Lee CHILD - Better off Dead

“What if something else sent a signal and triggered it?”

“They don’t work that way. Each pair has a code. If the code doesn’t match, nothing happens. Which is why I think it didn’t go off. The other part of the transponder must not have come within range before the bomb was found. Which is fortunate. Because of all the lives that were saved. And because of the fourth thing in there. A fingerprint. Right on the transponder itself. It came to me for identification.”

“Whose was it?”

“It was Michael’s.”

“What did you do?”

Fenton was silent for a moment. She looked at the floor. Then she looked at me. “I was shocked, obviously. I double-checked the print. I triple-checked it. But there was no mistake. It was Michael’s.”

“Could –”

“There’s something else. I was also given the card from the Red Roan to examine. There was no writing on it. I made that part up, because I left the bomb part out. There was a condom in there, too. Still in its wrapper. I have no idea why. To make it look like random stuff had fallen in by accident, if one of Dendoncker’s guys saw it, maybe? Anyway, I figured Michael was repenting. He wanted to stop. He wanted to get out. He knew where I worked. He knew what I did. He knew I’d find his print. It was so prominent. And that’s rare. Current bomb makers wear gloves because they know the kind of things we can recover now. So, and I’m not proud of this, I panicked. I destroyed his print. And the transponder. And the card from the Red Roan. I deleted all records of them. And I quit. The rest you know. Everything else I told you is true.”

“Did you find out anything more?”

She closed her eyes, then opened them and shook her head. “No. I never got to Michael.”

I took a sip of coffee and weighed up what Fenton had told me. A bomb had been found with a transponder hooked up to it. A fingerprint. A business card. And a condom. But no note. Something wasn’t adding up. I said, “The bomb. Where was it recovered from?”

“A private airfield.”

“Was that the target?”

“Don’t know.”

“What size was it?”

“Small enough to conceal. Big enough to do a lot of damage. Depending on where it was detonated, if there were fewer than fifty casualties it would be a miracle.”

“What if it exploded on a plane? If the plane was the target, not just the transport. If it blew up over a city. Or a shopping mall. Or a stadium.”

“That’s possible, but unlikely. The bomb we found was packed with shrapnel. That’s an antipersonnel configuration. If a plane was its target we’d expect it to have a shaped projectile to ensure it could breach the fuselage or at least cause major system damage.”

“That’s something, I guess. What about the timescale, if they have other bombs?”

She shrugged. “Tomorrow. Next week. Next year. Can we afford to wait?”

“How many bombs did Michael make?”

She shrugged again. “Could be any number. Distributed anywhere in the country.”

We were looking at hundreds dead, potentially. Maybe thousands. Dendoncker had the means. The opportunity. And there were plenty of groups out there with the cash to make it worth his while. All of a sudden fifty-fifty with a chance of collateral damage didn’t look so bad. I drained my cup. “Wait here. I’m going for a word with the ME.”

I walked faster. The sun was hotter. The buildings seemed closer together. The empty sidewalks, narrower. The atmosphere was almost oppressive. I reached the medical center and went straight in. The foyer was just as it was before except that there was a woman at the reception desk. It was hard to say how old she was. Not far from being the wrong side of retirement age, I would guess. Her hair was silver and it was wound up in an elaborate series of braids. Her glasses were pointy at the temples like ones I’d seen in pictures from the 1960s. She had a discreet string of pearls and a neat, cream blouse. She glanced up when I approached but when she realized I was heading for the door that led to the basement she looked away. A benefit of Dendoncker’s people doing business there, I guess. But I wasn’t happy about being mistaken for one of his goons.

I paused in the lower corridor and listened at the door to the morgue. I could hear music. It was classical. Mainly piano. Something by Beethoven, I thought. I knocked and went in without waiting for an answer. Instantly I was hit by the stench. It was like an invisible wall. Made up of things I’d smelled before. Blood. Bodily products. Disinfectant. Preservative chemicals. But it was so strong it stopped me in my tracks.

Ahead of me there was a guy in the center of the room. He had white hair. A white lab coat. Metal-rimmed glasses on a chain. And a pronounced stoop. Behind him was a row of steel doors. Five of them. To the side, a desk. It held a computer, which was switched off. A stack of blank forms. And a fancy pen.

Right at the guy’s side there was a metal table. It was made of stainless steel. It had raised sides, and a body was lying on it. A man’s. It was naked. The top of its skull had been sawn off. Its rib cage cracked apart. Its abdomen cut open. Blood was running along the channels on both sides of the table and trickling down a drain. There was a trolley covered with tools. They were sharp and bloody. There was another trolley, covered with jars full of red and brown gelatinous things, and a scale. With a brain in its pan.

The guy took his glasses off and glared at me. “At least you knocked. That’s something. Now, who are you? What do you want?”

He seemed like a straightforward guy, so I decided to take a straightforward approach. “My name’s Reacher. You’re Dr. Houllier?”

The guy nodded.

“I’m here to ask for your help.”

“I see. With what? Is someone sick? Hurt?”

“I need you to stay away from work tomorrow.”

“Out of the question. I’ve worked here for more than forty years and I’ve never missed a day.”

“That’s an admirable record.”

“Don’t blow smoke.”

“OK. Let’s try this. There’s a guy in this town I believe you’re acquainted with. Waad Dendoncker.”

Dr. Houllier’s eyes narrowed. “What about him?”

“Just how well acquainted are you?”

Dr. Houllier snatched up a scalpel, still slick with blood, and brandished it at me. “Cast an aspersion like that again and to hell with my oath. I’ll cut your heart out. I don’t care how big you are.” He gestured to the body at his side. “You can see I know how.”

“So you’re not a fan.”

Dr. Houllier dropped the scalpel back on the table. “Let me tell you a little about my history with Waad Dendoncker. Our paths first crossed ten years ago. I was here, working. The door flew open. And two of his guys barged in. No knock. No, excuse me. They didn’t say a word. Not right away. They just handed me an envelope. Inside was a photograph. Of my brother. Outside his house. In Albuquerque. You see, I’m not married. My parents have passed. Donald was the only family I had. The guy told me, if I ever wanted to see my brother alive again, I had to go with them.”

“So you went?”

“Of course. They put me in a crummy old army Jeep. Drove out into the desert. Maybe ten miles. It’s hard to tell out there. They stopped when we reached a group of men. Dendoncker. A couple of his guys. And two others. No one told me explicitly but I worked out they were customers. There to buy hand grenades. They must have asked for a demonstration. A pit had been dug. Two people were in it. Both women. They were naked.”

“Who were they?”

“No one I recognized. Later the guy who drove me said they worked for Dendoncker. He said they’d disobeyed his orders. This was the consequence. Dendoncker threw in a grenade. I heard screams when it landed. Then an explosion. The others all rushed forward. They wanted to see. I didn’t, but Dendoncker forced me. Believe me, I’ve seen injuries before. I’ve seen surgeries. Every kind of butchery you can imagine. But this was worse. What happened to those women’s bodies…It disgusted me. I was sick, right there on the spot. I was worried that Dendoncker would expect me to deal with the remains, somehow. But no. A guy used one of the Jeeps. It had a snowplow blade on the front. He just filled in the hole. Dendoncker and his customers stayed there to talk business. The two guys who’d brought me took me back to the medical center. They told me that the next day, or maybe the day after, a body would find its way onto my slab. They said I was to process it, thoroughly, but not to keep any official record. And to be ready to answer questions.”