Lee Child - Die Trying

“Hell are you doing?” McGrath hissed.

Reacher made no reply. Just waited for his heart to beat and fired. The rifle cracked and the bullet punched through the siding a hundred yards away. Ten inches from the corner, five feet from the ground.

“Hell are you doing?” McGrath hissed again.

Reacher just grabbed his arm and pulled him into the woods. Dragged him north and waited. Two things happened. The six men burst back into the clearing. And the door of the punishment hut opened. Brogan was framed in the doorway. His right arm was hanging limp. His right shoulder was shattered and pumping blood. In his right hand, he was holding his Bureau.38. The hammer was back. His finger was tight on the trigger.

Reacher snicked the M-16 to burst fire. Stitched five bursts of three shells into the ground, halfway across the clearing. The six men skidded away, like they were suddenly facing an invisible barrier or a drop off a tall cliff. They ran for the woods. Brogan stepped out of the hut. Stood in a bar of sunshine and tried to lift his revolver. His arm wouldn’t work. It hung uselessly.

“Decoy,” Reacher said. “They thought I’d go in after him. He was waiting behind the door with his gun. I knew he was the bad guy. But they had me fooled for a moment.”

McGrath nodded slowly. Stared at the government-issue.38 in Brogan’s hand. Remembered his own being confiscated. He raised the Glock and wedged his wrist against a tree. Sighted down the barrel.

“Forget it,” Reacher said.

McGrath kept his eyes on Brogan and shook his head.

“I’m not going to forget it,” he said quietly. “Bastard sold Holly out.”

“I meant forget the Glock,” Reacher said. “That’s a hundred yards. Glock won’t get near. You’d be lucky to hit the damn hut from here.”

McGrath lowered the Glock and Reacher handed him the M-16. Watched with interest as McGrath sighted it in.

“Where?” Reacher asked.

“Chest,” McGrath said.

Reacher nodded.

“Chest is good,” he said.

McGrath steadied himself and fired. He was good, but not really good. The rifle was still set to burst fire, and it loosed three rounds. The first hit Brogan in the upper left of his forehead, and the other two stitched upward and blasted fragments off the door frame. Good, but not very. But good enough to do the job. Brogan went down like a marionette with the strings cut. He just telescoped into the ground, right in front of the doorway. Reacher took the M-16 back and sprayed the trees on the edge of the clearing until the magazine clicked empty. Reloaded and handed the Glock back to McGrath. Nodded him east through the forest. They turned together and walked straight into Joseph Ray. He was unarmed and half dressed. Blood dried on his face like brown paint. He was fumbling with his shirt buttons. They were done up into the wrong holes.

“Women and children are going to die,” he said.

“You all got an hour, Joe,” Reacher said back to him. “Spread the word. Anybody wants to stay alive, better head for the hills.”

The guy just shook his head.

“No,” he said. “We’ve got to assemble on the parade ground. Those are our instructions. We’ve got to wait for Beau there.”

“Beau won’t be coming,” Reacher said.

Ray shook his head again.

“He will be,” he said. “You won’t beat Beau, whoever you are. Can’t be done. We got to wait for him. He’s going to tell us what to do.”

“Run for it, Joe,” Reacher said. “For Christ’s sake, get your kids out of here.”

“Beau says that they have to stay here,” Ray said. “Either to enjoy the fruits of victory, or to suffer the consequences of defeat.”

Reacher just stared at him. Ray’s bright eyes shone out. His teeth flashed in a brief defiant smile. He ducked his head and ran away.

“Women and children are going to die?” McGrath repeated.

“Borken’s propaganda,” Reacher said. “He’s got them all convinced compulsory suicide is the penalty for getting beat around here.”

“And they’re standing still for it?” McGrath asked.

“He controls them,” Reacher said. “Worse than you can imagine.”

“I’m not interested in beating them,” McGrath said. “Right now, I just want to get Holly out.”

“Same thing,” Reacher said.

They walked on in silence, through the trees in the direction of the Bastion.

“How did you know?” McGrath asked. “About Brogan?”

Reacher shrugged.

“I just felt it,” he said. “His face, I guess. They like hitting people in the face. They did it to you. But Brogan was unmarked. I saw his face, no damage, no blood. I figured that was wrong. The excitement of an ambush, the tension, they’d have worked it off by roughing him up a little. Like they did with you. But he was theirs, so he just walked in, handshakes all around.”

McGrath nodded. Put his hand up and felt his nose.

“But what if you were wrong?” he said.

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Reacher said. “If I was wrong, he wouldn’t have been standing behind the door. He’d have been down on the floor with a bunch of broken ribs, because all that thumping around would have been for real.”

McGrath nodded again.

“And all that shouting,” Reacher said. “They paraded along, real slow, with the guy shouting his head off. They were trying to attract my attention.”

“They’re good at that,” McGrath said. “Webster’s worried about it. He doesn’t understand why Borken seems so set on getting attention, escalating this whole thing way bigger than he needs to.”

They were in the woods. Halfway between the small clearing and the Bastion. Reacher stopped. Like the breath had been knocked out of him. His hands went up to his mouth. He stood breathless, like all the air had been sucked off the planet.

“Christ, I know why,” he said. “It’s a decoy.”

“What?” McGrath asked.

“I’m getting a bad feeling,” Reacher said.

“About what?” McGrath asked him, urgently.

“Borken,” Reacher said. “Something doesn’t add up. His intentions. Strike the first blow. But where’s Stevie? You know what? I think there are two first blows, McGrath. This stuff up here and something else, somewhere else. A surprise attack. Like Pearl Harbor, like his damn war books. That’s why he’s set on escalating everything. Holly, the suicide thing. He wants all the attention up here.”

HOLLY WAS STANDING upright and facing her door when they came for her. The tight wrap on her knee was drying stiff. So she had to stand, because her leg would no longer bend. And she wanted to stand, because that was the best way to do it.

She heard the footsteps in the lobby. Heard them clatter up the stairs. Two men, she estimated. She heard them halt outside her door. Heard the key slide in and the lock click back. She blinked once and took a breath. The door opened. Two men crowded in. Two rifles. She stood upright and faced them. One stepped forward.

“Outside, bitch,” he said.

She gripped her crutch. Leaned on it heavily and limped across the floor. Slowly. She wanted to be outside before anybody realized she could move better than they thought. Before anybody realized she was armed and dangerous.

“STRIKE THE FIRST blow,” Reacher said. “I interpreted that all wrong.”

“Why?” McGrath asked urgently.

“Because I haven’t seen Stevie,” Reacher said. “Not since early this morning. Stevie’s not here anymore. Stevie’s gone somewhere else.”

“Reacher, you’re not making any sense,” McGrath said.

Reacher shook his head like he was clearing it and snapped back into focus. Set off racing east through the trees. Talking quiet, but urgently.