Chapter 35

Paris returned a couple of minutes later. She had a folded newspaper under her arm and she was carrying a tiny glass jar and a teaspoon. She said, "This had jam in it. From the snack counter. I washed it."

Kane said, "Fill it."

Paris took a deep breath, stooped down, scooped three spoonfuls of Vidic's blood into the jar, then screwed on the lid. She handed it to Kane. "You say gross things but it's an act, isn't it? It has been all along."

Kane shrugged. "You started it. I played along. You thought I was big and dumb. You were only half right."

"Then be honest. You're not taking me to Andros. You're going to kill me here. No roll in the hay is worth twenty-eight million dollars."

"I could take you there and have you and the money."

Paris didn't reply.

"But no, you're right." Kane raised his gun. "You're not coming."

"Wait." Paris pointed to the crates in the cage. "What if I could get you double that? Maybe more?"

"I'm listening."

Paris unbuttoned her blouse, lifted the hem, gripped it in her teeth, and pulled. She made a hole in the stitching and worked an object out through it. A memory stick. She passed it to Kane.

"What's this?"

"A copy of the report. Exactly the same as the one Vidic had. I duplicated it in case the plan changed on the fly and I had to make the exchange."

"You said it couldn't be copied. Like NFTs, or whatever."

"We lied. Techno bullshit. We just made it look that way. We were bound to get found out eventually. But people didn't have to believe it forever. Just long enough to write the check. And with this report, exclusivity isn't such a big deal. Loads of countries out there want it. I have Vidic's contacts. You could sell it again. Multiple times, if you want."

"So now I have the copy, why do I need you?"

"Because you can't open it. So you need to let me go. When I'm safe, I'll text you the password."

"That could work, I guess. The file is the same as Vidic's? Exactly the same?"

"It is."

"In every way?"

Paris nodded her head.

"Including the password?"

Paris frowned.

Kane smiled. He raised Ivan's phone and said, "Oops."

—

Reacher spotted the landscaping van the moment their Uber pulled up outside the hangar. He made it immediately as the FBI surveillance vehicle. But unlike Vidic, he made no effort to avoid being seen. The Bureau guys were going to get involved at some point. He saw no reason to stand in the way of the inevitable.

The reception area was deserted when Reacher stepped inside. Knight followed. She looped around and checked behind the desk. Reacher opened the door to the hangar and even before he went through he could smell the blood. He stepped inside. Saw the scale. The broken-down plane. The freight cages. And two bodies. Vidic's. And Paris's. He crossed to take a closer look and saw both of them had been shot in the head. Once each with a small-caliber weapon. Knight stayed in the doorway. She said, "Reacher. That's a crime scene. Be careful. The agents from the van will be here any second."

Reacher said, "Watch the door," then went to search the bodies. When he was done, Knight came to join him.

She said, "Anything?"

Reacher nodded toward one of the storage cages. "That one's been used recently. It's the only one that's not locked. There's an empty pallet. A few shreds of packing straw."

"Someone cleaned it out."

"I can't find Vidic's phone. Everything else is normal. Except for that." He pointed at the hem of Paris's shirt.

"They didn't shoot each other. Not with matching head wounds like that."

"No."

"Kane."

"Most likely."

"Why is Paris's shirt unbuttoned? Do you think he molested her? Maybe that's how it got torn."

"Doesn't look like the kind of tear you get in a sexual assault. Buttons torn off? Yes. Sleeves, too. But the stitching on a hem? It's more likely she had hidden something there. Something small. A handcuff key, maybe."

"You think he cuffed her? There are no marks on her wrists."

"Something else, then. Maybe the lab techs will pick up some kind of residual."

Knight looked toward the door. "What's taking the agents so long? Do you think they're calling for backup?"

"Maybe. I guess we should go and make contact. Make sure they know we're friendlies."

—

Reacher closed the rear door and stepped away from the landscaping van. He borrowed Knight's phone and called Devine. He gave her the news. Two agents down. Two suspects down. Or three and one, given what they knew about Vidic. Plus one suspect unaccounted for and an unknown quantity of gold missing. Not the kind of news she was hoping for. Not with the PR issues she was dealing with. That was for damn sure.

Reacher hung up and handed the phone back to Knight.

She said, "You didn't tell Devine you'd recovered the memory stick. Want to call her back?"

Reacher said, "No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Something in my gut told me not to. Maybe I will later. We'll see."

"If you say so. What do you want to do now? It'll be better if we're not here when the circus arrives."

What Reacher really wanted to do was head to the nearest Greyhound station or find a good spot to hitch a ride. But a nagging doubt stopped him. It had to do with the scene inside the hangar. He was missing something. He was sure of it. He just couldn't put his finger on exactly what. He felt like he was looking at a print from an instant camera before it had time to develop all the way. The picture was blurry. The key objects were out of focus. That would change. He knew it. But it would take time, and it couldn't be rushed.

Reacher said, "How about we head to that hotel you found."

"The Courtyard? That works for me." Knight opened her phone again and pulled up the Uber app.

—

The hotel was a big sprawling place and the room Reacher and Knight were given was all the way at the end of a corridor on the second floor. It turned out to be more like a mini suite. Aside from the bedroom and bathroom there was a kind of living room with a couch and a TV and a fridge and a microwave.

Reacher took a seat on the couch. The air was cranked all the way up. That was a welcome relief from the damp heat outside. Knight poked around the room and then began to pace up and down, unable to stay still.

Reacher said, "You OK?"

Knight said, "No. How could I be? Think of everything that's happened in the last couple of days. All the shit we've been through. And I'm still no closer to catching Kane. In fact, I'm further away. I'm just so frustrated I want to smash something."

"I get that. But Devine said your shield is waiting for you, back home. Kane is on the FBI's radar now. He's tied into a case involving a rogue agent. A dead rogue agent. They're not going to rest until they find him. You can count on that. Maybe it's time to pass the baton. Get back to your real life."

"Would you do that, in my shoes?"

"Hell no."

"Well then."

Knight kept on moving. There was a coffee machine on a counter above the fridge. Reacher moved closer to see how it worked. There was a little plastic drawer that pulled out. It held perforated sachets. It looked like it took one per serving. There were two, not including the decaf options.

Reacher said, "Want a cup?"

Knight said, "Caffeine? Me? Right now? Yes, Reacher. Great idea."

Reacher picked up on the sarcasm and just made one cup. He carried it back to the couch.

"Sorry," Knight said. "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

"What do you feel like?"

"Anything."

Knight took out her phone and looked for options. After a minute she said, "Cuban?"

"Sure."

"Want to see the menu?"

"Do they have a Cubano sandwich?"

"Looks like it."

"I'll have one of those. And a pan con bistec. No lettuce."

Knight added a mango Caesar shrimp salad and a selection of mariquitas, and placed the order. Then she started pacing again.

—

The food came in twenty minutes. It was delivered right to their hotel room door. Knight took a towel from the bathroom, spread it on the ottoman, and laid out the Styrofoam containers in a neat line. Neither of them spoke while they ate, but it wasn't a comfortable silence. Knight was on edge. She had nervous energy to burn. That was clear.

Knight took a last bite of her salad and said, "I'm going for a walk. Want to come?"

Reacher shook his head. "Have you got a computer with you?"

"What do you want a computer for?"

"I want to see what's on the memory stick."

Knight pulled her laptop out of her bag and showed Reacher how to hook up the memory stick and select the document that was on it. A box appeared asking for a password. Reacher entered the string of characters he'd seen Vidic text to the guy's phone in the airport bathroom. He pecked away slowly with one finger, but he got the job done. The screen filled with words. Knight gave him a squeeze on the shoulder and made for the door.

—

The document was nothing like what Reacher had expected. He was anticipating all kinds of technical drawings and jargon he wouldn't understand and data he couldn't interpret. What he found was a long, scholarly discussion on the history of atomic weapons. It went all the way back to the early days of the first research programs. It discussed reactor piles and heavy water manufacture and problems getting hold of sufficient uranium. Reacher found he was enjoying the material. He read fast and his mind soaked up all the detail and the associated trivia. Then, when he was three-quarters of the way through, he stopped in his tracks. He had found out why the price tag attached to the report was so high.

The section in question concerned the fissile material that was needed to create the enormous explosive power of the weapons. How it was made, and how it was formed to best facilitate the nuclear reaction. It turned out the United States favored a cone shape for the material, hence the company's name, Cone Dynamics. It was the leading specialist in the field. The analysis went on to detail how if the material degraded, the bombs would lose efficiency. If the degradation reached a certain level, they wouldn't function at all. The design of the US architecture assumed a span of one hundred years before this level would be hit. But there was a problem. The material was new at the time. There was no history associated with it. No experience to base the calculations on. The scientists had been forced to rely on projections. And the Cone Dynamics guys had discovered that these projections were wrong. The degradation occurred more quickly. The cone shape that had been adopted exacerbated the decline. The effective life wasn't one hundred years. It was closer to seventy. The bulk of the warheads in the US missile systems had been built in the 1950s. Which meant that practically the whole of the nuclear arsenal was obsolete. If the weapons were fired, they would reach their targets. There was no problem with that. They might make a crater when they landed. But they would not explode. There would be no mushroom cloud. No heat. No windstorm. No radiation. And therefore no deterrent. The United States was vulnerable in a way it had never been in its entire history.