Lee CHILD - Better off Dead

“From Dendoncker?”

“Right.”

“And if you didn’t go along?”

“They said there’d be another pit. That they’d throw my brother in it. And make me watch when the grenade went off. They said they’d cut my eyelids off, to make sure I saw everything.”

“The body they mentioned. It showed up?”

“Three days later. I couldn’t sleep, picturing what kind of shape it would be in. In the end it was only shot. Luckily. For me, anyway.”

“How many since then?”

“Twenty-seven. Mostly shot. Some stabbed. A couple with their skulls bashed in.”

“Did Dendoncker come and see all of them?”

Dr. Houllier nodded. “He shows up every time. Like clockwork. Although he has calmed down a little. Originally he wanted a detailed analysis. Stomach contents. Residue on the skin and under the fingernails. Any indication of foreign travel. Things like that. Now he’s happy with a brief report on the body.”

“But he still wants to see them?”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“It could be one of several disorders. I’m not about to analyze him. It’s not my field. And he gives me the creeps. Whenever he shows up I just want him out of my office as fast as possible.”

I said nothing.

“Strike that. What I really want is for him to stop coming at all. But I can’t make him. So I find a way to live with it.”

“I have a way to stop him. All I need is this room.”

“If you’re going to stop Dendoncker, and you’re going to do it in this room, someone’s going to play dead. You?”

I nodded, then told him about the gunshot wound to my chest and the props we were going to use to make it look real.

“Where is this shooting going to take place?”

I told him the location that Dendoncker’s guy had texted to Fenton.

“I see. And how are you going to get your body from there to here?”

I hadn’t figured that out yet. When you’re stuck with a plan full of holes, more have a habit of appearing.

“You don’t know, do you?”

I said nothing.

“What time are you supposed to get shot?”

“It’ll be a little after eleven p.m.”

“OK. I’ll bring you in myself.”

“No. You can’t be involved. Think of your brother.”

“Donald died. Last year.”

“Did he have a wife? Kids?”

“No kids. I don’t like his wife. And she’s sick, anyway. Cancer. Metastasized. If Dendoncker looked for her she’d be dead before he found out which hospice she’s in. So. I’ll give you a number for your sidekick to call me on. It’s a direct line. It bypasses 911, which will make things easier.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Now, Dendoncker won’t come until morning. That means you’ll have to sleep here. He may have people watching the place and it wouldn’t do for a dead man to be seen leaving and returning. I’ll come in early and get you ready for the meat locker. You’ll have a companion, I’m afraid, so I can’t raise the temperature. But I can give you a mild sedative so you won’t start shivering. I’ll tape your eyes, too. Just in case. How long can you hold your breath for?”

I’d once gone for a little over a minute without breathing. But that was underwater. Swimming hard. Fighting for my life. This would be different. No exertion. Just the effort of keeping completely still.

“Ninety seconds,” I said. “Two minutes, maximum.”

“All right. I’ll keep an eye on the time. I’ll distract Dendoncker if he drags things out for too long. He’s usually quick so I’m not too worried. Now, tell me. And you can be honest. After you stop him, what are you going to do with him?”

“Hand him over to the police.”

A flash of disappointment crossed Houllier’s face.

I said, “Does Dendoncker usually come alone? Or does he bring bodyguards?”

“Apes, I’d call them. Two. One comes in first to check the room. Then Dendoncker and the second guy follow.”

“Weapons?”

“None visible.”

“That’s good. But even with your brother out of the picture there’s still a risk. To you. You’d be much safer at home. Or out of town.”

Houllier shook his head. “No. Dendoncker’s had the upper hand for too long. I promised myself, if I ever could resist, I would. I only have myself to worry about, with Donald gone. It seems like now is the time.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate that. But if you change your mind…”

“I won’t.”

“OK. Until this evening, then.”

“One last thing, Mr. Reacher. I’m a doctor. I swore an oath to do no harm. You didn’t. Specifically, where Dendoncker is concerned. I hope you take my meaning.”

I got into position under the streetlight at 11:00 p.m., as agreed.

The evening was chilly. I’d been in the compound for three hours to make sure I was alone. I wished I had a coat. I only had on a T-shirt. A yellow one. It was huge. It was baggy, even on me. But it needed to be. It needed room to conceal the bag of fake blood I had taped to my chest. I couldn’t risk a coat hanging wrong and ending up with no bullet hole where there should be one.

The car showed up at 11:02. Its lights were on bright so I couldn’t tell the make or model, but I could see enough to know it wasn’t a Jeep. Not what I was expecting Fenton to be driving. If Fenton was driving. I couldn’t see inside, either. A moment later the front doors opened. Both of them. Two men climbed out.

Not what we’d agreed.

Both the car’s back doors opened. Two more men climbed out.

Definitely not what we’d agreed.

I sized the guys up. They were all between maybe six-one and six-three. Each around two hundred pounds. I didn’t see anything to worry me. But I was mainly waiting to see if Fenton appeared from the backseat.

She didn’t.

Either she’d been benched because Dendoncker opted for more firepower after losing two guys the day before. Or she’d been taken out of the game for good, if Dendoncker had seen through our ploy. I doubted any of the guys in front of me would know. Paranoid bosses don’t generally share insights with their wet boys. So I decided on a different approach. Whittle down the numbers and persuade the last man standing it’s in his interests to escort me up the food chain.

The last man standing wasn’t going to be the driver. That was for damn sure. He stepped forward and immediately launched into a dumb routine designed to get me into the car. That wasn’t going to happen. Not then, anyway. The guy realized he couldn’t bluff me so he changed tack. He tried to use force. He pulled a gun. That’s always a mistake when you’re within arm’s length. Or near it. Maybe he mistook size for slow. Maybe he was just stupid. Or overconfident. Either way I closed in fast, grabbed his wrist, and neutralized his weapon. Then I neutralized him with a quick, easy punch.

I retrieved the driver’s fallen gun in case the other guys were smart enough to attack together. They weren’t. The one in the center of the remaining trio was the next to try. He screamed like he thought that would frighten me, feinted a jab, then tried to land a punch in my gut. I blocked it and drove my middle knuckle into his biceps. I gave him the option to walk away. I figured that was only fair. He didn’t take it. He rushed back in with a wild crazy punch aimed at my head. I let it flail past, then immobilized his other arm. I gave him another chance. He repaid me by trying to kick me in the balls. He didn’t get close. I slammed my foot into his shin. Used his effort against him. The guy’s ankle broke. At least one bone. Maybe more. He screamed and hopped around for a second, then fainted when the severed ends of his bone touched together. Now I was down to two.