Ли Чайлд - No Middle Name

He woke at seven in the morning but lay in bed a whole extra hour, stretched out like a starfish, to let the walkers and the boaters get through the diner ahead of him. He figured they would be looking for an early start. He wasn’t. He figured about ten o’clock would be optimum, to catch the first wave of departures. A ride back to Route 11 was all he needed. To I-95 would be a bonus, and Bangor or Portland or anyplace further south would be the icing on the cake. He figured he would head to New York next. Yankees tickets would be easy to get. The dog days of summer, folks out of town, plenty of space in the high seats in the sun.

He showered and dressed and packed, which consisted of folding his toothbrush and putting it in his pocket. He saw the maid on her way between two other cabins, and told her his was vacant and ready for her. She looked like she could have been the waitress’s sister, from the diner, and probably was. He walked on, thinking about coffee, and pancakes, and a corner table in a quiet empty room, and maybe someone’s abandoned newspaper to read.

He didn’t get the quiet empty room.

Henry and Suzanne were in there, with about nine other people, all milling about, all talking in a tense and agitated fashion, like a scene in a movie where folks find out the mining company has poisoned their water. They all turned to look at him as he stepped inside. He said, ‘What’s up?’

Henry said, ‘They closed the trail.’

‘Who did?’

‘The cops. State, I think. They strung tape across the entrance.’

‘When?’

‘In the night.’

‘Why?’

‘No one knows.’

‘They won’t tell us,’ Suzanne said. ‘We’ve been calling all morning. All they’ll say is the trail is closed until further notice.’

Another guy said, ‘It’s closed at Cripps too. We started that end last year. I still have the motel number. Same situation. Tape between the trees.’

Reacher said, ‘It’s a four-day walk, right? There must be a bunch of people still in there. Maybe something happened.’

‘Then why won’t they tell us?’

Reacher said nothing. Not his problem. All he wanted was pancakes. And coffee, more urgently. He looked for the waitress, and caught her eye, and found an empty table.

Henry followed him straight to it. ‘Can they do that?’

Reacher said, ‘Do what?’

‘Close the trail like that.’

‘They just did.’

‘Is it legal?’

‘How would I know?’

‘You were a cop.’

‘I was a military cop. I wasn’t a park ranger.’

‘It’s a public resource.’

‘I’m sure there’s a good reason. Maybe someone got eaten by a bear.’

One by one the whole disgruntled group came over and gathered around. Eleven people standing up, Reacher sitting down. The guy who still had the number for the Cripps motel asked, ‘How do you know that?’

Reacher said, ‘Know what?’

‘That someone got attacked by a bear.’

‘I said maybe. Like a joke.’

‘Bear attacks aren’t very funny.’

A guy said, ‘Maybe it’s just a drill.’

‘What kind of drill?’

‘Like a rehearsal. For a medical emergency, maybe. For the first responders.’

‘Then why would they say until further notice? Why wouldn’t they say until lunchtime today, or some such?’

Another guy asked, ‘Who should we call?’

Suzanne said, ‘They’re not telling us anything.’

‘We could try the governor’s office.’

Another woman said, ‘Like he’s going to tell us anything, if the others aren’t.’

‘It can’t be bears.’

‘Then what is it?’

‘I don’t know.’

Suzanne looked at Reacher and said, ‘What should we do?’

Reacher said, ‘Go for a walk someplace else.’

‘We can’t. We’re stuck here. Helen’s got the van.’

‘She left already?’

‘She didn’t want to eat breakfast here.’

‘Can’t you call her?’

‘No bars.’

‘Bars aren’t open yet.’

‘I mean no cell phone coverage here. We can’t call her. We tried, from the pay phone in the store. She’s off the network somewhere.’

‘So go kayaking instead. That’s probably just as much fun.’

Henry said, ‘I don’t want to go kayaking. I want to walk the trail.’

Eventually the small crowd wandered away again, out through the door to the parking lot, still mumbling and grumbling, and the waitress came by to take Reacher’s order. He ate and drank in silence, and he got the check, and he paid in cash. He asked the waitress, ‘Does the trail get closed a lot?’

She said, ‘It never happened before.’

‘Did you see who did it?’

She shook her head. ‘I was asleep.’

‘Where’s the nearest State Police barracks?’

‘The kayak owner says it was soldiers.’

‘Does he?’

She nodded. ‘He says he saw them.’

‘In the middle of the night?’

She nodded again. ‘He lives nearest the arch. They woke him up.’

Reacher put an extra dollar on her tip and walked out to the street. He turned right and took a step, in the direction of out of town, but then he stopped and went back and found the hundred-yard side street that led to the trail.

Henry and Suzanne were right there at the arch. Just the two of them. They had their backpacks on. The arch had tape tied across it, three lengths, one knee high, one waist high, and one chest high, all two-inch plastic ribbon, blue and white, twisted on itself in places, saying Police Line Do Not Cross .

Henry said, ‘See?’

Reacher said, ‘I believed you the first time.’

‘So what do you think?’

‘I think the trail is closed.’

Henry turned away and stared at the tape, like he could make it dematerialize by willpower alone. Reacher walked back to Main Street, and onward out of town, to the welcome board on the shoulder. Ten minutes, he thought. Maybe less. He figured that morning’s exodus would be brisker than normal.

But the first vehicle he saw was coming, not going. Into town, not out. And it was a military vehicle. A Humvee, to be precise, painted up in black and green camouflage. It roared past, all thrashing gears and whining tyres. It took the curve and disappeared.

Four guys in it, hard men, all in the new Army Combat Uniform.

Reacher waited. A minute later a car came driving out of town, but it was full. Two in the front, two in the back. No room for a hitchhiker, especially one as large as Reacher. He recognized people he had seen in the diner, disconsolate and complaining, boots on and ready, backpacks piled in the corner, no place to go.

He waited.

Next up was another Humvee, heading in, not out. Roaring engine, thrashing drive train, howling tyres, four guys wearing ACUs. Reacher watched it around the corner and even at a distance he heard it slow, and change gear, and speed up again. A right hand turn, he thought, and he would have bet the few bucks in his pocket it was heading for the wooden arch.

He stared after it, thinking.

Then another car came driving out of town. A sedan. Two people. An empty back seat. The driver was the guy who still had the number for the motel in Cripps. He slowed and stopped and the woman next to him buzzed her window down. She asked, ‘Where are you headed?’

Reacher said nothing.

She said, ‘We’re going back to Boston.’

Which would have been great. Three hours from New York. Multiple routes. Lots of traffic. But Reacher said, ‘I’m sorry, but I changed my mind. I’m going to stay here.’

The woman shrugged and the car took off without him.

He walked back to the cabin rental office and rang the bell. His cabin was still available. He paid for another night, and got the same key in return. Then he headed for the arch, a hundred yards along the side street, and when he got there he found the two Humvees and their eight occupants. The Humvees were parked side by side, nose out, blocking the whole width of the road. Their occupants already had their boots on the ground. They were all armed with M16s. They were setting up an exclusion zone. Reacher knew the signs. Two squads, four hours on, four hours off. Military police, for sure. Reacher knew those signs, too. Not the National Guard, either. Regular U.S. Army. Not a drill. No one was going to get past them.