Lee Child - Night School

“Modesty forbids.”

“I mean it sincerely.”

“Again, I can’t comment.”

“There was only one weak spot. The surveillance south of Hanover never happened.”

“That was the traffic division.”

“They put the car on the bridge for us.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying a sequence of events can be explained in a large variety of different ways.”

“Give me one way, for example.”

“Everything is a really strange coincidence.”

“Give me another way.”

“The police department leaks through the traffic division.”

“Leaks to who?”

“Some kind of a mobbed-up community. But not Italian. Nostalgic Germans instead. With members and chapters and rules and all kinds of things. And goals and ambitions. That’s what we heard.”

Griezman said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” Reacher said. “We’re withholding secrets and prying into yours.”

“Do you have an overall theory?”

“Only two possibilities. First is they stole the truck from one garage and hid it in another garage about three blocks away. Why? For what possible reason? Are they planning to sneak back at night and get it? Is it a double bluff? Is it a triple bluff? It all gets way too weird and complicated. I prefer the second possibility.”

“Which is?”

“The cop at the bridge was lying.”

“That’s a big thing to say out loud.”

“They stole the truck and drove it away. The guy at the bridge turned a blind eye. These things happen. Get over it. It’s what mobbed up means. It’s a port. You need to make mental adjustments.”

Griezman didn’t answer.

Reacher said, “It would make sense of what the messenger just told me.”

“Hardly a reliable witness.”

“I agree.”

Griezman said, “What is in the truck?”

“What would you most hate it to be?”

“One of a number of things.”

“It’s worse than any of them. Believe me. Therefore we need to question everything. So we can figure out where to look.”

Griezman said, “I suppose a corrupt traffic policeman is a theoretical possibility.”

“You know these people. You told me you were biding your time. You told me you can’t arrest them for thought crimes. You told me you need actual crimes.”

Griezman was quiet a beat.

Then he said, “I talked to their leader this morning. As a matter of fact he was the last man to see the forger alive. He wanted Wiley’s new name. He had a copy of the sketch. His name is Dremmler. He imports shoes from Brazil. I had to go to his office. I couldn’t ask him to come to mine. He said he has people in places that would surprise me. He said I was facing a powerful force, soon to get more powerful.”

“We need to go pay Herr Dremmler a visit.”

–

Griezman drove, to a mixed-use street about four blocks from the bar with the varnished wood front. Apparently neon was permitted in that part of town. Dremmler’s place was a narrow four-story building, part of the 1950s reconstruction, with a lit-up sign running side to side in the space between the top-floor windows and the rainwater gutter. It was written in red, in a complicated copperplate script, as if it was a famous brand. Like an old-style Coca-Cola sign in America. It said Schuhe Dremmler, which Reacher figured meant Dremmler’s Shoes.

The elevator was slow. And the guy wasn’t there. His secretary said he had taken a call and gone out. She had no idea where. She had no idea when he would return.

–

They drove back to the consulate. Griezman was invited in. The others were there before them. Wiley’s corpse was en route to the morgue in the American military hospital at Landstuhl, in a meat wagon organized by Orozco. The messenger was locked in a basement room, waiting for a U.S. Marshal, and a handcuff, and an airplane to Dulles. The Iranian was sitting in a chair by the window. Orozco and his sergeant had brought him in. Smooth and easy. No collateral damage. Happily the Iranian himself had answered the door. After that it had been a straightforward abduction. The guy looked unsure. His old life was over. His new life was about to begin, in a place he had never seen. Orozco said no one was upset about it. He said Bishop claimed he was about to give the order anyway. The after-action report would be written up accordingly. But he said Bishop had thanked him afterward, for saving time, at least. White was happy. He cared about agents in the field. Vanderbilt was gloomier. He said now the CIA in Hamburg was blind.

Then Sinclair took the floor. She had spoken to Ratcliffe and the president. All kinds of back channels were open. NATO and the European Union were standing by. For a task as yet unspecified. Next step was to fill in the blanks. The U.S. would take a deep breath and admit it had lost track of a crate of nuclear weapons forty years ago. Germany would take a deep breath and admit it had neo-Nazi gangs strong enough to steal such a crate. Which was a step neither the U.S. nor Germany really wanted to take. Neither admission was felt likely to inspire widespread admiration. A final decision would be made soon.

“They want us to fix it for them,” Sinclair said. “Before soon becomes now.”

“Did they say that in words?” Reacher asked.

“The hints were pretty heavy.”

“I would like to know for sure.”

“I guess some questions are better answered afterward.”

“How long have we got?”

“They can’t wait forever.”

Outside the window it was going dark. Northern latitude, late afternoon.

Reacher asked, “How big of a deal is Dremmler’s Shoes?”

Griezman said, “He boasts of a million pairs a week. Fifty million pairs a year. Probably bullshit, but even so, I’m sure it’s a large number.”

“So the office we saw must be clerical only. Orders and invoices and that kind of thing. The heavy lifting must get done elsewhere.”

“At the docks,” Griezman said. “He owns part of a wharf.”

“And he has people in places that would surprise you.”

Sinclair said, “Is this a Hail Mary?”

“No, ma’am,” Reacher said. “It’s a wild-ass guess.”

“About the shoe guy?”

“At first as a theoretical example. Let’s say he’s the grand wizard of something or other. He’s got members everywhere. Including the police department. As a result he’s been with us every step of the way. He heard about the deal back at the beginning. Then he decided to hijack it. For the greater glory of whatever it is he’s the grand wizard of. He piggybacked on our investigation. And it worked for him. He got the van. But it was a crazy scramble. He was always short of time. Always playing catch up. He couldn’t plan ahead. No further than getting it out. Now he doesn’t know what to do with it. He doesn’t even know what’s in it. That information never leaked. I think he stashed it somewhere close. Temporarily. He needs to take a deep breath. He needs to figure it out.”

“Plausible,” Sinclair said. “But so are a hundred other possibilities.”

“Not a hundred,” Reacher said. “Ten, maybe. But this one fits what we know. Dremmler asked the forger about Wiley’s new name. That can’t be a coincidence. And he owns a wharf. A million pairs of shoes a week. That’s a lot of trucks. An extra one wouldn’t be noticed.”

“We get only one shot at this.”

He remembered moving his other hand, the same way, barely touching her forehead, burying his fingers deep in her hair, pushing them through. That time he had left his hand where it ended up, which was cupped on the back of her neck. Which he remembered felt slender, and warm.

He had gambled then.

He said, “Your call.”

“You don’t have an opinion?”