It was a question of balance.
The question arose because the spectators at the next day’s ceremony would be divided into two groups. Those who showed up in person. And those who would watch remotely. On TV. Or online. The problem was how to look good to both sets of people. If he remained too static he would appear stiff and wooden to the live crowd. But if he was too animated he would come across as a maniac on the screen. The cameras would have to jerk around to keep him in the frame. It would look like he was having a fit. No one told him to his face—everyone said his speech was a triumph—but that’s what Bruno Hix believed had happened the last time an innocent man was released. Because he had gotten carried away. He had been feeding off the energy from his audience. Lapping it up. He had overindulged. Like with any great feast, it felt good in the moment. But the aftermath was no fun at all. And thanks to the likes of YouTube, the aftermath would live forever online.
The solution lay in better preparation. Hix knew that. He had already memorized his words. He was going to knock the content right out of the park. He had no doubt about that. He just needed to work on the delivery. To make sure he hit both targets simultaneously. The real and the virtual. That would be no mean feat. So he had devised a new system. A combination of old technology and new. He had started by getting the prison’s maintenance crew to install giant mirrors on one wall of the conference room. He had them build a mock-up of the stage at the opposite end. Then he had two small video cameras delivered. They were designed for people who did active sports. Things like skiing and mountain biking and kayaking. Hix didn’t care about how shockproof they were. He wasn’t interested in their underwater performance. But there was one feature he figured would be essential. They were voice activated. So he set one on a regular tripod by his side and aimed it at the mirror to capture the kind of distant view the crowd would get. He set the other on a mini tripod sitting right on his lectern. It was pointing straight at his face. Cropped in tight, the way the news guys would do it. His plan was to give the command to record, which would set both cameras going simultaneously. Run through his speech, several times, with different expressions and gestures and degrees of movement. Then he would play the footage back, both feeds side by side on his computer screen, and settle on the best combination.
Hix had blocked out two hours in his diary. He had told his assistant that unless the prison went on lockdown he was not to be disturbed. He climbed up on the practice stage. He switched on the cameras. He was about to begin the recording. Then the conference room door swung open.
Hix turned and yelled, “What?”
Damon Brockman stepped into the room. He stayed well away from the stage and said, “You were right.”
Hix said, “Of course I was right.” He looked back into the lens of the lectern camera, opened his mouth, then paused. “Right about what?”
“The drifter from Colorado. Reacher. He was trying to come here.”
“Was?”
“The guys at the truck stop on I-20 are all over him.”
“They stopped him?”
“They got a positive ID.”
“So they saw him. I’m asking, did they stop him?”
“They’ve been on radio silence since they sent his picture. Probably busy keeping him on ice. I’ve sent Harold up there to help them.”
“Harold?”
“Harold Keane. The guys call him ‘Tiny.’ You’d recognize him if you saw him. He’s been with us ten years. We brought him over here from Atlanta. He’s six foot six. Three hundred pounds. All muscle. He won silver in America’s Strongest Man two years running when he worked for the Georgia state system.”
“Only silver?”
“Bruno, do me a favor. Don’t ever say that to his face.”
“He has a short fuse? Good. But it’ll take him a while to get up there. Send the guys from the Megamart as well. The intersection with US 61 is way closer.”
“Will do.”
“And you can stand the guys down from the Greyhound station in Jackson. No point leaving them there now.”
“I’ll text them. Let them know. What about the guys at the construction site on US 87?”
“Leave them for now. Just in case. Until we know for sure that Reacher’s safely under wraps.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Send the messages. Then why don’t you come back? Watch me rehearse for tomorrow?”
“You know, I’d love to. But I’m slammed with other stuff. There’s all kinds of craziness going on right now. So sadly I’ll just have to go ahead and pass on that very tempting offer.”
The next thing Reacher did was check whether the first guy he had hit was still alive.
The guy was. He had a pulse. It was fast and faint, but it was there. Reacher didn’t care either way on an emotional level. It was purely a practical matter. He needed to know if he had trash to dispose of, or an opponent to keep off the field.
Reacher collected the unconscious guys’ Berettas. He found their phones, smashed them against the ground with his heel, and threw the remains over the fence. Then he and Hannah searched the guys’ pockets. They didn’t yield any surprises. They each had a wallet with a single ATM card, a driver’s license, and a Minerva Correctional ID. One had $40 in twenties. The other had $60. Reacher kept the cash. He still had new clothes to pay for. He also took a car key. It had a Mercury logo on its chunky plastic body and a remote fob on its ring.
Next Reacher pulled off the guys’ boots. He tossed them over the fence. He removed the guys’ jeans and T-shirts. He tossed them over the fence, too. Then he peeled off the guys’ socks. They were thick. Heavy duty. The kind people wore for hiking and other kinds of vigorous sport. They were slightly damp. Reacher tried to ignore that and tested one for strength. He pulled it to see if it would stretch. Or snap. It gave a little, but it didn’t break. He figured they would slow the guys down if nothing else, so he used the socks to secure their ankles and tie their wrists behind their backs. Then he dragged the guys across to the base of the wall for maximum concealment. He was ready to leave them there when a different thought crossed his mind.
He said, “Hannah? Come with me for a minute?”
Reacher led the way to the parking area at the side of the building. One of the buses had departed, leaving ten others in a tidy row. There were still no passengers in sight. No drivers. No other passersby. Reacher asked Hannah to keep a lookout then he tried the handles on the nearest bus’s luggage compartment hatches. There were three on each side, low down, beneath the windows. All of them were locked. He tried the next bus. All of its hatches were locked, too. It was the same thing with the third bus. But the fourth bus was older. It had come all the way from British Columbia, Canada, according to its license plates. The first of its hatches was not secured. It pivoted out and up with no effort at all. Reacher left it open. He hurried back to the space behind the building. Picked up the first unconscious guy. Swung him onto his shoulder. Carried him to the bus. Posted him through the hatch and into the cargo hold. He fetched the second guy. Dumped him in the hold next to his buddy. Then he closed the hatch. He pressed his knee against it. Pulled the handle out. And twisted it back and forth until the mechanism failed and it came off in his hand. He did the same to the other five hatch handles. Threw them over the fence. And led the way back to the entrance to the building.
Reacher went into the bathroom to wash his hands. Then he moved on to the store. There was a basic selection of work clothes in the section that catered to truck drivers so he picked out the one pair of pants that looked long enough, a T-shirt, some underwear, and because he’d been to Mississippi before, a light rain jacket. He found a road atlas of the state. Grabbed two large cups of coffee. Paid for everything with the money he’d taken from the Minerva guys. Then he went outside and caught up with Hannah at the truck.
Hannah was happy to take her drink but she was surprised when Reacher climbed into the passenger seat and set a paper map down on the center console between them.
She said, “Why did you waste your money on that? My phone will give us directions. Anywhere we want to go. Right to the front door.”
“This isn’t for directions.” Reacher opened the atlas to the page that showed the truck stop. It was near the western border of the state—the river—and roughly halfway between the Gulf to the south and Tennessee to the north. Jackson was to the east, roughly a third of the way to Alabama. Winson was to the southwest, nestling in a deep oxbow on the edge of the riverbank. “That Minerva guy said that ten people had been sent to watch for me. He said they’re deployed in pairs, so that means there are five ambush sites. We know two of them. Where we are now, and the Greyhound station in Jackson. We need to figure out where the other three could be.”
“OK. Well, clearly they anticipated we’d be coming in on I-20. But they couldn’t have been sure we’d hit the truck stop. Not unless they knew about your strange wardrobe arrangement. Without that we would have kept going, then turned south here. Onto US 61.” Hannah pointed at a line on the map. “Somewhere farther along there would be the next logical place to try and catch us.”
“No. They would try at the intersection. They can’t know you’re taking me the whole way to Winson. They’ll assume that if I’m on the road I either stole a car or I’m hitching rides. If I stole a car, that’s where I’d turn. If someone had picked me up farther west and was continuing to Jackson or Meridian, or even Tuscaloosa or Birmingham, that’s where they would let me out. So it’s where I’d hang around, looking for my next pickup.”
“Makes sense.” Hannah took a pen from her purse and circled the spot where US 61 crossed I-20. “That’s potential ambush site number three. Now, if we’d taken the more central route from Colorado through Kansas and Missouri, we’d have wound up coming down I-55 into Jackson. Then we’d have come west again. And there’s only one route into Winson, wherever you’re coming from. They’ll put their backstop somewhere on that road.”
Reacher picked up the map, studied it closely for a moment, then set it back down and pointed to a spot near the town boundary. “There. Look at the contours. It only rises a hundred feet but it’s the steepest hill for about a hundred miles. Enough to slow down any trucks, and the rest of the traffic along with them. Slow-moving vehicles are easier to see into. And they’re easier to stop.”
Hannah circled the place Reacher had indicated. “Number four, done. Where’s five going to be?”
“Jackson.”
“You think? Would they put another team there? They already have the Greyhound station covered.”
“Right. But what if I came in by train? Or got a ride there? How would I get the rest of the way to Winson? There’s bound to be a shuttle, or a local bus service. Probably owned by Minerva. Just like they probably own the hotels near the prison.”
“They can do that?”
“Of course. Why only profit off the prisoners when you can make money from their visitors, too?”
“You’re so cynical.” Hannah stopped with the pen poised above the map. “But I guess you’re right. So where in Jackson would this bus be?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to Jackson. It’s too far out of my way. I’ll just take care of the intersection and the hilltop for now.”
“Take care of? Don’t you mean avoid?”
Reacher shook his head. “Basic tactics. If you have the opportunity to degrade the enemy’s capability, you take it.”
“Oh. We’re going to degrade their capability? Awesome. I’m up for that. Just tell me what you need me to do.”
“Find a hotel. For tonight.”
“OK. In Winson? For when we’re done with the degrading?”
Reacher shook his head. “No. There’s something I want you to think about. I want you to consider going somewhere else. On your own. For a couple of days.”
“The hell I will. I’m going wherever you go. You can’t make me drive you all this way then dump me. Talk about a dick move.”
“I didn’t make you. I’m not dumping you. But we have new information now. We should be smart. Act accordingly.”
“What new information?”
“We’ve lost the element of surprise. Minerva knows I’m coming. They know my name. They have my description. They now have a current photograph. Their people are competent. They’re out in force, looking for me. Sticking with me now will expose you to a higher level of risk. Much higher.”
“OK. The risk is higher now. I get that. But you know what? I can take any level of risk I damn well want. You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I’m not deciding. I’m advising. Your goal is to get the people who killed—murdered—Sam. You can’t do that if they murder you first. So why don’t I go ahead, like an advance party. Get the lay of the land. Sweep out any low-level operatives I find skulking around. Then when the risk is lower, I’ll call. You’ll join me. And we’ll get to the heart of the thing together.”
Hannah was silent for a moment. “You say the risk is higher. But here’s what I don’t understand. If we’re right, the Minerva guys killed Angela because she uncovered something fishy in their accounts. They killed Sam because Angela told him what she found. So why are they coming after you? What’s the connection? What aren’t you telling me?”
Reacher paused for a moment, then he talked Hannah through what had happened in Gerrardsville after he witnessed Angela getting pushed in front of the bus. He told her about chasing the guy in the hoodie into the alley. Taking Angela’s purse from him. Looking inside. Finding the envelope. The guy’s partner showing up in the stolen BMW. And how they got away when the fire escape collapsed.
Hannah punched Reacher in the shoulder. “Why keep all that a secret? I’ve gone way out on a limb for you. I don’t deserve to be kept in the dark.”
Reacher shrugged. “Suppose those guys show up in the hospital sometime soon. Or at the morgue.”
Hannah was silent for a moment. “Fair, I guess. I can see why you wouldn’t want to advertise a grudge against them. But that’s not the key point here. You hurt a couple of Minerva’s guys. Maybe saw some incriminating evidence. That’s reason for them to come after you. Not the other way around. So why are they expecting you? What else are you holding back?”
“Nothing.”
“You swear?”
Reacher nodded.
“OK,” Hannah said. “Maybe they know you connected them to the murders?”
Reacher shook his head. “I told the Gerrardsville police that Angela didn’t kill herself but I hadn’t factored Minerva in, back then. And the police ignored me, anyway. Angela’s file is closed. So is Sam’s.”
“Then it has to be about Angela’s purse. The Minerva guys took it, so there had to be something important inside.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. They might have thought something important was. They might have hoped. Doesn’t mean it was there.”
“Tell me again what was in her purse?”
Reacher listed everything he had seen.
“Could anything have been sewn into the lining?”
“I was a military cop. I know where people hide things.”
“So we’re back to the envelope. Tell me about that again.”
“It held a file on a guy called Anton Begovic. Wrongly convicted, due for release tomorrow. Minerva sponsored his appeal.”
“Those jackasses.”
“There’s something wrong with setting an innocent man free?”
“No. Of course not. It’s just—Minerva. With them everything’s about PR. Their head dude is a guy called Bruno Hix. He’s notorious. He doesn’t take a dump without bringing in an image consultant to exploit it. I bet they got some lawyer who owed them a favor to do the appeal work for free. Then they’ll stage a huge hullabaloo and make it look like the whole corporation is run by saints and angels and it’ll cost them nothing. Sam was always suspicious of them.”
“Why?”
“If something sounds too good to be true, then it isn’t true. That’s what he always said. Like with their wages. They pay twenty-five percent above the industry average, across the board. They made sure everyone knows about it. Then they make sure no one gets any overtime.”
“Where did—”
“Wait! I have an idea. What if this Begovic guy isn’t really innocent? What if he paid Minerva to help fix the appeal? Or his family did? Minerva could have tried to wash the money through the books. Not very well. And Angela could have smelled the rat.”
“If there is dirty money, why would they let it anywhere near the business? Why not take it in cash?”
Hannah shook her head. “See, that’s the kind of question you only ask if you’ve never bought a house. Or a car. Or a spare pair of pants. A big heap of cash is the biggest red flag there is. You’d have the IRS so far up your ass you’d see them when you brush your teeth. No. I think I’m on to something. And you clearly shouldn’t be let out on your own. So here’s the deal. I’m coming with you. But while you’re busy degrading the enemy or whatever, I’ll hang back at the hotel. I’ll dig into Begovic’s background. Find out all about his conviction. His appeal. What it was based on. Why it took so long. I’ll maybe talk to some of Sam’s contacts. Tap into the industry scuttlebutt. Find the real story.”