll know where I am if you need me."

"No. Better you stay here."

"I'll be more comfortable there. I'll get better rest. Improve the chance of my memory coming back."

Devine shook her head. "I'll make a call. Get you a better bed for upstairs. This is where you need to be. Just for a couple of days."

"Am I being detained?"

"Detained? Of course not. Why so dramatic?"

"Then why do you care where I sleep? One minute you say you're grateful. The next you're putting me under house arrest."

Devine leaned forward and lowered her voice. "We're doing this because we're so grateful. There's a delicate aspect to this situation. The way you brought the information to us was…unconventional. It put another agent in a position where he had to make a choice about how to proceed. Unfortunately, the choice he made was…suboptimal. So we're trying to massage the records to show that your report of a rumor of a dead agent came through the proper channels. That isn't easy with all the oversight we have to work around these days. I'm confident we can get there. It just takes time. And while we're dealing with it, it's important that we keep a handle on every part of the narrative."

"Then I guess I'm sleeping here."

"Thanks for your understanding. It won't be for a moment longer than necessary. I promise."

"Is there anything else for me?"

"No. Just remember that I'm here for you twenty-four seven. I gave you my card…which won't help much if you can't call. Anyway, you'll see me around. And if you need anything out of hours, I'm in room 4."

Devine got up and made for the door, then turned back with one hand on the handle. She said, "There is one other thing, actually. Nothing official. Just investigator to investigator. What did you think of the report?"

"My days of report writing are long gone."

"I'm talking about the Cone Dynamics thing."

"I don't know anything about that."

"That's not what you told Wallwork."

"I just told him what I heard. That Paris and Vidic had stolen a report from Cone Dynamics—whatever that is—and that Bowery was trying to use it to trade for his life after a previous blackmail target—Nechells Property—hired some fixers to make an example out of the three of them. I've never seen the report, or read it, and I know nothing about its subject or its contents. I just told Wallwork because if Paris and her buddies are segueing into some kind of cyber-crime organization, I figured the Bureau should know about it. And stop it."

"Absolutely we should. I would have done the same thing, passing on the information. Do you know how Paris targeted Cone Dynamics? How she even heard of it?"

"She didn't target them. It was random. She was just fishing."

"It's intriguing though, isn't it? Cone Dynamics. That's a weird name. Did Bowery or whoever say anything about what it does?"

"No."

"Any theories?"

"Why would I care?"

"Once an investigator, always an investigator. And investigators are inquisitive. It's in our natures. You hear about some obscure thing that's supposed to be super valuable and it's just been stolen, and that doesn't pique your interest?"

"I was in an apartment one time where there was a plant that looked like a dead twig. The owner had paid fifty grand for it. So I've long since given up trying to understand why people think certain things are valuable."

"That's fair, I guess. Still, if you think of anything…"

"There is one thing. A detail that might help you track down Vidic. Although I did come by the information in an…unconventional way. I don't want to push you into any suboptimal choices."

"Don't worry. Go ahead. Any records that need to be massaged, we can do that."

"I looked in Vidic's wallet yesterday. He had a bunch of spare IDs in there. Pro quality, I'd say. If he's flying, or renting a car, or booking a hotel, he might be using one of them."

"Can you remember the names? The states where they were issued?"

"Have you got paper and a pen?"