Ли Чайлд - No Middle Name

‘You have no idea,’ Vaz said. She turned towards him, moving on the bench, her knees coming close to his, dark nylon over dark skin. She said, ‘I’m proceeding on the assumption that I can trust my impression that you’re younger than me. And in a branch with much less generous and accelerated promotion. And that therefore I outrank you.’

‘I’m a captain,’ Reacher said. ‘Ma’am.’

‘Therefore if our chains of command were in any way related, it would be inappropriate for us to have a close relationship. Therefore the question is, are our chains of command in any way related?’

‘I think they’re about as far apart as chains of command can be.’

‘Wait there,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right back.’

And she got up and threaded her way through the cluttered space, heading for the restroom corridor in back. Five minutes, minimum, Reacher thought. He followed her as far as a pay phone on the wall. The phone was a scratched old item and the wall behind it was dark with smoke and grime.

He dialled, and said his name.

Cornelius Christopher said, ‘Yes?’

Reacher said, ‘I’m done.’

‘What does that mean? You’re quitting?’

‘No, it means the job is done.’

‘What do you know?’

‘Walker must be back at the Capitol by now. Any faxes yet?’

‘No.’

‘You were wrong. No one is leaking to a foreign firearms manufacturer. No one ever was. Why would anyone need to? Everyone knows what a good sniper rifle should be. It’s self-explanatory. It’s obvious. The basic principles have been understood for a century. No one needs to gather secret intelligence. Because they already know.’

‘So what’s the story?’

‘I’m waiting for the final proof. I should have it in five minutes or less.’

‘Proof of what?’

‘It’s Alice Vaz,’ Reacher said. ‘Think about the transcripts. Her big-picture questions. She asked a couple more this afternoon. She wanted it spelled out exactly where this new rifle will be used. She asked what new environments it might face.’

‘So?’

‘She was trying to get into War Plans through the back door. And the procurement guy fell for it. No details, but he gave plenty of weather clues. Anyone could reverse-engineer our entire slate of global intentions from what he said.’

‘Like what?’

‘He said high altitude plus freezing mist.’

‘Afghanistan,’ Christopher said. ‘We’re going to have to go there sooner or later.’

‘And extreme dry heat with sand infiltration.’

‘The Middle East. Iraq, most likely.’

‘And rainforest humidity and high ambient temperature.’

‘South America. Colombia, and so on. The drug wars.’

‘And in snow many degrees below zero.’

‘If we have to go to the Soviet Union.’

‘You see? She got a summary of all our future plans from the guy. Exactly the kind of oblique data that enemy intelligence analysts love.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I gave her two seconds to react and she came up with blaming procurement for being corrupt. It was almost plausible. She’s very smart.’

‘Which enemy? Which foreign intelligence?’

‘The Soviets, of course. A local fax number, probably in their embassy.’

‘She’s their asset?’

‘In a big, big way. Think about it. She’s on the fast track. She’s going right to the top. Which is what? The Joint Chiefs, at least. But maybe more. A woman like this could be President of the United States.’

‘But how did they recruit her? And when?’

‘Probably before she was born. Her granddaddy was some big Red Army hero. So maybe her daddy wasn’t a real refugee. Maybe the KGB shuffled him to Hungary so he could get out and look like a dissident. Whereupon his daughter could be born an American and become a real deep down sleeper. She was probably groomed for the fast track from birth. These people play a long game.’

‘That’s a lot of assumptions.’

‘The proof will be here in about three minutes. Or not.’

‘But why risk wasting a super-high-value asset on this? Because if you’re right, then this is useful, but it’s not life-changing. This is not the hydrogen bomb.’

‘I think this was kind of accidental. I think it came up in the normal course of her duties. But she couldn’t resist phoning it in. Habit, or a sense of obligation. If she’s a true believer.’

‘What’s the proof you’re getting in five minutes? Or is it three?’

‘It’s two minutes now, probably,’ Reacher said. ‘She made a brief call from the Hyatt hotel. Think about it. She’s a huge asset. Maybe their biggest ever. She’s headed all the way to the top. Which could be anywhere. And right now she’s stopping in War Plans next, which is a real big prize in itself. So she has to be protected. Like no one has ever been protected before. And she was suspicious of me somehow. Maybe routine paranoia. I was new. I was hanging around. So she called for help. She told the embassy’s wet boys where I’d be, and when. And then she lured me into the trap. Right now I’m supposed to believe I’m about to get in her pants.’

‘Soviet wet boys are coming for you?’

‘One minute now, probably. I’m about to be a mugging gone wrong. I’m going to be found dead on a street corner.’

‘Where are you?’

‘In the badlands behind Union Station.’

‘I can’t get anyone there in less than a minute.’

‘I didn’t expect you would.’

‘Are you going to be OK?’

‘That depends on how many they send.’

‘Can you arrest Vaz before they get there?’

‘She’s long gone. I’m sure she went straight out the bathroom window. You’ll have to pick her up. She’ll be heading for her office.’

Then a man stepped in through the bar’s rear door.

‘Got to go,’ Reacher said. ‘It’s starting.’

Reacher hung up the phone. The guy at the rear door was compact and hard-edged, dressed in black, moving easily. He looked vaguely similar to Vaz in terms of ethnic background. But he was a decade older. Nothing in his hands. Not yet. Not inside a public bar. Reacher guessed the point of the guy coming in the back was to chase him out the front, where the main force would be gathered. Easier to set up a mugging gone wrong on a public street, rather than in a private yard in back of a bar. Because it wasn’t a great street. Not a great neighbourhood. Broken lighting, plenty of shadows, plenty of doorways, passers-by habituated by instinct and long experience to look away and say nothing.

The guy was scanning the room. Vaz had spent very little time on the phone. Very few words. Probably not more than big guy, very tall, grey suit . Reacher felt the guy’s eyes on him. He practically heard the check marks. Big guy, right there. Very tall, no question. Grey suit, here’s our boy. The guy started away from the door.

Reacher started towards it.

A wise man asked, what’s the best time to plant a tree? A wise man answered, fifty years ago. As in, what’s the best time to make a decision? A wise man answers, five seconds before the first punch is thrown.

The guy in black weighed maybe one-ninety, and he was doing about two miles an hour. Reacher weighed two-fifty, and he was doing about three miles an hour. Therefore closing speed was five miles an hour, and impact, should it happen, would involve some multiple of four hundred forty pounds a square inch.

Impact did happen.

But not at five miles an hour. Closing speed was dramatically increased by a sudden drive off Reacher’s back foot and the vicious clubbing swing of his elbow. Which therefore connected with a real big multiple of their combined body weights. Reacher caught the guy on the perfect cheekbone-nose-cheekbone line and the cracking and splintering was clearly audible over the wooden thud of feet on the floor. The guy went down like a motorcycle rider hitting a clothes line. Reacher walked on by and stepped out the back door.