Hannah pulled the truck over onto the shoulder when the GPS in her phone said they were half a mile from the start of the construction zone. Reacher opened the passenger door and climbed out. Hannah had the pack of emergency flares on her lap, ready to go. She grabbed her purse from the backseat and took out her gun. The little SIG Reacher had first seen outside Gerrardsville when they began their journey together. She tucked it into a gap at the side of the driver’s seat, then felt Reacher watching her.
Hannah turned and looked at him. “Any other assholes try anything, I’ll be ready. No one’s going to sneak up on me. Not again.”
Reacher said, “You had much practice with that?”
“Hell, yes. Been shooting my whole life. It was the one thing about me my daddy didn’t hate.”
“You didn’t get along?”
“We did. When I was a little kid.”
“Your mom?”
“Died when I was eight.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Not your fault. No one’s fault. Guess it’s no one’s fault my daddy was a bigoted asshole, either, but hey. You play the hand you’re dealt. And he did teach me to shoot, which is how I got close to Sam. He worked at the prison. I worked with the parolees. In our free time we’d hang out at the range. So not all bad in the end.”
It would normally take Reacher no more than five minutes to cover half a mile on foot. That afternoon he agreed with Hannah to give it twenty. The road was lined with trees but it wasn’t clear on her phone’s screen how dense they were. The only certainty was that the land beyond them was flat and open. There was no other cover so Reacher wanted to be able to move slowly and smoothly. To stop where necessary. And he wanted to be in position in plenty of time.
Reacher covered the ground in fifteen minutes. The dirt was damp in places and patches of ankle-high grass and weeds made the cuffs of his pants wet and soggy. A rich musty smell rose up wherever he disturbed the surface. The trees were scattered and patchy and more than a dozen times he had to pause to make sure he wouldn’t be seen by passing vehicles. There were individual ones heading west, toward Winson, spread out at random intervals. And little convoys, packed close together, heading east.
Reacher stayed behind the tree line until he was level with the spot where the road got cut down to one lane. He found a shallow depression, maybe left by a dried-up stream, maybe by an abandoned irrigation system. He lay down in it, pressed himself into the ground, and settled in to watch. Twelve cars were waiting behind a line that had been painted on the blacktop near a sign warning drivers not to proceed unless they were escorted by the pilot vehicle. A guy was making his way along the shoulder, heading toward the end of the row. He was wearing jeans, a gray T-shirt, and black boots. He was carrying a clipboard and he had a yellow safety helmet on his head. He leaned down and looked into each vehicle he passed, checking any passengers. Another guy, of similar height but with a white helmet, was keeping pace on the other side of the vehicles, checking their drivers. The props weren’t fooling anyone, Reacher thought. These guys were obviously the next Minerva crew. The only question was whether they were just being thorough or if they hadn’t been told about Roth’s truck. Reacher smiled to himself. Maybe they did know about it. But if they didn’t, they soon would.
The area between Reacher and the road had been flattened and a square section of grass had been replaced with gravel. It was covered with tire tracks. There were multiple sets. They partially overlapped and all of them entered the space at almost the same spot. The top right-hand corner, from Reacher’s perspective. They followed the same loop around, near the edge, and led back out onto the pavement to Reacher’s left, still all together. An SUV was parked in the center of the rough circle the tracks formed, perpendicular to the road, with its rear facing Reacher. A Ford Explorer. It was burgundy with gold pinstripes and chunky tires with white letters on the sidewalls. It looked old, but shiny and well cared for.
At the far side of the road, on the shoulder, there was a port-a-potty with faded blue and white plastic walls. Next to it there was a gray metal box the size of a shipping container. Reacher figured it would be an equipment store. Next to that there was a dump trailer. It was loaded pretty full with tree branches and a net was strung over the top to stop its contents from falling or getting blown out. The name, number, and web address of the hire company were stenciled on the side.
There was only one thing missing from the scene. Construction workers. There was no sign of any activity at all behind the long line of traffic cones.
Reacher heard the drone of engines approaching from his right and thirty seconds later the pilot vehicle appeared. A line of cars was following in its wake like ducklings trailing their mother. The pilot turned onto the gravel square. It looped around the Explorer, adding another set of tire tracks, and came to a stop at the side of the road. The cars it had been escorting swung back into their own lane and continued heading east. The pilot pulled out. It was facing west now. It paused, then set off and the waiting cars began to follow.
The guys with the jeans and T-shirts walked back and stopped by the line on the pavement. They waited, but no more cars appeared from the east. Reacher saw them exchange glances, shrug, and cross to the Explorer. They tossed their helmets and clipboards onto the backseat and climbed in the front. They had been at the site for a long time. They felt they deserved a break.
They weren’t going to get one.
Reacher heard another engine approaching. A big diesel, coming from his left. The guys in the Explorer picked it up twenty seconds later. They climbed out. Opened the back doors. Started to reach for their props. Then they saw what kind of vehicle was making the sound. A red pickup truck. It had black glass and lots of chrome. It slowed, then stopped in front of the warning sign. The guys checked its license plate. Then they started moving toward it. They fanned out, one on each side, and paused when they were ten feet away. Each of them had pulled a gun from his waistband.
Reacher got to his feet and started to creep forward.
The guy on the driver’s side of the truck yelled, “All right. Good job getting this far. But your luck’s run out. This is the end of the line. Get out, slowly, hands where I can see them.”
There was no response from inside the truck.
Reacher moved a little farther.
The guy yelled, “Do as I tell you and no one will get hurt. We just want to talk. So come on. Get out.”
The truck’s doors stayed closed.
Reacher kept moving.
The guy yelled, “Last chance. Get out or get shot.”
A noise came from the back of the truck. A piercing electronic shriek. It lasted two seconds. Then there was a whirring sound. Then a clunk. The truck’s tailgate had opened. The guys raised their guns. They started moving toward it, slowly, trying to stay silent. They made it halfway along the side of the load bed. Three-quarters. Then all the way to the back. They paused. They glanced at each other. The guy on the driver’s side held up three fingers. He folded one down. He folded the second. Then the third. Both guys took another step. A big one, on the diagonal. Their guns were raised. They were pointing directly into the load bed.
The truck started moving. It accelerated hard. The pedal must have been all the way to the floor. Its rear wheels spun and skittered and kicked up handfuls of grit. The sharp fragments flew through the air like shrapnel. The guys turned and bent and covered their faces. It was an instinctive reaction. But it only lasted for a second. They straightened up and raised their guns and started firing at the truck. Its tailgate was closing again. The guy on the passenger side hit it with one round. The guy on the driver’s side was going for the tires. He did some damage to the blacktop, but nothing else. They each squeezed off another couple of shots, then the guy on the passenger side started running toward the Explorer.
“Come on,” the guy yelled. “He can’t get far.”
The other guy followed him. They jumped inside. The guy behind the wheel pulled out his keys. He jammed one into the ignition. But he didn’t fire up the engine.
Reacher was sitting in the center of the rear seat. Both his arms were stretched out. He had the captured SIG in his left hand. The Beretta in his right. He pressed the muzzles against the back of both guys’ heads and said, “Open the windows.”
The driver turned his key one notch clockwise and buzzed both front windows all the way down.
Reacher said, “Throw out your guns.”
The guys did as they were told.
Reacher said, “Do you know who I am?”
Both guys nodded.
“Then you know you need to cooperate. I want some information. Give it to me, then you can go.”
The driver said, “We can’t. We don’t know anything.”
“You work for Minerva?”
The driver nodded.
“Is anyone else looking for me between here and Winson?”
Neither of the guys answered.
Reacher pulled the guns back. He slid the SIG between his knees. Then he leaned through the gap between the front seats and punched the passenger just next to his ear. The guy’s head snapped sideways. It smashed into the window, bounced back a few inches, then the guy slumped face-first into the dashboard.
Reacher raised the Beretta again. “Hands on the wheel. Move, and I’ll blow your head off. Do you understand?”
The driver grabbed the wheel. His hands were in the ten and two position and his knuckles were white like a nervous teenager’s before his first lesson.
Reacher said, “Do you know what I just did?”
“You knocked out Wade.”
“I gave you plausible deniability.”
The driver didn’t react.
“Plausible deniability,” Reacher said. “It means you can do something, then say you didn’t and no one can prove otherwise. Like, you can answer my questions.”
The guy didn’t respond.
“You can tell me what I need to know. No one will ever find out. Then you can drive away. Lie low for a couple of days. Claim you escaped. Or I could break your arms and legs and throw you in the nearest dumpster. Your choice.”
The guy glanced to his right but he didn’t speak.
Reacher said, “The cavalry isn’t coming. Think about it. How many lanes are open?”
“One.”
“What just drove that way?”
“The truck you stole.”
“Correct. So it’s going to meet the pilot vehicle, head-on. The person driving it is stubborn like you wouldn’t believe. No way is she going to back up again. It’s going to take hours to sort that mess out.”
The guy glanced to his left.
“No one can get through that way, either. We covered all the bases. It’s just you and me. And you have a decision to make.”
The guy was silent for another moment, then he said, “What do you want to know?”
“Has Brockman got anyone else looking for me between here and Winson?”
“How would I know? Brockman doesn’t share his plans with me.”
“Brockman’s a smart man, I guess. Relatively speaking. So what did he share?”
“A picture of you. An old one. A description of the truck you stole. And its license plate.”
“What were your orders?”
“To stop you from getting to Winson.”
“Why doesn’t Brockman want me to get to Winson?”
“He didn’t say.”
“What’s happening there in the next couple of days?”
“Nothing special. Some con’s getting released tomorrow. There’ll be speeches. Some celebrating. It happens a few times every year. The shine’s wearing off, to be honest. People are getting used to it now.”
“What else?”
The guy shrugged. “Nothing.”
“OK. You did the right thing. Start it up. You can go now.”
The guy paused for a moment, frozen. Then his hand shot out. He grabbed the key. Turned it, and the heavy old motor spluttered into life.
“One other thing before you get on your way,” Reacher said. “See that trailer, over on the far shoulder?”
The guy nodded.
Reacher said, “Pull up next to it for a moment.”
The guy shifted into Drive, released the brake, looped around to the opposite shoulder, and eased to a stop.
Reacher said, “Get out for a moment. There’s something I need you to do. You can leave the engine running.”
The guy opened his door and climbed down. Reacher did the same and led the way around to the passenger side.
Reacher said, “See the net that’s holding down all the junk? Peel back one corner.”
The guy fiddled with the nearest cleat and released part of the net.
Reacher said, “Pull out some of those branches at the top. And the bushes. Clear some space.”
The guy grabbed a few of the bigger pieces and dumped them on the ground.
Reacher said, “Good. Now get your buddy out of the car. Put him in the space you made.”
The guy said, “Put him in the trailer?”
“Right. We have to make this look realistic. Brockman won’t believe you escaped otherwise. He’ll think you helped me. That’s not what you want to happen. Believe me.”
The guy was still for a moment. His mouth was gaping slightly. Then he shrugged and opened the passenger door. He pushed his buddy back in the seat. His head lolled to the side. The guy grabbed his wrists. Hauled him out. Swung him onto his shoulder. Maneuvered him to the end of the trailer. Set him down on the spoil from the construction work. Then he took hold of the net and started to pull it back into place.
“Wait,” Reacher said. “I need to borrow your phone for a second.”
The guy shrugged, then took his phone out of his pocket, entered a code to unlock its screen, and held it out. Reacher took it and set it on the ground.
He said, “One more question. The guys Brockman sent to the Greyhound station had to watch out for me on every bus that arrived. All kinds of people would have been milling around. Places like that get pretty chaotic. That’s a tall order. The guys at the truck stop had to keep an eye on hundreds of people, coming and going. That’s a real challenge. The guys at the intersection didn’t know if I would be hitching a ride or already in a car, speeding past. That’s like two tasks in one, and neither of them is easy. But you? All you had to do was look through a window. Why do you think you were chosen for that particular job?”
“No idea.”
“No?”
Reacher punched the guy in the solar plexus. That doubled him over forward. Then Reacher drove his knee up into the guy’s face. That stood him up again, unconscious, with his arms flailing helplessly at his sides. Reacher shoved the guy’s chest and folded him back the other way. He was left with his torso lying on top of the trailer. Reacher grabbed his ankles, lifted, twisted, and dropped him next to his buddy. He threw the branches back in to cover them. Fixed the net in place. Then he picked up the guy’s phone and dialed the number for the hire company.
A woman answered after three rings. “Reed Plant Partners. How can I help you?”
Reacher said, “I’m with the crew doing construction out on US 87. We have one of your trailers. Could you confirm when it’s scheduled for return?”
Computer keys rattled then the woman’s voice came back on the line. “You have it booked through the end of next month.”
“Can we return it early?”
“It’s a fixed-term contract. There are no refunds for early returns.”
“We’re not looking for a refund. We just need it off-site.”
“Understood. You can bring it back whenever you like. You just have to pay until the date you signed up for.”
“Could you send someone to collect it?”
“There’d be an extra charge.”
“That’s fine.”
“I could get someone out on Monday.”
“How about this afternoon?”
“All our guys are busy today.”
“Look, I’m in a bind here. My boss really wants that trailer gone. If there’s any way you could swing it, I’d be grateful.”
The woman didn’t respond.
Reacher said, “If there’s an extra-extra charge, that would be fine, too. As in the kind that doesn’t show up on an invoice.”
The woman was silent for a moment longer, then she said, “It’ll cost you a hundred bucks. Cash. Have it ready.”