Ли Чайлд - The Sentinel

Reacher grabbed him by his ear, spun him around and launched him forward so that he bounced off the other guys’ bellies and landed at their feet. ‘You’re not quite the same weight class, but stay where I can see you all the same.’ Reacher waited for the heavier men to help him up. They got him vertical then closed in tight on either side. A subconscious urge to defend the weakest in the group? Or stupidity? Reacher didn’t know. But whatever the reason, it was a poor position to adopt. They should have spread out. Formed a triangle. Multiplied the threat they posed. Put the bigger guys on the outside corners. Have them advance together. Attack simultaneously. Then even if Reacher successfully blocked them both he’d temporarily be occupied. The skinny guy would be free. Front and centre. His chance to be a hero.

‘I assume there was some kind of message you were planning to deliver,’ Reacher said. ‘Want to tell me what it was?’

The broad guys swapped glances, then the one who’d been the first to emerge from the alley took a step forward. ‘We know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘Stop it. Go home. And take your boss with you.’

‘My boss being?’

‘The man you came here with.’

‘OK. Now we have a real problem. You know why? If you think that guy’s my boss, you must think I’m here to work. If I’m here to work, I’m getting paid. If I stop working and leave, I won’t get paid. I’ll lose out. So it’s like you’re trying to take money out of my pocket. Do you know what happens to people who try to do that?’

The guy glanced at his buddy but didn’t answer.

‘The details vary but the outcome is always the same. A long stay in the hospital. But this is your lucky day. I’m going to give you a chance to forgo the usual penalty. Tell me who sent you and I’ll call it even.’

‘Can’t do that.’

‘Are you trying to annoy me?’ Reacher said. ‘I really dislike the imprecise use of language. You mean you won’t tell me. Obviously you can. In fact, you will. You just need the necessary encouragement.’

Reacher grabbed the skinny guy and pulled him forward. Changed their geometry. Cut their options.

‘Try again,’ Reacher said. ‘Tell me who sent you.’

None of the men replied.

Reacher twisted the skinny guy’s hand so that his inner arm was facing up, then gripped him by the wrist. ‘You know when people say a kid has a broken arm, the bone is often not severed all the way? It’s what’s called a green-stick fracture. The bone’s just bent. Because young people are supple. But as you grow older, your bones become more brittle. They no longer bend. They shatter. Now, this guy’s no kid. He’s not old, either. I wonder how far his bones will go before they snap?’

Reacher started to bend. The guy started to scream. More in anticipation than pain, Reacher thought, given the limited amount of force he was using. He kept an eye on the broad guys’ position. They were running out of time. Their best option now would be for the skinny guy to drop to the ground and the other two rush simultaneously and push Reacher back against the wall, pinning his arms. And if they were lucky, snagging his legs.

They didn’t move.

Reacher bent the arm further. The guy screamed louder and rose up on to his tiptoes. Even if he could no longer drop, the other two should still charge. They’d end up in more of a tangle and their guy might get a little squashed but it was still their best bet.

They didn’t move.

Reacher bent the arm further. The guy screamed louder. He rose up higher on his tiptoes. The guy on Reacher’s right moved forward. Slowly. And alone. Reacher shifted his right hand to grip the skinny guy’s neck and rotated so that his head tracked the bigger guy’s movement. He waited until the two guys’ heads were inches apart. Twisted so that their temples were parallel. Then drove his left fist hard into the side of the skinny guy’s skull, using it like a cue ball to sink the bigger guy. Reacher let go and the pair slumped down in a tangled heap of limbs. He spun back, his elbow raised in case the other guy was following in. But he hadn’t moved. He was standing still, mouth open and broad ape arms curving uselessly out in front.

‘It’s just you and me now,’ Reacher said. ‘What should we talk about?’

The guy didn’t answer.

‘How about this? Answer my question about who sent you and you can take your friends to the hospital. Otherwise, you’ll be joining them there. It’s your choice.’

The man stepped back as if retreating but he planted his rear foot way too deliberately. He paused, then sprang forward, arms wide, trying to catch Reacher in a bear hug. It would have been a reasonable move if he’d disguised it more effectively. As it was, Reacher chopped him on both sides of the neck then grabbed the front of his coveralls, pivoted, and launched him into the wall. The man’s eyes glazed over, and all the breath was knocked out of him. Reacher jabbed him in the solar plexus, but gently. He wanted to put the guy down but not knock him out. Not until he revealed a name, anyway. The man folded forward, his legs buckled, and he wound up sitting at Reacher’s feet. But before he could speak again Reacher heard a siren. Moments later the street was pulsing with red and blue light.

‘Stop. Hands where I can see them.’ The voice was distorted by the loudspeaker but Reacher recognized it all the same. ‘And this time you are getting down on the sidewalk.’

The same time Reacher was getting processed at the courthouse, Speranski was back down in the generator room. Partly to check on progress. And partly because he was excited at the prospect of a busy night. Maybe many busy nights if the drifter proved as resilient as the journalist had been. While he was underground two calls tried to get through to him. From the same two people as before. One on his burner cell. One on the secure phone. Only this time, when he got back to ground level it was the secure phone that rang first.

‘Is it done?’ Speranski said.

‘That’s a negative,’ the voice said. ‘The team had to abort.’

Speranski resisted the urge to smash the phone. ‘Why? What got screwed up this time?’

‘Nothing got screwed up. It was the correct decision. The drifter left the diner ahead of Rutherford. He made like he was going to stick around so the team held position, waiting for either Rutherford to catch up or the drifter to move away. Then a wild card got played. The drifter got in a fight. It came out of nothing, right there on the sidewalk. There was no way anyone could have anticipated it.’

‘OK. So who did he fight?’

‘Three men. Two big, one scrawny. Locals, presumably. No one we’ve seen before.’

‘How badly was he hurt? Is he in the hospital?’

‘No. He wasn’t hurt. He won. Easily. He demolished all three guys. But just as the fight was winding up a police car responded. They arrested him on the spot.’

‘And Rutherford? Did he get hurt?’

‘No. He didn’t get involved. He avoided the whole thing. He stayed in the diner until the last one went down, then he must have sneaked out through a back door into the alley. He was seen crossing the street and running into his building.’

‘Seen? Why was action not taken?’

‘The police were still there. The team had to let him pass. There was no alternative.’

‘So where’s Rutherford now?’

‘Still in his building. I don’t imagine he’ll come out any time soon.’

Speranski took a moment to think. ‘So it was only the drifter and the police who were involved? Not any of our people?’

‘Correct,’ the voice said.

‘No attention drawn? No spectacle? Nothing for the Center to get in a wad about?’