Chapter 36

Reacher read to the end of the report then closed the computer and leaned against the back of the couch. He was trying to make sense of what he'd learned. The country's entire nuclear arsenal was inoperable, but did that matter? If an enemy nation discovered the secret, would they really launch an attack, safe in the knowledge that they wouldn't face any retaliation? It would be the end of mutual assured destruction. There was no doubt about that. Back in his army days, Reacher knew that people on the US side had flirted with the idea of preemptive strikes, even knowing there would be a response. Credible intelligence suggested Soviet generals had done the same. There was speculation about the Chinese. And all the non-state actors that kept popping up. That was all years ago, of course. But the world had only gotten crazier since then. And someone had just paid a prodigious amount of gold to get their hands on the report.

Reacher was driving himself crazy with the speculation. He had no crystal ball. All he could say with certainty was the fewer people who knew the secret, the better. There was less chance of it leaking, that way. Which led him to another question. Who already knew? Vidic and Paris had, for sure. But they couldn't leak because they were dead. Bowery might have known the details, but he was also dead. Devine and the team that had analyzed the memory stick from St. Louis would—if the document on it was the same. And Kane most likely would. He would have demanded details when Vidic proposed the trade for his life.

The picture in Reacher's mind suddenly came into focus. The scene from the hangar. Two things now connected. Paris's torn shirt and Vidic's missing phone. The hole in the hem was the perfect size to conceal a memory stick. And the phone contained the password to open the report.

Kane not only knew, he had another copy. He could put the report back on the market any time he wanted to.

Reacher picked up the room phone and called Devine. He gave his name and she came back with, "I'm busy, Reacher. Make this quick."

He said, "You have another problem. There's one more memory stick. Kane has it."

Devine didn't respond right away. Then she said, "And you know this how?"

Reacher explained about the shirt and the phone.

Devine said, "That's it? It's pretty thin, Reacher."

"Maybe. But if I'm right…"

Devine sighed. "I'll look into it."

—

Knight let herself back into the room half an hour after Reacher finished his call. She walked over to the couch, slumped down in the spot next to Reacher, and closed her eyes.

Reacher said, "Feeling any better?"

She said, "No. Did you read the report?"

"I did."

"Was it worth all the song and dance?"

"And some."

Knight opened her eyes. "Really?"

"It's serious stuff. Want to take a look?"

"No. I have no bandwidth left for serious stuff."

"OK then." Reacher dropped the memory stick on the floor and crushed it with his heel.

"What did you do that for?"

"Like I said, it's serious. I'd trust you to read it, but no one else."

—

Reacher and Knight slept in the same bed but nothing happened between them. They didn't even touch. They were both too restless. And they were both awake when Knight's phone rang the next morning. It was Devine. Reacher answered.

Devine said, "I'm just checking in. Yesterday was quite a day. Are you OK? Is Knight?"

Reacher said, "We're fine."

"Specifically, I'm checking in about reporters. Bloggers. Conspiracy nuts. Has anyone been in touch with you?"

"Do they count as nuts if what they think is true?"

"Whatever. Has anyone been sniffing around, is the point."

"No one. What about Kane?"

"We've located him. He's in the Bahamas. We can't do anything, unfortunately. He's in a sovereign nation and our case is just too weak."

"It's weak? He killed two agents. Three, if you count Vidic. A retired detective. And that's before you scratch the surface."

"I was talking about our official position. Unofficially? People do all sorts of dangerous things in the Bahamas. Take scuba diving as an example. Equipment fails. Air tanks run dry. Who knows, maybe you'll read the paper on, say, next Thursday? Maybe there'll be a story about a fatal accident. Maybe you'll recognize the victim's name."

Reacher hung up and handed the phone to Knight.

She said, "What was that about Kane?"

"They're running a black bag op on him. They're going to drown him, next Thursday."

"Sweet. Fancy an island vacation? I'd love to be there when they bring the body in."

Reacher didn't reply.

She said, "Sorry. I know your passport has expired. I didn't mean to be insensitive."

"It's not that. I'm thinking about the memory stick. Assuming Kane has it. If he's still breathing for another few days that gives him plenty of time to set up a sale. The report is in demand. Look at how fast Vidic off-loaded it. And Kane has Vidic's phone. He has access to his contacts. He could get in touch with the same folks that tried to buy it before. Offer them a second bite at the apple. Or find a new buyer. Or hide it, then someone might find it after he's dead."

"I see that. What do you want to do about it?"

"Go to the Bahamas. Find Kane. Get it back."

"How? Your passport has expired."

"Someone flew Kane there with a bunch of illicit gold. On short notice. Kane only got the address of the hangar an hour or so before we showed up. That person can fly us. I just need your phone again. I need to ask Wallwork for two more favors."

—

Andrew McLeod, the pilot, lived alone in a V-shaped single-level home. It was at the corner of a triangular street, which was called a circle, about five miles away from the executive airport where his hangar was located. Most days he could drive to work in under ten minutes but that morning there was no point. His premises were closed by order of the FBI. The building was swathed with crime scene tape and it was under 24/7 observation.

McLeod was still in his bathrobe when the doorbell rang. He'd slept late. He was exhausted. A combination of lots of hours in the air and the shock of finding two dead bodies in his workplace. When he heard the sound, his first thought was Reporters . He'd been warned not to speak to any. The FBI agent who had interviewed him had been clear on that point. But still, he was tempted. He wanted to see his name in the paper. More important, he wanted his ex-wife to see it. He crept toward his living room window. Peeked out at his front path. And saw two people. A huge guy, not unlike the man he'd been forced to transport the day before. And a woman, quite similar to the one he'd seen dead on his hangar floor. He pulled away, fast. And that was a mistake because the movement caught the huge guy's eye.

Reacher abandoned the bell and hammered on the door. He got no response. He hammered again, harder. There was still no answer. So he called out, "McLeod? We're coming in. There's nothing you can do to stop us. The only question is, are you going to open the door first?"

Five seconds ticked past then Reacher heard footsteps. The door opened. McLeod stood at the threshold, trying to block the way.

Reacher said, "Can you fly in that robe?"

McLeod said, "No."

"Then you better change."

"Why?"

"You flew a guy to Andros yesterday. In the Bahamas. You're going to take us to the same place."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't fly anyone anywhere yesterday. I couldn't. Some lunatic broke into my place. There was a shootout. Bodies on the ground. Blood. The FBI."

"The guy who did the shooting. He gave you gold to fly."

McLeod didn't respond. Reacher's statement wasn't technically true. One of the dead guys had given him the gold. Kane just took the ride the stiff had paid for. But McLeod didn't think it was the time to dwell on the details.

Reacher said, "Tell me about flying. Do you like it?"

McLeod nodded.

"Do you need legs that work, to fly? Arms?"

—

McLeod changed into jeans and a Hawaiian shirt with shoulder tags to hold his captain's epaulets, then drove Reacher and Knight to the executive airport in his BMW. He parked two hangars away from his own then led the way between a pair of buildings. They approached the apron where his planes were parked, on foot. There were three aircraft clustered together. All were different models. Reacher recognized one kind. It was an ancient de Havilland. Built in Canada for a few decades after World War II. The US Army had used them for search and rescue missions. Reacher had been involved in a few of those. Although in his experience they generally wound up as search and recovery.

McLeod crossed to the left-hand side of the de Havilland. He opened a small door and gestured for Knight to crawl through to the middle row of seats. Reacher looped around and got in at the front. McLeod circled the plane. He was serious about his pre-flight inspection, despite the illicit nature of the flight itself. He climbed in behind the yoke, next to Reacher. Inside the plane, everything felt flimsy and worn. The seats were thin and the springs poked through the scant padding. Exposed metal was everywhere. All the signs and warnings had been applied with red paint. Some freehand. Some stenciled. Several almost completely rubbed off. The same went for the calibration markings on some of the controls. Most of the instruments looked like they'd been stolen from a museum. Although Reacher was surprised to see some modern ones shoehorned in, with digital readouts and color displays.

McLeod took a headset that had been hooked over his front sun visor and put it on. It had a microphone sticking out at the side. He pointed to a set of ear defenders in front of Reacher's position, and another on Knight's right-hand side. These were standard home improvement store items, hard and orange and plastic. Reacher and Knight pulled them on, anyway. McLeod started the engine. The propeller turned erratically for a moment, then fell into a steady rhythm. McLeod spoke to the tower, then eased a lever forward. The plane started to move.

The taxi out to the runway was bumpy, but not too loud. They trundled to the end, turned, and waited. Then McLeod opened the throttle. The plane shook and rattled and built up speed until it was able to claw its way into the air. McLeod held it straight, climbed, then pulled a tight 180-degree turn. Reacher could see a soccer stadium below them. A few wide, straight roads lined with businesses. Residential streets fringed with neat, square houses, many with pools. Strips of water. Taller buildings in the distance, including one that looked like the body of a giant guitar.

The plane was soon out over the water. It settled into a steady drone. The sun was to their left, halfway up in the sky. Land appeared after a shade under a half hour. Andros Island. Reacher could see a sandy coastline. Occasional clusters of cabins on the beach. Boats moored just offshore. Several piers jutting out into the water like pointing fingers. Many had structures at the end. They were mostly made of rough wood with roofs thatched with palm fronds, though a few were more substantial. A wide river cut through the island at one point. Trees covered most of the land, except for a handful of deep round holes that were filled with bright blue water.

Their destination had been determined before leaving McLeod's house. Reacher had initially been in favor of going to the same landing strip that McLeod had taken Kane to the day before, but a problem had emerged. They compared the strip's position on the map with the location of Vidic's phone, which Wallwork had provided. The two did not match. The phone, and therefore presumably Kane, was about ten miles from the strip. McLeod reported having seen no taxis or vehicles or facilities of any kind when he had deposited Kane and unloaded his crates of gold. The place sounded like a dead end, so they decided on the island's established airport, instead. Fresh Creek.

—

The landing was bumpy. The runway was rough. It was a series of concrete slabs, set close together, but with definite gaps between them. McLeod bounced his way to the only building that was in sight. The Terminal. A hand-painted sign announced its international status, but one of the screws holding it up had rusted through, leaving it hanging down at a drunken angle.

Knight climbed out and walked toward the door marked Arrivals. She had her passport in her hand and she moved slowly and calmly, like a regular tourist. McLeod swung the plane around. He guided it back along the runway, all the way to the far end. He swung the plane around again. When it was side-on to the terminal, Reacher opened the door. He slid out, dropped onto the ground, and rolled to the side. Then he scrambled up and darted into the belt of trees and shrubs that lined the site. McLeod rumbled the plane back toward the terminal. Reacher pushed his way through the undergrowth. He was expecting to find a fence to climb but soon arrived at the side of a road that ran parallel to the runway. No cars were passing. No vehicles of any kind. No one had seen him. He glanced around one more time then sat at the edge of the blacktop.

Knight appeared after ten minutes. She was in a taxi. An aged Nissan minivan. She was driving it. She had struck a deal with its owner to rent it for the day. She had offered a thousand dollars. The woman hadn't taken much persuading. Her only condition was that Knight give her a ride home first, which was five minutes from the airport. When they pulled up outside her house, Knight struck another deal. A hundred dollars for the use of a pair of binoculars.

Reacher climbed into the passenger seat. Knight didn't speak for the first few minutes. She was busy adjusting to driving on the left. It was the first time she'd ever done that. She pulled up a map on her phone and entered Vidic's location. It was fifteen miles away. The roads were wide and generally straight with a few tight turns and narrow bridges over rivers and streams. There was next to no other traffic. Very few houses. The ones they saw were small and low, set back from the road, and mostly disappearing into the trees. A handful of new ones were under construction, all concrete and rebar. The sites were all fenced off and no one seemed to be actively engaged in the process of building them. There were several churches, which looked to be in good condition, and numerous vehicles abandoned at the side of the road, which did not. There were trees everywhere, but not many flowers.

When the phone's map said they were a quarter mile from their destination, it called for them to turn left, toward the ocean, along a straight, narrow road. In reality it was little more than a track, cutting through a mangrove swamp. Knight stopped the cab. Reacher got out. He had the binoculars. He used them to observe the one building that was visible. It was ahead and to the right. But not on the land. Not even on the beach. It was perched on the end of a pier, thirty yards from the shore. Three cars were parked at the water's edge. They were nondescript Japanese sedans. Probably all that was available to rent or buy on the island at short notice.

Reacher climbed onto the roof of the minivan to improve his vantage point. He lay flat and trained the binoculars on the building. It was the most substantial structure he'd seen on a pier, either from the plane or the taxi. It was an octagonal shape for optimal views of the island and the ocean. It was built of brick and stone, not wood. It had a tiled roof that was covered with solar panels. Glazed windows. And a solid-looking front door. A deck ran all the way around it, edged with a rustic wooden railing. A ladder ran down to the surface of the water and a boat was moored to one of the stone pillars that supported the house. A Zodiac, with twin outboard motors. It looked fast even when it wasn't moving. The pier led away from the center of a gentle cove, and the nearest points of land were symmetrical promontories, each about a quarter of a mile from the house itself.

Reacher stayed on the roof for ten minutes, then slid down and told Knight what he'd seen.

She said, "What about Kane?"

"He was there. And so were his four guys."