Jude Hardin - The Reacher Code - Timestream 1

“Where is Wahlman?” Victor asked.

“On the base. In the hospital. ICU. He’s been in a coma for—”

“Does it look like he’s going to make it?”

“Hard to say. Stahler talked to one of the nurses on the phone, but she wouldn’t tell him much. Just that he was stable.”

McDaniels heard some papers being shuffled around.

“Let me make sure my intelligence notes are up to date,” Victor said. “Jack Reacher is in the same hospital, on Ward B, on the third floor.”

“Correct.”

“The surveillance cameras we installed are up and running.”

“Yes, sir. Around the clock.”

“The blood from Reacher that was eventually used to produce Rock Wahlman and Darrel Renfro and the younger clones is scheduled to be drawn at four o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Correct,” McDaniels said. “Of course it could be a little earlier than that, or a little later.”

“The hit on Reacher is scheduled to take place at two o’clock tomorrow morning, and Wahlman had been scheduled to spin in there and stop it.”

“We’ll be sending Nilke instead,” McDaniels said.

“Do you think Nilke’s up to it?”

“He’s a good man.”

“But not as good as Wahlman.”

“He’s the best we have right now.”

Silence for a beat.

“We’re going to have to deal with Wahlman sooner or later,” Victor said. “It might as well be tonight.”

“I think we should wait,” McDaniels said. “See if he wakes up. Try to bring him back.”

“The time limit for that timestream is fifty-seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds.”

“I know that, sir. But I still think we could—”

“He’s been gone for three days. It’s an unfortunate situation, but I really don’t think we can afford to let it go on any longer. There’s just too much at stake.”

“I could try going in there myself,” McDaniels said. “I could try tweaking the bike. I might be able to hack the time limit and bring him back. If he ever wakes up, that is.”

There was a long pause. Which wasn’t good. It meant that The Director had made up his mind.

McDaniels could feel his pulse in his eyeballs. Knowing what was coming next didn’t make it any easier to hear. He loved his job, and he knew that tough decisions had to be made sometimes, and he’d dutifully followed every written and verbal command The Director had given him for the past five years, but this was the first time he’d ever been required to relay an order of this magnitude.

An order to assassinate an operative.

“Tonight,” Victor said. “Do it tonight.”

And then he hung up.

4

When Wahlman stepped up to the elevator bank, he saw that he was on the sixth floor. Which was the top floor. He pressed the DOWN button and waited.

A drinking fountain and an ashtray occupied the space between the two stainless steel elevator doors. Someone had recently crushed a cigarette into the ashtray. It was still smoldering. Which was astonishing. Not that the butt was smoldering, but that the ashtray was there in the first place. Wahlman still couldn’t remember anything about himself, but it didn’t seem right that people were allowed to smoke indoors. Especially in a hospital.

Dr. Fredericks had said that it was 1983. Which didn’t seem right either. Nothing seemed right. Wahlman felt as though he’d been yanked out of one world and slung into another. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was from another planet. Mars or somewhere.

A bell dinged, and the door on the left receded into its pocket. Wahlman stepped into the carriage and pressed the button with a G on it. The door closed and the elevator started descending. Wahlman hoped it would be a nonstop trip, but it wasn’t. The elevator stopped on the third floor, and a woman wearing a white dress and a white nurse’s hat stepped aboard. Early thirties, dark brown hair, dark complexion. Her nametag said Diane, RN, Med-Surg Services.

The door closed and the elevator started descending again.

“Did you mean to get off on three, Mr. Reacher?” Diane asked.

“You must have me confused with someone else,” Wahlman said. “My name’s not Reacher.”

She seemed shocked to hear that.

“You wouldn’t believe how much you look like one of the patients on the third floor,” she said. “I thought you were his dad for sure.”

Reacher.

The name did sound familiar, although Wahlman had no idea why.

“Is he in the military?” he asked.

“Yes. He was injured in the attack the other day.”

The attack. She spoke about it as though it was common knowledge. Wahlman didn’t ask. He didn’t want to appear to be as clueless as he was. He doubted that any of it had anything to do with his situation anyway.

“Is there some kind of impound lot here on the base where they keep vehicles that were involved in accidents?” he asked.

“It’s up by the front gate,” Diane said. “Kind of a long walk from here. I could give you a ride if you like.”

“Thanks. That’s very kind of you.”

Amazingly kind, Wahlman thought. She reminded him of someone he knew. There was a picture in his head, but no name to go with it.

She dug her keys out of her purse. The elevator stopped and the door opened and Wahlman followed her outside.

A nurse wearing a uniform similar to Diane’s came trotting up the sidewalk, heading in the opposite direction, toward the building. She almost bumped into Wahlman.

“Hi Diane,” the nurse said, slowing down but not stopping. “Sorry. I’m running late.”

“I left you a written report,” Diane said. “I’ll be up for a while, so just give me a call if you have any questions.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

The nurse hurried on inside.

“That was Linda,” Diane said. “She’s always running late. Gets pretty annoying after a while.”

Diane drove a Ford LTD that was probably about ten years old. Olive green paint that had started to bubble around the trim on the fenders, black vinyl top that had started to fade at the center. The front wheel on the passenger side was missing its hubcap, and there was a hole in the door where the side mirror used to be. The car wasn’t in very good shape, but at least it had plenty of legroom. Diane lit a cigarette with one hand, slid the key into the ignition with the other. One of the fan belts squealed for a couple of seconds as she steered out of the parking lot.

Wahlman could barely breathe. It was stuffy in there and it smelled like fast food and tobacco. He thought about rolling the window down, but it was chilly outside and Diane had the heater going. And he didn’t want to give her the impression that he was complaining. Didn’t want to seem ungrateful. It was good they were just driving across the base, he thought, and not to France or somewhere. The smoke irritated his throat, which was still a little raw from the breathing tube.

Diane eased over to the curb and stopped next to a fenced lot with a building about the size of a convenience store in front of it. Wahlman thanked her again and told her to have a nice night.

“Are you sure your name’s not Reacher?” she said.

“I’m sure,” Wahlman said, although he wasn’t really sure of anything.

“So what is your name?”

“Rock Wahlman.”

“Wahlman. Sounds kind of like Walkman. I got one for Christmas last year.”

Again, Wahlman had no idea what she was talking about.

“Seems like everyone did,” he said, just to be saying something.

She didn’t laugh or make a funny face or anything, so he figured he must not have been too far off the mark.

“I’m Diane Givens,” she said. “Want me to wait for you? In case you’re not able to get your car back?”