Ли Чайлд - The Sentinel

‘How would I know? No one will tell me what he’s done.’

‘What’s your connection to him?’

‘We don’t have a connection.’

‘Did he give you this cash?’ Goodyear gestured to the pile on the table.

‘No.’

‘Did he hire you as a bodyguard?’

‘No.’

‘How did he contact you?’

‘He didn’t.’

‘Where did you first meet?’

‘We never met. Not before today. I saw him walking into an ambush. I helped him escape. It was a spur of the moment thing.’

‘You’re just a Good Samaritan?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Where did Rutherford go before the coffee shop?’

‘The moon. He has a secret love nest there. I was thinking of renting it but the mirrors on the ceiling are too small.’

‘I advise you to take this process seriously, Mr Reacher.’

‘Why? You’re not.’

Goodyear didn’t answer.

‘If you want me to get serious, give me some paper. I’ll write a statement for the FBI.’

‘I’m not giving you any paper.’

‘Then give me a ride to the highway.’

‘I’m a detective. I don’t give rides.’

‘Then unless you’re charging me with holding up an imaginary store, it sounds like our business here is done. Or I could bring in a lawyer.’

‘There’s no need for a lawyer.’ Goodyear paused. ‘All right. You can go. But take my advice. Don’t stick around. Leave town. Right away. And here’s the most important thing. Have nothing more to do with Rusty Rutherford.’

Goodyear escorted Reacher back to the booking area, set his cash and toothbrush down on the table, and went to his office. He needed privacy to make a call. The other cop added Reacher’s passport and ATM card like a poker player calling a bet, then followed up with a form and a pen. Reacher signed, stowed his possessions in his pockets, and shook his head when the cop tried to steer him towards the rear exit. He took the public stairs instead and hurried past the bank of framed portraits hanging in the echoey marble foyer. He pushed through the central door in a row of three, skirted a roughly boxed-in temporary structure where an access ramp was being constructed, and turned to head back to the main street. He wasn’t about to hit the road without his coffee. Priorities were priorities. He started across the lawn and as he drew level with the parking lot he heard a voice calling to him. It was Rutherford. He had been waiting by the metal door but now he was scampering forward with one arm raised.

‘Excuse me, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. Please wait.’

Reacher slowed and allowed Rutherford to catch up.

‘My name’s Rusty Rutherford.’ He held out his hand.

‘Jack Reacher.’

‘Mr Reacher, would it be OK if we talk for a moment?’

‘If we talk while we walk. There’s somewhere I need to be.’

‘Please.’ Rutherford was out of breath and he was becoming flustered. ‘Stop. Just for a moment. I can make this quick.’

Reacher stopped.

‘Two things. First, thank you. I guess you saved my ass back there.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘And second, I need to ask you something. Am I in danger? The detective kept talking about a carjacking, but that’s not what happened. I had some time to think in the cell before they questioned me. What happened wasn’t random. It was planned. Those guys were waiting. At first I thought they must have been there for you. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. But then I remembered, one of the men tried to grab me before you intervened. He tried to push me into the car. The detective said I was confused. That I was wrong. But I’m not, am I? I just want to know what’s going on.’

‘I have no idea what’s going on,’ Reacher said. ‘This isn’t my town. I don’t know you. I don’t what you may have done to upset people. I don’t know what you have that’s valuable. But something strange is happening here. That’s for sure.’

‘So what should I do?’

‘That’s your call. My philosophy is hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. So given the circumstances I’d say the smart thing would be to leave town. Let whatever’s going on blow over on its own. Come back when things have settled down.’

‘Leave town?’ Rutherford’s eyes stretched wide. ‘No. I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘It would make me look guilty.’

‘Of what?’

‘That’s a long story.’

Reacher thought for a moment. It was already late afternoon. He was hungry. He needed to eat, whether there or somewhere else. It would be harder to hitch a ride in the dark. There’d be less to see from the road. And he was intrigued to find out why a mousy little guy in a coffee-stained shirt thought not looking guilty was more important than his own safety. ‘Anywhere around here sell good burgers? We could grab a bite and you could tell me about it.’

‘You said you had somewhere to be?’

‘I do. But I can wait a while to get there. No need to be inflexible. I hear it’s bad for your health.’

The same time Reacher was talking to Rutherford, two people were trying to call Speranski. One on a burner cell. One on the secure phone he’d used earlier. Neither call got through. Not right away. The signal was blocked. Because Speranski had gone down to the generator room. Just for a couple of minutes. He wanted to see the place one last time before his housekeeper cleaned it up. That couldn’t wait much longer, he knew. Some of the blood was already more than two weeks old. The subject had held out a long time. She had yielded some critical information. She’d told them about Rutherford. What was in his possession. Which was gold, professionally. And personally, she’d made him feel young again. He didn’t get to do much wet work these days. He missed it. He looked at the dark pools on the floor. The droplets sprayed up the walls. The manacles. The tools lined up on the stainless steel trolley. The cleaner patches where the suitcases had been. He relived his favourite moments. And smiled. Normally he didn’t know when his next opportunity would arise. Or who it would be with. But this time he knew both.

It would be very soon.

And it would be with the traitor. As soon as she was no longer useful.

The first phone to ring when he got back to ground level was the burner. It was a short call. From a guy a short distance away. A report. First, facts. Then opinions. Brief and concise. The way Speranski liked it. Which meant that when the secure phone rang a few moments later, Speranski already knew what the guy at the end of the line was going to say: ‘Rutherford got away.’

‘OK,’ Speranski replied. ‘So we try again.’

‘We may not. The Center is concerned. The failed attempt caused a spectacle. And Rutherford had help. We don’t know who from, or what size of force is involved. Trying again might draw more attention. It could be counter-productive.’

‘So the Center is proposing we do what? Nothing?’

‘The final decision has not yet been made. Watch and wait is the current stance. See if the item surfaces on its own. And if it does, see if it’s actually dangerous.’

Speranski took the phone away from his ear and fought the urge to smash it into a million pieces. This was the worst part of working in the field. Having to deal with spineless cretins who hid behind their desks all day. Who never put their own necks on the line and then gambled with the lives of the people who did. And then were too timid to take a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to turn the tables on the enemy even when it was handed to them on a plate.

He lifted the phone to his ear again. ‘You need to get back to them. Right now. Convince them that watching and waiting is not an option. The item may never surface. That’s true. And if it does, it may not be dangerous. That’s also true. But neither of those things matters. If the FBI doesn’t find it here, what will they do? Give up? No. They’ll keep on hunting. At the source. Until they’re successful. Which could be before the mission is complete. Which would be a disaster. And even if it was afterwards, it would be the end of … the agent concerned. Which, obviously, I will never allow to happen.’