Ли Чайлд - The Sentinel

‘I know where he keeps it,’ Budnick said. ‘The good stuff. I’m assuming your stuff is good?’

Reacher nodded.

‘One of his guys let it slip once. Where he was taking it. The guy didn’t realize what he was saying. He was just running his mouth. And it was months ago. He wouldn’t remember, anyway. So you could go there. Make it look like a random robbery. And no one could ever tie it back to me. Everyone could walk away happy. Except for the protection guy. But, hey, screw him.’

Reacher looked at Sands. She nodded.

‘OK,’ Reacher said. ‘Where is the place?’

‘It’s called Norm’s Self Storage. He has unit E4. You can Google the address. I can tell you the code for the gate. I know it because I started renting a unit for myself during the renovations. It’s the unit number – mine is A6 – and the last seven digits of my cell.’ He rattled off a string of numbers.

‘Good,’ Reacher said. ‘But you know, before we go racing across town, maybe we should make absolutely certain our stuff isn’t here? The door is padlocked and it was hard to get a good look through the crack. Can you open it for us?’

‘You didn’t check inside?’

‘How could we?’

Budnick shrugged then took a Titans fob out of his pocket. It had a single key attached. He handed it to Reacher. ‘Makes sense, I guess. Here. You open it.’

Reacher stepped into the space between the building and the minivan. He switched keys while his back was turned. Worked the new padlock. And pulled open the door.

‘Why didn’t we think of this before?’ Reacher pretended to hit himself in the forehead with his palm. ‘It was inside all along. Budnick, come here. I need your help moving it.’

Budnick limped forward. ‘Which thing is yours?’

‘It’s all the way at the back,’ Reacher said. ‘See that tall cabinet with the broken door? That’s it.’

‘No way.’ Budnick shook his head. ‘I remember dragging that thing in. It weighs a damn ton. Look, take it if you want. But you’re on your own.’

‘OK,’ Reacher said. ‘Your choice.’ He braced one foot against the side of the minivan and slammed into Budnick’s back, hard, right between the shoulder blades.

Budnick staggered through the doorway. His arms flapped like the wings of a giant flightless bird. He stumbled forward. Steered around one pile of equipment. Two. Then he stepped in the heap of computer mice. His feet got tangled in the wires and he pitched forward, landing next to the widescreen TVs.

Reacher tossed the Titans key ring in after him. ‘Don’t worry. Someone will come by and let you out. Unless you were lying about the storage unit. Or it’s a trap. In which case it won’t be the protection guy who’s screwed. It’ll be you.’

Sands gestured to Reacher to hold his position then darted around to the other side of the minivan. She returned a moment later with two bottles of water from the pack he had bought earlier. Set them down just over the threshold. Waited for him to close the door and work the lock. Then she took hold of his arm. ‘You are going to come back and let Budnick out, right?’

‘If we need to have another conversation,’ Reacher said.

‘And if you don’t need to? If we get the servers? You can’t just leave him locked in there.’

‘I won’t leave him. Not for long. I’ll call Officer Rule. Tell her where to find him. Let her put another feather in her cap.’

‘Isn’t that a bit hard on Budnick? It’s not his operation. He’s not profiting from it. Just like Thomassino isn’t, which is why we let him go. Shouldn’t we stick the police on the protection guy instead? He’s the one who made Budnick do it.’

‘The protection guy will go down too, I’m sure. But all he did was make Budnick let him use the outhouse. It was Budnick who chose to threaten Thomassino’s family. He took that step by himself. And that’s a line he should not have crossed.’

The GPS directed them back to the same side of town as the waste company depot. It took another twenty-four minutes. And brought them to another compound at the end of another long straight road with another line of fenced-in lots on either side. Only Norm’s Self Storage wasn’t like the other units. It didn’t have a regular fence. The whole exterior was designed to look like an old-time fort. It had wooden palisades. Watch towers. A line of cannons. A pole flying Old Glory. Another with the Volunteer State flag. And a third with some weird garish banner covered with images of muskets and sabres and shields. Maybe something of Norm’s own design, Reacher thought. Maybe Norm was a history buff. Or maybe he thought the whole military vibe would give his place a sense of safety and security. Some kind of subliminal reassurance for his clients. Could be a valuable thing in his line of work.

Sands stopped in front of the gate. There was a rustic wooden post next to the driveway, but no sign of an intercom or a keypad or a card reader. The only thing attached to it was a reproduction Pony Express mailbox. Sands glanced at the others then rolled down her window and prodded it. The front swung open. Inside was a digital screen. It was blank. Sands touched it and a grid of letters and numbers appeared. She took a deep breath and entered the code Budnick had given them.

Nothing happened.

‘Am I cursed?’ she said. ‘Or do all entry systems just hate me?’

She tried the code again.

Nothing happened.

‘Maybe they changed the system?’ Rutherford said.

‘Or Budnick bullshitted us,’ Reacher said.

‘Maybe he just misspoke,’ Sands said. ‘Let’s check, before we go jumping to conclusions.’ She reached for her purse, rummaged around inside for a moment, and pulled out Budnick’s phone. ‘He said the digits were the last seven of his cell number. Let’s get that from the horse’s mouth.’

Sands touched the screen four times and the phone came to life.

‘Wait a minute,’ Rutherford said. ‘How did you do that? Do you have some kind of FBI master code? I thought that was a myth.’

‘Of course the Bureau has a code. They can get into any phone, any time. Remotely, too. Via satellites. You didn’t know?’

‘Really?’

‘Of course not. I was looking over Budnick’s shoulder when he tried to call his protection guy. I saw what he keyed in. Now let’s take a look. Here’s his number. Damn. It matches what he told us.’

‘I bet they changed the system,’ Rutherford said.

‘I bet Budnick was bullshitting,’ Reacher said.

‘Hold on,’ Sands said. ‘The phone number is only part of it. Maybe he got the unit number wrong. He was under a lot of stress.’

‘How can we check that?’ Rutherford said. ‘We’ll have to go back and ask him.’

‘There’s one other thing we could try,’ Reacher said. He pointed to a 24-hour helpline number posted above the screen. ‘Pass me Budnick’s phone.’

Sands entered the digits, hit call , then speaker , then handed the phone to Reacher.

A man answered after seven rings. He said his name was Steve. He sounded sleepy.

‘Steve, this is Bill Budnick,’ Reacher said. ‘Listen, this is a little embarrassing, but I’m at the gate of the storage place and I can’t get it to open. I haven’t been by for a while and I’m thinking maybe I’m misremembering my unit number. Could you confirm it for me?’

‘Sorry, Mr Budnick. Can’t do that. It’s against the rules.’

‘Oh, come on. Help me out here. I’m not much of a numbers guy. And I’m too busy down at Fat Freddie’s to come by very often, which is why it’s slipped my mind. I’m the owner there.’

‘I know. Your picture was in the paper.’