Lee Child - 61 Hours

Janet Salter said, ‘What?’

‘Just do it. Like I’m talking in class.’

‘I wasn’t that kind of teacher.’

‘Pretend you were.’

So she did. She made a good job of it. Maybe undergraduate students at Oxford University hadn’t been exactly what the world imagined. Her finger ended up pointing straight between his eyes.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now do it again, but point at my chest.’

She did it again. Ended up pointing straight at his centre mass.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘That’s how to shoot. The gun barrel is your finger. Don’t try to aim. Don’t even think about it. Just do it, instinctively. Point at the chest, because that’s the biggest target. Even if you don’t kill him, you’ll ruin his day.’

Janet Salter said nothing. Reacher handed her the empty gun.

‘Try the trigger,’ he said.

She did. The hammer rose, the cylinder turned, the hammer fell. Nice and easy. She said, ‘I suppose there will be a certain amount of recoil.’

Reacher nodded. ‘Unless the laws of physics changed overnight.’

‘Will it be bad?’

Reacher shook his head. ‘The.38 Special is a fairly friendly round. For the shooter, I mean. Not much bang, not much kick.’

She tried the trigger again. The hammer rose, the cylinder turned, the hammer fell.

‘Now do it over and over,’ he said.

She did. Four, five, six times.

She said, ‘It’s tiring.’

‘It won’t be if it comes to it. And that’s what you’ve got to do. Put six rounds in the guy. Don’t stop until the gun is empty.’

‘This is awful,’ she said.

‘It won’t be if it comes to it. It’ll be you or him. You’ll be surprised how fast that changes your perspective.’

She passed the gun back to him. He asked her, ‘Where are you going to keep it?’

‘In the book, I guess.’

‘Wrong answer. You’re going to keep it in your pocket. At night you’re going to keep it under your pillow.’ He loaded six rounds into it. Locked the cylinder in place and passed it back. He said, ‘Don’t touch the trigger until you’re ready to kill the guy.’

‘I won’t be able to.’

‘I think you will.’

She asked, ‘Are you going to keep the other one?’

He nodded. ‘I’ll be sure to turn it in before I leave.’

Five to eight in the evening.

Thirty-two hours to go.

The prison siren started to wail.

THE SIREN WAS FIVE MILES AWAY TO THE NORTH, BUT ITS SOUND came through the frigid night very clearly. It was somewhere between loud and distant, somewhere between mournful and urgent, somewhere between everyday and alien. It shrieked and howled, it rose and fell, it screamed and whispered. It rolled across the flat land and down the silent snowy streets and shattered the crystal air it passed through.

The cops in the house reacted instantly. They had rehearsed, probably physically, certainly mentally. They had prepared themselves for the tough choice. The woman from the hallway ducked her head into the parlour. Conflict was all over her face. There was the sound of footsteps from the floor above. The day watch was scrambling. The woman from the library ran straight for her parka on the hat rack. Outside on the street the nearest cop car was already turning around. Broken slabs of snow were sliding off its roof and its hood and its trunk. The car from the mouth of the road was backing up fast. There were running feet on the stairs.

The woman from the hallway said, ‘Sorry.’

Then she was gone. She grabbed her coat and spilled out the door, the last to leave. The cop cars had their doors open. Reacher could hear furious radio chatter. The cops from the house threw themselves into the cars and the cars spun their wheels and slewed and churned away down the street. Reacher watched them go. Then he stepped back and closed the front door. His borrowed coat had fallen to the floor in the scramble. He put it back on a hook. It hung all alone on the rack.

The siren wailed on.

But the house went absolutely silent.

The house stayed silent for less than a minute. Then over the sound of the siren Reacher heard the patter of chains on snow and the grind of a big engine revving fast and urgent in a low gear. He checked the parlour window. Bright headlights. A Crown Vic. Unmarked. Black or dark blue. Hard to say, in the moonlight. It crunched to a stop at the end of the driveway and Chief Holland climbed out. Parka, hat, boots. Reacher tucked his gun in his waistband at the back and draped his sweater over it. He stepped out to the hallway. He opened the front door just as Holland made it up on the porch.

Holland looked surprised.

He said, ‘I didn’t know you were here.’

Reacher said, ‘It made more sense. There are empty beds here and Kim Peterson doesn’t need protection.’

‘Was this Andrew’s idea or yours?’

‘Mine.’

‘Is Mrs Salter OK?’

‘She’s fine.’

‘Let me see her.’

Reacher stepped back and Holland stepped in and closed the door. Janet Salter came out of the parlour. Holland asked her, ‘Are you OK?’

She nodded. She said, ‘I’m fine. And I’m very grateful that you came. I appreciate it very much. But really you should be on your way to the prison.’

Holland nodded. ‘I was. But I didn’t want you to be alone.’

‘Rules are rules.’

‘Even so.’

‘I’ll be fine. I’m sure Mr Reacher will prove more than capable.’

Holland glanced back at Reacher. Wretched conflict in his face, just like the cop from the hallway. Reacher asked him, ‘What’s happening up there?’

Holland said, ‘Blacks and whites having at it. A regular prison riot.’

‘First ever?’

‘Correct.’

‘Great timing.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Bottom line, what happens if you don’t go?’

‘The department is disgraced, and I get fired. After that, no one really knows.’

‘So go.’

‘I don’t want to.’ A simple statement. The way Holland said it and the way he stood there afterwards made Reacher think he had more on his mind than his duty to Mrs Salter. He wanted to stay indoors, comfortable, in the warm, where he was safe.

Holland was scared.

Reacher asked him, ‘Have you ever worked a prison before?’

Holland said, ‘No.’

‘There’s nothing to it. You’ll be on the fence and in the towers. Anyone tries to get through, you shoot them dead. Simple as that. They know the rules. And they won’t try, anyway. Not at a moment’s notice in this kind of weather. They’ll stay inside, fighting. They’ll burn out eventually. They always do. You’re going to get cold and bored, but that’s all.’

‘Have you worked prisons?’

‘I’ve worked everything. Including personal protection. And with all due respect, I can do at least as good a job as you. So you should let me. That way everyone wins.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I can look after the situation here, you can take care of your people up there.’

‘It could last for hours. Even days.’

‘Actually it could last for weeks. But if it looks like it’s going to, then you can regroup.’

‘You think?’

Reacher nodded. ‘You can’t work around the clock for days on end. Not all of you. No one could expect that. You can establish some flexibility after the first panic is over.’

Holland didn’t answer. Outside the siren suddenly died. It just cut off mid-wail and absolute silence came crashing back. A total absence of sound, like the air itself was refreezing.

Reacher said, ‘That probably means you’re all supposed to be up there by now.’

Holland nodded, slow and unsure, once, then twice. He looked at Janet Salter and said, ‘At least come with me in the car. I need to know you’re safe.’