Lee Child - Personal

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Improved, anyway.’

‘Do you know anything about it?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Other than it’s glass, and, well, bulletproof.’

‘I need to know everything about it. Who designed it, who researched it, who funded it, who manufactured it, who tested it, and who signed off on it.’

‘We already thought of that.’

‘Thought of what?’

‘Borrowing the shields and flying them in from Paris. Putting one either side. They’re not very wide, but given the way the streets run, they would reduce the field of fire by about ten per cent each. But we decided against it. Politicians are civilians. They’d cower behind the shields. Subconsciously, maybe, but it wouldn’t look good. And they couldn’t stay there for ever. Which would give the bad guys the other eighty per cent to aim at anyway. So all in all we thought it would be a net loss.’

‘That wasn’t what I was thinking of. All I need is the information. On the quiet, if you can. No need to make a whole big thing out of it. Pretend it was just you and me. Like a private venture, outside of the mainstream. Like a hobby. But fast.’

‘How fast?’

‘Fast as you can.’

‘What does the bulletproof glass have to do with anything? We’re not going to use it. I told you that.’

‘Maybe I want to use it myself. Maybe I want to ask if they sell direct to the public.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘It’s a side venture, Mr Bennett. Just a small inquiry. Nothing to do with anything. But fast, OK? And face to face only. Nothing on paper. Nothing up the chain. Understood? Like a hobby.’

He nodded, and glanced back at the corridor, which presumably led to other corridors, and staircases, and rooms, and he said, ‘Do you need to see anything else?’

‘No, we’re done here,’ I said. ‘We’re leaving, never to return. Like the Darby family, after all those years, when the motorway was built. No more Wallace Court for us.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because it’s never going to get this far.’

‘You sure?’

‘Hundred per cent.’

He didn’t answer.

‘You said that would be a favourable outcome. You said we were supposed to help each other. You said that’s how it’s supposed to work.’

He said, ‘It is.’

‘Then relax. Trust me. Crack a smile. It’s never going to get this far.’

He didn’t crack a smile.

We drove back to the hotel, snarled all the way in traffic, maybe the peak of the morning rush, an hour or so after sunrise, or maybe just after the peak, but bad enough anyway. The immense sprawling city was still packing them in, but only just, and very slowly. We got back to Park Lane two hours after we left it, three-quarters of which had been spent in the car. Worse than LA.

Bennett gave his keys to the valet, just like a regular person, and we all three rode up to the top-floor restaurant, where we figured the breakfast service would still be running. We got a booth behind a structural pillar. Worse view, but better privacy. Bennett spent a lot of time tapping on his phone. He said he was ordering stuff up for us, including large-scale government maps, and an architect’s blueprint still held by the zoning authority, and three sets of aerial images, one taken from a space satellite, and another from an accidentally-on-purpose-off-course sightseeing helicopter, and a third from an unknown source, which he said had to mean an American drone, except officially there were no American drones in Britain, which was why it was labelled an unknown source. He said his people would load what we needed on a secure tablet computer, and bring it to the hotel.

Then he said, ‘We can’t afford collateral damage. Not there. Some people on that street are innocent members of the public. Not many, but a few. Which is a shame. We could have taken care of this long ago. We could have planted a bomb and called it a gas leak.’

Then he left, but Nice and I lingered a little, over coffee in my case, and small bites of toast in hers, and she asked, ‘Why are you all of a sudden so interested in the bulletproof glass?’

‘Just a theory,’ I said.

‘Something I should know about?’

‘Not yet. It doesn’t change what we have to do next.’

‘Will Bennett get that information for you?’

‘I think so.’

‘Why? Does he owe you a favour now? Did I miss something?’

‘It’s a brother soldier thing. You should try it. You’d be happier.’

‘Is he British Army?’

‘Think about that fluid thing he keeps on talking about. It can only mean they’ve put special units together. The best of the best. All the different agencies, like an All-Star team. Who would lead such a thing?’

‘They would all want to.’

‘Exactly. So much so their heads would explode if they didn’t. But whose head would explode the worst? Who’s bringing the gun to the knife fight, in terms of exploding heads?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘The SAS. They don’t like their own officers. They certainly aren’t going to work for someone else’s. Easiest just to put them in charge. Which is obviously what they did. Which was a good move. Because they know best anyway. Plus they think they have a dog in the fight. The renegade, Carson. Bennett wants him just as much as I want Kott.’

‘Bennett is SAS?’

‘No question.’

‘What do we have to do next?’

‘Get into Joey’s house.’

‘Into it?’

‘I’d prefer to make them come out. But that’s hard to do. In fact it’s a tactical question that has never really been answered. We studied it in the classroom. Easy enough to make sure they never come out, but that’s not the issue. How do you make them come out of there voluntarily? No one knows. No one ever has. I remember my dad studying it, when we were kids. With stuff like that, he used to involve us. With questions afterwards. My brother Joe came up with a huge machine like a gigantic subwoofer, blasting infrasonic waves at them, real low frequencies at a real high volume, because he said it was believed by some scientists that modern humans had a low tolerance for such a thing.’

‘What was your answer?’

‘Bear in mind I was younger than him.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I said set the house on fire. Because I was damn sure modern humans had a low tolerance for that . I figured they’d come on out, sooner or later.’

‘Are we going to set Joey’s house on fire?’

‘It’s an option, obviously.’

‘What are our other options?’

‘They all involve taking Joey out of there and dealing with him separately. Ahead of time. Before we do anything else. Because in that case, back at the ranch, we would see a leadership vacuum. Which we could exploit.’

‘As in, we would be fighting a less effective enemy.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But we would be fighting somebody.’

‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained.’

‘You said they wouldn’t fight on for free. Because they’re unemployed now. You said they would disappear.’

‘Hope for the best, plan for the worst.’

‘Which is it going to be?’

‘It’s going to be the same thing it always is.’

‘Which is what?’

‘Somewhere in between.’

The tablet computer showed up an hour later. Bennett’s people brought it. The computer looked very modern, and the people looked the way such people have always looked, which was surprisingly normal, but not completely. One was a man and one was a woman, both of them a long way past their rookie years, both of them quiet and contained and competent, and neither one visibly unhappy with their short-straw courier assignment. Good team players, obviously. Only the best for the best. They said normally they would ask us to sign for the delivery, given the sensitivity of the contents, but on this occasion Mr Bennett had waived the requirement. They said the computer required two passwords. They said the passwords were Ms Nice’s mother’s Social Security number, and the name of the prisoner Mr Reacher shot while attempting to escape. The passwords were case-sensitive, and could be entered one time only. No three-strikes-and-you’re-out with British software.