Jude Hardin - The Reacher Code - Timestream 1

There was a twenty-eight-second cushion, but Stahler didn’t know how much of that had elapsed already. It was possible that he was going to be stuck here in 1983.

Like Wahlman.

Which would mean that he was finished.

Like Wahlman.

Hoping that was not going to be the case, he slid the hubcap into one of the saddlebags and mounted the bike and started the engine, sped away from the curb and ran two stop signs and finally got the machine up to speed, hit the button to activate the preprogrammed spin and felt the tingle and the pain as the bright blue branches of energy engulfed him and pulled him into the smothering black vortex.

It’s like you’re a gnat in a bathtub full of ink and someone comes along and pulls the plug and you’re whirling and swirling and getting sucked down the drain and there’s no point in fighting it and you finally accept the fact that you’re going to die now but then you don’t. You’re suddenly on the other side and everything’s fine and you can’t believe that you’ve actually done this thing, that you’ve actually traveled into a different time period.

Nilke’s words.

He’d nailed it.

Nilke and Stahler had gone through the training together, but Nilke had been the first to go on an actual spin. He’d escorted Wahlman’s wife and stepdaughter to a timestream in 1959, one that had proven to be stable for at least six months. McDaniels had somehow worked it out so that Kasey and Natalie could live in the same house they’d been living in before the temporal relocation, and Wahlman had been allowed to go for a short visit before his first recon spin to 1983. Stahler wondered what would happen to Kasey and Natalie now that Wahlman had been targeted for elimination. He wondered if he would be required to assassinate them as well.

As those disturbing thoughts swam through his consciousness, the oily black veil suddenly lifted and the bike was suddenly back on its pedestal in the hangar.

There were a total of four pedestals now. One for Stahler, one for Nilke, one for Wahlman, and one that wasn’t in use yet. Nilke’s motorcycle was on its pedestal, which meant that he was between spins right now. Probably resting up to travel back and protect Jack Reacher. Travel back and kick some ass.

Stahler climbed off his bike and pulled the hubcap out of the saddlebag and walked into the control room, found McDaniels sitting at one of the monitor stations typing something into the keyboard.

“I didn’t get him yet,” Stahler said, his head still fuzzy from the meds he’d taken and from the spin itself. “But I’m pretty sure I know where he is. One more spin should do it.”

McDaniels looked up from his work.

“You’re pretty sure you know where he is? Why isn’t he in his room in the ICU?”

“He woke up from the coma, left without telling anyone. But I’m pretty sure he’s back at the hospital now.”

“Why would he go back there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he realized that tonight’s the night for the hit on Reacher. Maybe he went back there to protect him.”

McDaniels nodded contemplatively.

“To follow up on the original assignment,” he said.

“Right,” Stahler said. “Of course he would have no way of knowing that you’re sending Nilke in there to—”

“Nilke’s dead.”

“What?”

“Hit and run. Just like the accident that put Wahlman in a coma. Only it wasn’t an accident. And Nilke’s death wasn’t an accident. That kind of shit just doesn’t happen twice. Someone intentionally pulled out in front of them.”

“Topple?”

“Of course. How they came up with the intelligence is anyone’s guess, but there’s no doubt in my mind that it was them.”

“How do you know Nilke’s dead?” Stahler asked.

“You need to read your email,” McDaniels said. “As of yesterday, we added a program that will automatically return a machine to its pedestal in the event that anything happens to the operator. Once the machine is back here, we can download a complete record of exactly what happened from the onboard computer.”

“I thought he was resting up for the mission,” Stahler said, glancing toward Nilke’s bike through the control room window. He could see now that the gas tank was skinned up. He hadn’t noticed it before.

“We created the program because of the incident with Wahlman,” McDaniels said. “Should have thought of it sooner. Victor wasn’t very happy when he found out that Wahlman’s hundred million dollar motorcycle was going to be rusting away in a nineteen eighty-three impound lot.”

An intense sadness washed over Stahler. Not from the meds. From the heart. He’d genuinely liked Nilke, and had developed a great deal of respect for him. It was hard to believe that he was really gone.

“I was just thinking about him a few minutes ago,” Stahler said. “He was a good man. I probably wouldn’t have made it through the training without him.”

“You’re a good man too,” McDaniels said. “And you’re all we’ve got right now. You’re going to have to spin back in there and protect Reacher. Then you’re going to have to finish up with Wahlman.”

“But—”

“We can’t assume that Wahlman is going to follow up on the assignment. And even if he does, it doesn’t change anything. He still has to go. Understand?”

“I understand.”

McDaniels looked down at the hubcap Stahler was holding.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“I need to find out what kind of car it came off of,” Stahler said. “Then I’ll know what kind of car Wahlman is traveling in.”

McDaniels reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, took a picture of the wheel covering, tapped and scrolled and tapped some more.

“It’s from a Ford LTD,” he said.

He handed the phone to Stahler. The car in the photograph looked brand new, and the color probably wasn’t the same as the one Reacher was traveling in, but it gave Stahler an idea of what to look for.

“Probably not too many of those on the base,” he said. “In fact, it’s probably the only one. Shouldn’t be hard to find once I get back to the hospital parking lot.”

“Just make sure Reacher is taken care of first,” McDaniels said. “Then you can worry about Wahlman. And watch out for a nineteen seventy-six Renault Le Car. That’s what got Nilke.”

15

William Top steered Le Machine into the hospital parking lot, climbed out and walked to the entrance at the rear of the building—the door that an employee on the housekeeping staff would use this time of night, the only one open except the one at the ER.

The sentry at the door asked to see Top’s ID Badge. Top handed it to him. The guy looked it over carefully and then handed it back.

“Have a nice night, Ed,” the guy said.

“I’m going to try,” Top said.

He walked through the quiet, dimly-lit corridor, took the elevator to the third floor. He’d studied the layout, so he knew exactly where the closest housekeeping closet was. He walked there and slid his key into the door and stepped inside. There was a deep sink and some shelves stocked with linens and cleaning supplies and a stainless steel cart and a mop bucket. The cart was about four-and-a-half feet tall with multiple tiers that you could load your supplies onto. Top figured it would help shield him from view as he made his way through the hallways that led to Ward B—which was currently being used as a trauma stepdown unit—providing a little buffer zone in case he happened to pass another employee. He didn’t want to stop and talk to anyone. Not if he could avoid it. He wanted to wipe some dust off a windowsill or something and casually make his way to bed fourteen and casually inject the lethal dose of morphine Harrison had prepared for him into Jack Reacher’s IV line. The effect would be nearly instantaneous. Reacher would slip into a deep sleep, and then he would stop breathing. The nurse taking care of him would be blamed for the overdose, and would probably lose her license, but Top didn’t care about that. His ship was about to come in. Tough shit if some others had to be sunk in the process.