Chapter 29

The "army" cot that Reacher found in room 6 was not genuine. He was pretty sure of that. The standard issue item was designed to provide enhanced stability when assembled and optimum storage when folded down. This object pitched and rolled like a hammock when Reacher lay on it. But it didn't collapse, so he figured it might be good for a night or two if Devine was slow coming through with a replacement.

Reacher had been lying down for fifteen minutes when there was a light tap on the door. It was Knight. He sat up and she came in.

Knight said, "You OK?"

"Fine. You?"

"I feel like I'm getting cabin fever already. Did they question you yet?"

"An agent pretended to. She was basically laying out a bogus justification for keeping me here. When that didn't hold water she switched to emotional blackmail. Suggested that if I left they would hang Wallwork out to dry for keeping me in the loop."

"That sucks. It was the same kind of story in my interview."

"What carrot did they use? What stick?"

"Getting my shield back. The guy threw a bunch of questions about Kane at me. Superficial nonsense, mostly. He made out that the chance of me getting reinstated was hanging by a thread. He said they were grateful for my help and were prepared to pull some strings and get me my shield back. But to stand the best chance of that working I need to stay under the radar for a couple of days. And the only place they can be sure I'll do that effectively is here."

"Did he mention Cone Dynamics?"

"Yes. At the end. He went full Columbo on me. Just one more thing …"

"Same with me. She slipped it in when she was already halfway out of the room. Tried to make it casual, like she wanted my help with some innocuous puzzle."

"You get the feeling that's what this is really about?"

Reacher nodded. "If all they wanted was for me to identify the body, they could have shown me a picture from his file. They could help you get your job back wherever you are in the world, and whatever you're doing. No, I think they're panicking and trying not to show it. I think they want us on ice until they figure out how bad this report is. And where it is."

"I think you're right. The agent who drove you from the motel? He wasn't exactly outside your door just now, but he wasn't far away. When I came up the stairs he acted like he was waiting to talk to someone. The agent who drove me. And they let me keep my phone. No doubt to see who I contact."

"They're keeping tabs on us. They drew the short one. Babysitting duty."

"The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

"What you do is your call. Me, I'm going to hang around a day or two. I brought Wallwork into this. He's a decent guy. I don't want his career to get ruined because of me. And speaking of Wallwork, can I borrow your phone? There's no harm in talking to him. They already know we're in touch."

Knight passed Reacher her phone and he dialed Wallwork's number. Wallwork picked up on the first ring and said, "How's it going? Are you hanging in there? Behaving yourself?"

"No one's been hospitalized yet. I need one favor, though."

"I've already stuck my neck out too far. Don't ask me for anything else, Reacher, please."

"I need one more thing. This is important for both of us or I wouldn't ask."

Wallwork sighed. "OK. What is it?"

"I need to know if Gibson's—Agent Albatross's—handler was at the motel on the day of the crash."

"No way. Absolutely not. I can't share that kind of operational information."

"What harm can it do? It's in the past. I'm not asking for someone's future whereabouts."

"No. I'm hanging up now."

"You need to find a way. I need that information. It's vital."

"Why is it vital?"

"Find out for me. If my suspicion is right, then I'll tell you. If I'm wrong, you want no part of it. Trust me."

—

Reacher handed the phone back to Knight but she didn't put it away. Instead she called up its browser and started tapping away on the pretend keyboard. Reacher said, "What are you doing?"

She said, "Googling Cone Dynamics. I want to see if it's even a real company." She tapped and swiped a little more, then held the screen up for Reacher to see. "I guess they do exist."

Reacher took a moment to read the text. It said that Cone Dynamics was an audio consultancy specializing in the design of high-end loudspeakers for home and professional use. He touched an underlined word, Gallery, and a bunch of pictures came up. They showed scenes from houses. Offices. Concert halls. Nightclubs. A diverse set of venues but all with one thing in common. Loudspeakers with a distinctive royal blue grille. Reacher thought about all the bands he'd seen in all the bars and clubs and halls around the world. He tried to remember if he had ever seen any speakers like them. He didn't think he had. But he couldn't swear to it. He was more about the music than the equipment.

Knight took the phone back and tapped a bunch of horizontal lines in the top right corner of the screen. The words About, Products, Services, Customer Care, and Contact Us appeared. Knight hit Contact Us, touched the call option, and put the phone on speaker. A machine picked up after six rings. A recording of a woman's voice said, "Thank you for contacting Cone Dynamics. All our consultants are tied up helping clients right now but your call is important to us so please leave a message after the tone."

Knight said, "This is Alicia Taylor of Taylor Design Partners, Manhattan. I'm rehabbing a property for a client on Central Park West and they have some pretty specific requirements for audio. I need to go bespoke because nothing off the shelf is acceptable to them, so please call me back to discuss. Budget's no issue on this one so we could really have some fun."

Reacher said, "Think they'll call?"

"I do. I think they'll ask a few pertinent questions, say they need some time to pull a proposal together, then a week or so later say they're too busy to give the project the time it deserves and back out. We'll most likely have moved on by then. And if we haven't, we'll still be no closer to knowing if they're legit or not."

Reacher figured there could be a different kind of response altogether, but he didn't say anything.

—

There was a tap on the door and right away Agent Devine burst into the room. She was breathing hard and her eyes were wide. She said, "Grab your gear. We leave in five minutes. And, Reacher, this is thanks to you. One of the aliases you gave me has panned out. Vidic has booked a plane ticket. He's flying from Oklahoma City to St.Louis. Today. We will have someone watching to make sure he gets on the plane and we'll be at the other end when he gets off."

Reacher and Knight waited together in the hallway but when the Suburbans arrived outside the agents separated them. They insisted they ride in different vehicles. Reacher knew it was standard procedure to keep suspects separated but he was disappointed, all the same. He was allocated to the second Suburban in a line of four. He climbed all the way through to the backseat. He had to fold his legs almost to his chin and stretch out sideways in order to fit. Four other agents rode ahead of him. He saw Knight climb into the Suburban behind his. The convoy left a moment later. The drivers took it easy on the twisty local roads then cut a little looser once they made it to US63.

The trees on either side of the road began to give way to scrappy fields. The vehicles stuck together like they were joined by an invisible rope as they surged past. The drivers settled into a steady speed, and Reacher relaxed his body and closed his eyes. But he didn't sleep. The agent in front of him had a laptop open on the next seat and she spent most of her time on the phone. Reacher got the impression that plenty of people must be focused on Vidic and his trip. Updates came in regularly. Information was being gleaned from his email. His text messages. His credit card use.

The data set the agents were interested in went back two weeks. That was when contact was first established with someone using an email service based out of Switzerland. It was highly encrypted, one of the agents said. Almost impossible to hack.

Almost.

The correspondence was banal on its face. One party had something to sell. The other wanted to buy. A price was agreed. And that's where things got interesting. Slang terms were used, which an agent translated as meaning $2,000,000. Terms were set. Cash was insisted on. The date and the time fell into place. St. Louis was agreed upon. The only thing missing was the precise location. There was nothing to indicate whether it was somewhere in the airport. In the city. Or just somewhere in the general vicinity.

The convoy swung northeast onto I-44. Reacher knew that was part of the original Route 66. And before he knew it the song was playing in his head. The frequency of the agents' reports slowed down. Evidently all available hands were trying to nail down the place where the transaction was due to occur. There seemed to be no lack of effort. But no result, either.

After another half hour Reacher heard Agent Devine on the phone. He guessed she was talking to people in the other three SUVs. They agreed that if no firm information was received before they reached the city they would rendezvous in the parking lot of the World WarII museum and wait for updates from the team that would pick Vidic up at the airport.

Reacher said, "He'll go somewhere outdoors. Somewhere with plenty of people. One of the parks or the area around the Arch."

Devine said, "Or maybe he wants privacy. He's about to commit a crime. He might not want a bunch of witnesses."

"Witnesses are exactly what he wants. Last time out was a dry run with the property sharks. Bowery went to collect their payment. The buyers picked the venue. A diner. And it was a disaster. Bowery was kidnapped. Their merchandise was stolen. They didn't get paid. They were na?ve, but they're not stupid. They won't make the same mistake again."

"Maybe. We'll see."

They were within sight of the museum when Devine's phone rang. She put it on speaker. A man's voice said, "Vidic has just left the airport. He's in the ride share pickup area. He's calling an Uber. We have eyes on his screen. 4145 Main Drive. That's Tower Grove Park. Humboldt North Pavilion. We have roving teams deployed. One is rerouting to that specific area of the park as we speak. We'll follow him all the way and company will be waiting for him when he gets there."

The line went dead. Devine turned to the driver. She said, "Figure out the most likely route a cabdriver would take to the pavilion from the airport. Then take us to the opposite side of the park. Two streets back. When we get there, find somewhere to wait. We'll see how this plays out from there. And hopefully we'll be close enough to join if we're needed."

—

Devine called the agents in the other Suburbans. She outlined the plan and told them to each find a spot on a separate street. One black Suburban is suggestive enough. Parking four together would be like taking out an advertisement in the Post-Dispatch. The FBI is here.

Devine's phone rang again. She hit the speaker key. It was a woman's voice this time. She said, "Vidic is mobile. He's in an Uber. A silver Prius. Still on I-70. We'll watch him all the way to the park. He'll likely arrive on the north side. ETA sixteen minutes. Out."

The driver pulled over to the side of the road. Reacher figured they were two streets from the south side of the park. He was starting to get twitchy. Back in the day he would have been the one running an operation like this. He was itching to get out of the SUV. To get into the park. To be involved. But he knew there was no chance of that happening. The agents had only brought him along to keep him on ice until they were sure he wasn't mixed up in the fallout from the theft of the report.

A quarter of an hour crawled by, then Devine's phone rang. It was the woman's voice again. She said, "Slight delay. Nothing to worry about. ETA now two minutes. Out."

Devine's phone rang again almost immediately. It was the man's voice. He said, "The roving team in Tower Grove spotted a man, mid-twenties, wearing a hoodie, with the hood pulled up. He approached Humboldt South Pavilion. If you're not familiar with the area, Main Drive cuts through the park. At the center it divides and runs around each side of an oval that is filled with trees. The pavilions are opposite one another on either side. They're maybe thirty seconds apart on foot. There's a large trash can just adjacent to the South Pavilion. The man deposited a black backpack and then strolled across and sat on a bench. He's still there, looking at his phone. We have eyes on the trash can and on the individual. It looks like this is a live one. Out."

The woman called and reported that Vidic's Uber had reached the park. Vidic had exited and was heading for the North Pavilion.

The man called. "We have eyes on Vidic. He's approaching the North Pavilion. Going inside. Glancing around. He…has not made us. Repeat, not. He's sitting on a bench. He's leaning down like he's tying a shoelace. He's taken something from his sock. A tiny envelope. He's peeled the backing off an adhesive patch. He's stuck the package onto the underside of the bench. He's sat up straight. He's looking at his phone. Maybe sending a message. He's getting up. He's walking around the oval. He's heading for the South Pavilion. Is he? Yes. The man in the hoodie is on his feet. He's moving. He's heading the opposite way around the Oval. Heading for the North Pavilion. Going straight for the bench that Vidic just left. He's sitting on it. He's reaching underneath. We're moving. We have him. We have the envelope. Vidic is sitting on a bench. He's looking around. Hold on. I don't like his body language. He's getting squirrelly. Now he's standing. He's going for the trash can. He's going to pull out the backpack. We're— Wait. No. He didn't stop. He's still going. He's abandoned the backpack. He's running. He's—" The call dropped out.

There was silence in the Suburban. The agents looked at one another. Reacher felt like the temperature had dropped ten degrees.

Devine's phone rang. A new woman's voice said, "Confirming one male suspect in custody. One package secured. Contents: One USB computer memory stick."

Devine said, "What about Vidic? Do you have him?"

The line went dead.

Five minutes crawled past. Six. Then the man called. He said, "We're still looking, but as of now we do not have a visual on Vidic. We'll keep you posted."

Two more minutes crawled past. Then Devine turned to the driver and said, "Take us right up to the park. We're not doing any good here. It's time to get our hands dirty."

—

The driver turned right at the end of the block, crossed two streets, then bumped up onto a footpath and parked at the side of a softball field. The agents all piled out. Except one. The one who had driven Reacher that morning. He said, "We're staying here." He didn't sound any happier about the prospect than Reacher was.

It was more than an hour before the other agents returned to the Suburban. By then Reacher had memorized every detail of the trees and walkways that surrounded the softball field. He had calculated the number of trees per acre in the park, assuming the sample he could see was representative. And he had tried to put himself in Vidic's shoes. He wondered what had spooked him. Caused him to run without collecting the money. And he wondered how much there could have been in one backpack. Everything he heard about the Cone Dynamics report suggested untold riches. That made him think in terms of wheelbarrows full. Not bags. Maybe Vidic was guilty of overpromising, as well as so many other things.

Reacher didn't need to ask the returning agents about the outcome of their search. It was clear from the looks on their faces that they had been unsuccessful. Vidic had given them the slip. Reacher moved back to the tiny backseat without saying a word. The agents climbed in. No one spoke for a moment. Then Devine clapped her hands. She said, "Come on, people. Chins up. Vidic got away and that's disappointing, I'm not going to lie. The man who left the backpack will most likely turn out to be a cheap stooge. But let's focus on what's important. We have the money, and we have the USB. If we're lucky, the money will lead us to the buyer and the USB will contain the report."

Devine gave a signal and the driver backed up onto the street and set out into the evening traffic. No one spoke. The agents sat limp and despondent in their seats. Dejected from the loss of Vidic, Reacher guessed. Regardless of Devine's brave words. Nine minutes later they pulled up diagonally opposite the Gateway Arch. None of the agents were paying it any attention. Reacher couldn't take his eyes off it. He had heard you can go inside, which he certainly wouldn't want to do, but he was mesmerized by the shape. He could only imagine the kind of calculations that went into creating its flawless curves.

—

One of the other Suburbans was already there when they arrived and the other two joined them within a minute. The agents climbed out and trudged over the street and into the lobby of a hotel. Reacher saw Knight in the middle of the group. The lobby was plain and sparsely decorated, but that was fine with Reacher. The view of the Arch more than made up for any stylistic deficiencies, which he probably wouldn't have noticed, anyway. The agents hung around in a loose knot while Devine dealt with the clerk. No one spoke. No one made eye contact with one another. Reacher thought they looked like members of a high school sports team who had just been on the wrong side of a particularly heinous drubbing.

Devine returned to the group a couple of minutes later. She was struggling to hang on to a handful of shiny key-card wallets. She finished distributing them, apparently at random, then said, "OK. That's a wrap. Eat something. Get some sleep. Get your heads back in the game. Tomorrow's a new day."

—

Vidic was in another hotel, two hundred and thirty miles away. He was propped up in bed. An episode of Breaking Bad had just finished on his TV. He took a last bite of his room service steak. Drained his wineglass. And picked up his phone. He wanted to check in on Paris. See how her journey had gone. How close she was to stabbing Kane in the head. And most important, to make sure she was ready for the next day.

Vidic had hit the first two digits of Paris's new number when his phone began to ring. It was Paris, calling him. The universe was winking in his direction again. Clearly he was still doing something right.

Paris opened with "I hate you. I'm going to kill you."

Vidic smiled to himself. He said, "What's he done?"

"It's like traveling with a child. Kane is a complete moron. An actual imbecile. He kept asking me about how the exchange is going to work tomorrow. I gave him an overview. Nothing too specific. And he couldn't even understand that. He was more interested in making fart jokes and trying to rub up against the flight attendants on the plane. Being around him is so embarrassing."

"Sounds pretty much par for the course with that guy."

"And that's not even the worst of it. We had to change hotels."

"Why?"

"We were in the bar and—"

"You went for a drink with him? What were you thinking?"

"I didn't mean to. He asked if I wanted to get something to eat. I said I was getting room service. He said he was going out somewhere so I went to the bar on my own. Then he showed up. I couldn't get away. He started up with his stupid jokes. Some other guy took offense. So Kane followed him to the bathroom, made him strip naked, apparently, and threw his clothes out of the window. Seriously, it's like being shackled to a juvenile delinquent. I hate it."

"Are you in your room now?"

"Yes. Finally."

"Then relax. Forget about him. Because in twenty-four hours he'll be on a mortuary slab and we'll be in paradise. In our own little fortress. With more money than we'll ever be able to spend."