Ли Чайлд - The Sentinel

Reacher steered the Beetle through the gap between the old showroom and the abandoned gas-station kiosk. He stopped the car at a careless angle and climbed out, leaving his door open. He checked the kiosk to make sure Marty wasn’t still shackled to the water pipe then fetched the gas can from the trunk and took the water bottles, the T-shirts, and the flashlight from the passenger’s footwell. He left the passenger door open and made his way to the section of hoarding at the back of the showroom where he had seen the woman and one of the guys emerge when they fled. He tugged at the plywood. It was loose at one side so he enlarged the gap and squeezed through. He stepped into a large space with an arc of tall windows in place of a front wall. They were all boarded up. A range of tall display cases covered one side. The glass was broken and the shelves were bare. Reacher swept the flashlight beam around slowly and picked up a line of footprints in the dust on the floor. He followed them to a door at the far side of the showroom. It led to a flight of wooden steps. They’d seen better days. That was for sure. Their paint had long since worn away. There were cracks in their surface. The handrail sagged when Reacher touched it. He thought twice about going up. What he had in mind could be accomplished from the ground, given sufficient cover. But he was in the mood for something theatrical, not functional.

Reacher kept to the edge nearer the wall, where the steps should be at their strongest. He took them slowly, testing each one carefully before committing his weight. He crept his way to the top, which gave access to a hatch leading to the roof. He heaved the water bottles up and through. Then the gas can. Then he climbed out after them. The surface was flat. It had once been covered with some kind of silver coating. To make it waterproof, and to protect the building from the worst of the sun’s heat. Now the surface was dull and peeling. It was covered with leaves and twigs and assorted pieces of trash that the wind had somehow deposited there. Much of it had blown against the base of the wall that enclosed the whole space. It was three feet tall. Like the rampart on a miniature castle, Reacher thought. Which was just how he was planning to use it.

He crossed to the rear corner at the side of the building next to the kiosk and separated six bottles of water from the pack. He emptied them, then half filled them with gas. He cut two of the T-shirts into strips and fed them into the bottles, leaving plenty hanging over their necks. Then he lined the bottles up at the base of the wall and took one of the lighters out of his pocket.

Reacher’s plan was only missing one component. A target. He sat and waited and no car appeared in the gap below. He began to worry that he was on a wild goose chase. And that he was the goose. He crossed to the stem of the vertical sign and looked for movement on the road. There was none. Then he caught a glimmer of light, a quarter of a mile away. He thought. But he wasn’t sure. He kept watching, willing it to reappear, and he picked up the sound of a vehicle. It was coming from the other direction. A panel van. It was bouncing and swaying along the road. Moving fast. Maybe a plumber, anxious to get home after a long day. Or an electrician. Or a drunk.

The van slowed a little and its lights picked out a familiar shape hunkered down beneath the water bridge. The blue Toyota. It had followed him. But it wasn’t looking to engage. Just to observe. To note where he went. Close enough to see if he switched cars or got a ride with someone else. Too far away for Reacher to incinerate. He kept watching, willing it to change tack. To approach. Another five minutes passed. There was no movement. Then Reacher’s phone buzzed. It was another text. Also from Rutherford. It said the same thing as the first. In. Safe. That meant Reacher could head back, too. He could let the Toyota follow. Creeping along behind him on its electronic tether. The guys in it could file an innocuous report. Inform their bosses about every detail of Reacher’s evening. But he didn’t like that idea. When he sent a message he liked it to be clear and unambiguous. Someone had sent six guys after him. It would be wrong to let the day end with only two of them in the hospital.

Reacher put the lighter back in his pocket and emptied the gas out of the bottles. He eased his way back down the steps to the showroom and crossed to a door in the centre of the back wall. It led to a corridor with another door at the far end, one door on the left, and two evenly spaced on the right. The one on the left opened into a double office. Based on the age of the building Reacher guessed the outer part would have been for a secretary and the larger, inner room for a manager. Or the owner of the franchise. Both offices were empty. The first door on the right led to a small kitchen. There were no appliances or utensils. Just a Formica countertop with enough space for preparing drinks or light snacks.

Next up was a pair of bathrooms. There was a cleaning closet tucked in between them. A broom had been left behind. And a mop. And a bucket. A roll of towels. A bottle of bleach. And some floor polish. Reacher moved on to the door at the end of the corridor. It led to the final section of the building. A car-sized space with a roll-up door to the side, drain holes in the floor, but no vehicle lift and no room for serious tools. Some kind of valet bay, Reacher thought. Where cars had been detailed before going on display. Or got ready for collection. There was a metal cabinet against the far wall. Reacher wrestled it open and found a tub of hand cleaner, long dried up. A tin of wax. Some chalky paste for brightening up whitewall tyres. A bottle of detergent. A tube of tar remover. And a bottle of glass cleaner. Reacher opened it. Sniffed the contents. Nodded to himself. And doubled back to the cleaning closet to collect the bleach. He figured it was time to find out how well he remembered his high school chemistry.

Reacher squeezed out through the gap in the plywood hoarding and made his way back to the Beetle. To the rear. He felt around the inside of the fender until he found the tracking device. He detached it and placed it on the ground directly below the car. He took a last swig of coffee. Removed the lid. Emptied the dregs. Tied the one remaining T-shirt around his head so that it covered his mouth and nose. Then, working at arm’s length, which was further for Reacher than for most people, he poured bleach into the coffee cup until it was half full. He topped it off with glass cleaner. Replaced the lid. Closed the passenger door. Wound down the driver’s window then climbed into the car and started the engine. He held the cup in his left hand so that he could shift and set off slowly back to the road. He drove with no lights, as smoothly as he could manage, in the direction of the town.

The Toyota was still under the bridge. It was tucked in with its passenger side close to the thick brick pillars that must have supported the structure for the last hundred years. Reacher pulled across so the Beetle was tight up against its driver’s side, making it the meat in a sandwich. He pulled the T-shirt away from his face. The driver stared at him. She looked surprised for a moment. Then suspicious. Reacher gestured for her to roll down her window.

‘How are you guys doing?’ Reacher flashed what he hoped was a friendly smile. ‘Surveillance duty can be pretty dull, can’t it? That’s why I’ve brought you something. Should liven things up.’

Reacher removed the lid, stretched his arm across the driver’s lap, and tipped the contents of the cup all over the Toyota’s centre console. Then he wound up his own window and sat for a moment and watched as curly fingers of thin green smoke began to rise and twist inside the other car. High school chemistry. He’d remembered it pretty well. The four occupants squealed and clawed at their eyes then scrabbled for their door handles. The doors on the opposite side slammed into the brick pillars leaving a gap too narrow to escape through. The doors on Reacher’s side were snagged against the Beetle’s running board. Reacher held his position for another moment then pulled away. In his mirror he saw the first pair tumble out. Then the second pair followed, stumbling around with their arms stretched out like horror movie zombies.