Lee CHILD - Better off Dead

The reception desk was directly opposite the main door. It was five yards wide and also made of dark polished wood. A guy was behind it. He had his boots up on the counter. They were long, pointy things made of snakeskin. There were holes in the soles. The guy had faded jeans. A blue paisley-pattern shirt. A black leather vest. It was unfastened. His arms were folded across his chest. A wide-brimmed hat was pulled down over his face. He looked like he was fast asleep. I didn’t disturb him. I didn’t need to. I knew where I was going so I crossed to the corridor that led to the stairs.

Room 212 was at the end of the second-floor corridor on the south side of the building. Its door was standing open half an inch. A skinny paperback book was down at floor level, stopping it from closing all the way. I peered through the gap. Saw nothing unusual. Just coarse brown carpet. The end of a bed with a floral comforter cover. The edge of a window with matching curtains. No people. No weapons. But still obviously a trap. It would have been safer to walk away. But playing it safe wasn’t going to help Fenton. I needed information, and the only source I knew of was behind that door.

I stood to the side and knocked.

“Come in.” It was the woman from the Red Roan. I recognized her voice.

So far, so good.

I pushed the door and stepped into the room. The woman was in the corner to my left. The room was large enough and the gap between the door and the frame was narrow enough that I hadn’t seen her from the corridor. She was still wearing the yellow sundress. And now she had a gun in her hand. A Beretta M9. A weapon she would be very familiar with if I was correct about who she was. She was aiming it right at my chest.

She had planned the setup well. She was too far away for me to grab the gun without giving her ample time to pull the trigger. My only move was to dive back through the door. But she would be expecting that. There was no guarantee I would be fast enough. Plus I didn’t know where her friend was. She could have the corridor covered by now. And I needed whatever information she could give me. Whether she was in a sharing mood or not.

I pushed the book aside with my foot. Let go of the door. And raised my hands to chest height.

“To the bed.” The woman gestured with the gun.

I moved across.

She said, “See the pictures?”

There was a stack of photographs on the pillow. I picked it up. There were five of them. Four-by-sixes. Color. Of five different men. All in Hot Weather ACUs.

“Show me which one’s Michael,” she said. “Then we’ll talk.”

I shuffled through the images. Slowly and carefully.

“Show me the wrong one and the vultures are going to be well fed tonight.” She still had the gun leveled on my chest.

Two of the men were African American. One was Hispanic. The other two were Caucasian. Like Fenton. That narrowed the odds. One out of two is better than one out of five. But still not close enough for comfort. I pictured Fenton’s face. She wasn’t Michael’s identical twin. That was obvious. And I’d never seen him. I had no idea how similar they looked. But I had nothing else to work with. I compared the two guys’ eyes to what I remembered of Fenton’s. Their noses. Mouths. Ears. Hair color. The shape of their heads. Their height. Then I thought about what I’d do if I wanted to catch someone in a lie.

I tossed all five pictures back onto the bed.

“What kind of game are you playing?” I kept my eyes on her trigger finger. “Michael’s not in any of those pictures.”

The woman didn’t lower the gun. “Are you sure? Look again. Like your life depends on it. Because it does.”

“I don’t need to. His picture’s not there.”

“OK. Maybe it isn’t. How do you know him?”

“Through his sister. Michaela.”

“His older sister?”

“His twin.”

“Who joined the chair force ?”

“Army intelligence.”

The woman lowered the gun.

“All right. I’m sorry. I had to be sure. Please, sit.”

I lowered myself onto the bed. The woman came out of the corner and crossed to the other side of the room. She perched on the edge of an armchair that looked like it had been made in the fifties. And not cleaned since the sixties. The gun was still in her hand.

She said, “I’m Sonia.”

“Reacher. How do you know Michael?”

“We met in the hospital. In Germany.”

“Army hospital?”

She nodded. “Why do you think Michael’s in trouble?”

“Why do you?”

“I never said I did.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

Sonia didn’t reply.

“My guess is that you haven’t heard from Michael in three days. Maybe four.”

She didn’t answer.

“Add the fact that Renée is missing, too, and you’re starting to panic. Rumors are starting to fly. That’s why you met your friend for that liquid lunch. It’s why we’re here now.”

“All right. I am worried. I can’t reach Michael. It’s not like him to drop out of sight like this. If it was just Renée who was missing that would be one thing. But both of them?”

“I need to know where Dendoncker could have taken him.”

“Dendoncker? Why would he have taken Michael anywhere?”

“Michael was done working for Dendoncker. He wanted out. Dendoncker got wind of that. He didn’t take it very well.”

“That’s not possible.”

“That’s what happened. Michael got a message to his sister. He asked for her help.”

“No.” Sonia shook her head. “You’ve got this ass backward. Michael isn’t working for Dendoncker. Dendoncker is working for Michael.”

“Michael’s running a smuggling operation?”

“No. That’s entirely Dendoncker’s action. Michael just needs access to some of his equipment. And some raw materials.”

“Why?”

“How’s that relevant?”

“Do you want to help him or not?”

Sonia sighed and rolled her eyes. “There’s a certain item Michael needs to build, OK? And transport. Secretly. And securely. Dendoncker has the infrastructure. Michael arranged access to it.”

“OK. So, aside from the place west of town, what other premises does Dendoncker have?”

“I don’t know. I don’t work for him. I’m just a friend of Michael’s.”

“Where does Dendoncker live?”

“Nobody knows. Mexico, maybe? Michael mentioned something like that once. But I have no real idea.”

“Where does Michael live?”

“He has a room here. But he doesn’t use it much anymore. I guess he mostly sleeps at his workshop.”

“Where’s that?”

“I don’t know. I never went there.”

“But it’s where he makes the bombs?”

Sonia was immediately on her feet. “How do you know about that?”

I stood as well. She still had a gun in her hand. “It’s why he sent an SOS to his sister. He was in over his head. He knew it was wrong. He wanted to stop before it was too late.”

“No.” Sonia shook her head. “That makes no sense. Look, Michael was no angel. I’m not pretending otherwise. He started down a bad path. The operation is his shot at redemption. He believes in it one hundred percent. There’s no way he wanted to stop. No reason he would want to. It’s perfect. And it needs to be done.”

“No reason? Maybe the penny dropped that killing innocent people is something that never needs to be done.”

“What are you talking about? No one is going to get killed. He’s a veteran, for God’s sake. Not a murderer.”

“He’s plotting to detonate a whole bunch of bombs. You’re looking at hundreds of casualties.”

“No.” Sonia almost laughed. “You don’t understand.”