Chapter 8

Reacher leaned down so that his eye lined up with the peephole in the motel room door. He looked out into the parking lot and immediately caught sight of Vidic's back moving quickly away. The fish-eye lens made Vidic's body look swollen and round, like a balloon figure, and he seemed to be floating rather than walking. He was making for his Jeep. That was clear. Its white body and black hood made it easy to spot despite the distorted optics. Reacher saw the dome light suddenly glow. Vidic's angular head was silhouetted, just for a moment, then the Jeep's cab went dark again. Vidic must have closed his door. Reacher couldn't tell if he had started the engine, but the Jeep's headlights didn't come on. The Jeep didn't move. It stayed where it was for a minute. Two minutes. Reacher smiled. It was what he had expected. Vidic was watching in case he broke the terms of their deal and bolted. Then Reacher made a bet with himself. He had Vidic pegged as an impatient kind of guy. He wouldn't last more than a quarter of an hour before he gave up and left. Reacher was the opposite. He would wait all night if he had to. A fifteen-minute delay barely registered as an inconvenience. Particularly when there were two other things he needed to do.

Reacher took the Styrofoam coffee cup from one of the paper sacks that Vidic had left and carried it to the bed. He sat down and took a sip. It wasn't the best he'd ever had. It was lukewarm, gritty, and it had a burnt, bitter aftertaste. But it contained caffeine, and that was what counted. It would be easier to persuade a heroin addict not to shoot up than to stop Reacher drinking coffee. His brother, Joe, had been the same way. On the rare occasions he gave it any thought Reacher blamed his genetics. Mostly he just looked forward to his next cup.

When he was done with the coffee Reacher picked up the phone from the table next to the bed, hit 9 for an outside line, and dialed a number from memory. The call was answered after two rings. A man's voice came on the line. It said, "This is Wallwork."

Ronny Wallwork was an FBI agent. His path had crossed Reacher's a couple of times over the last few years. Reacher felt their interactions had been pretty equitable. If anything, he would say Wallwork had got the fairer shake due to the regulations and bureaucracy he brought with him. Wallwork saw their encounters in a whole different light. Things had always panned out. He couldn't deny that. But he didn't look back on their exchanges with any degree of pleasure. Or even satisfaction. To him, they were like bullets he had somehow managed to dodge.

"Wallwork, this is Reacher."

The line was silent for a moment, then Wallwork said, "I told you to forget this number."

"True. But you didn't hang up."

"Because I have manners. But I can't help you. Whatever it is, find someone else."

"I don't need help."

"Then why are you bothering me?"

"I heard a rumor. It could be serious."

"Call the tip line. You might get a reward."

"It's most likely BS. But if it isn't…"

Wallwork resisted for a long moment, then said, "Go on. What have you heard?"

"One of your guys has been killed. In a car wreck. While working undercover."

"Damn. When?"

"Today. Around 1:00 p.m ."

"Where?"

"In the Ozarks. I don't know the name of the nearest town. I'll send you the coordinates."

"You saw the body?"

"No."

"Where is it now?"

"That's unclear."

"Who told you this?"

"A member of the group this alleged agent apparently infiltrated."

"Do you believe the guy? You said his story was BS."

"Most of it is twenty-four carat BS, I'm sure. Like how he followed this agent to a meeting with his handler and eavesdropped on their conversation. Sounds about as likely as him spotting a fish wearing roller skates. But a couple of other things he said—I don't know. I can't rule them out."

"Such as?"

"The place this alleged meeting took place is plausible. I asked what the handler looked like and he didn't miss a beat. The description he gave could hold up in court, right down to her wearing shoes she could run in and not having any jewelry that could get snagged in a fight. Same goes for the car he said she drove away in."

"Why would he tell you those things, whether they're true or not?"

"He thinks I have a beef with his boss. He claims he's done with the outfit and wants to quit with more than his share of the ill-gotten gains. I think he's worried I'll burn it all down before he can do that. So he's trying to play it two ways. He wants me to help him. Failing that, he wants to scare me off."

"Do you have a beef with the boss?"

"Most definitely. So here's the problem. If this group is the target of a sting, I'm happy to back off. I don't want to blow a bunch of undercover work. Especially if it cost one of your guys his life. But if the Bureau's not involved—"

"Stop right there. I know how you operate. Any plans, keep them to yourself. I don't want to hear them."

"Fine. But there's another problem. Say my guy's telling the truth. An agent had infiltrated this group, and now he's dead. What happens next? Some kind of lost contact procedure, presumably. Which would take a set amount of time. Then a rescue team would have to be mobilized. When the net finally closes at least one of the assholes would be in the wind. Maybe all of them would be."

"Which we don't want. I'll start digging. What's your guy's name?"

"Ivan Vidic. Could be an alias. I don't know."

"Any tattoos? Distinguishing features?"

"He has a weird, square head, but no tattoos. Nothing else that stands out."

"OK. I'll run his background, too."

"Good. But there's one more thing. Vidic said he heard the handler use the agent's code name."

"Really? Why would she do that? Doesn't make sense."

"I know. But if it somehow is legit…"

"It could speed up the verification process. What name did she use?"

"Albatross."

"Got that. OK. Got to go. Where can I catch you if I need you? Have you got a cellphone yet?"

"No cell. You can call this number. Leave a message if I'm not here."