Lee Child - The Midnight Line

Bramall clicked off and said, “Billy was arrested last night in a small town in Oklahoma. Noble questioned him by phone. So far he’s denying everything. Including he claims he doesn’t know anyone named Rose Sanderson, or where she’s located.”

“Yesterday’s news,” Mackenzie said. “We don’t need Billy anymore.”

—

The drive back to Rose’s place was a typical Wyoming time warp journey. In their minds they didn’t have far to go. It was a purely local trip. Mule Crossing was just down the road, and Rose lived just west of the turn. But in reality it took two whole hours to get there. The long, long two-lane, and then the dirt road, slower than they wanted through the infinite space, and then the rutted four-mile driveway. The sky was the color of steel. Not a threat, but a reminder. Winter was on its way.

The three cowboys met them where the track came out of the woods in the final clearing. They were doing nothing. Just waiting and watching, strung out in a ragged line thirty yards short of the house. Like a defensive perimeter. We got kind of protective . Bramall slowed down, in a no-threat kind of way, and eased around to where he had parked before. Reacher unloaded the groceries and stacked them on the porch. Mackenzie carried them into the house. She closed the door behind her.

The clearing went quiet.

Reacher saw Bramall at the edge of the ravine. A small neat man, in a dark suit, with a collar and a tie. He should have looked out of place in the wilderness. But he didn’t. He looked perfectly at home. He was that kind of guy. He was thinking about something. Reacher could see it in his face. A problem. A struggle. Some kind of an ethical dilemma.

Reacher was pretty sure what it was.

Billy.

Not yesterday’s news.

Tomorrow’s news.

Reacher walked over to where Bramall was standing.

He said, “I know,” in what he hoped was a sympathetic way.

“You know what?” Bramall said back.

“You feel bad you didn’t tell the Boy Detective we found Rose without Billy’s help.”

“Would you have?”

“No,” Reacher said. “Too much information. What happened in Oklahoma?”

“He ran a red light. The system kicked out his name and his face. Noble called him and tried to get some answers out of him. The question is why he did that. It could have been purely a courtesy on our behalf, because he was sympathetic to Mrs. Mackenzie’s situation. She asked him to let her know, after all. Maybe he was just going through the motions for her. Or maybe not. Maybe he was getting real. Maybe he figured since he got handed Billy on a plate anyway, he might as well write up a comprehensive report. It would scratch an itch, after all. He doesn’t like the ghost network. In which case, if he knew where Rose was, the book says his first logical move should be question her as a witness, or arrest her for buying illegal narcotics, or both. This is not the time for me to risk either outcome. Not right now. For many reasons. One of which is my client’s stated preference to keep her sister out of the system. So I didn’t tell him. And yes, I feel a little bad about it. I prefer not to conceal things from people like him.”

“Was your contract extended?”

“For the duration of the current crisis.”

“How long will that be?”

Bramall glanced up at the house.

He said, “I’m not an expert.”

“How long will Billy hold out?”

“If Noble gets real?”

“Even if he doesn’t, I guess. Billy could say something stupid at any time. Some little slip. The Boy Detective might prick up his ears. There’s a big prize, don’t forget. Folks who can tell the difference say what they’re getting out here is the real deal. Made in America. Straight out the factory door. Whole shipments of it, in the proper boxes. Which the Boy Detective thinks is impossible. He’ll take it personally. He’ll hunt it down. He’ll plug the last leak. This is not the time to risk cold turkey either. I’m sure your client’s other stated preference is to keep her sister out of the locked ward in the hospital.”

Bramall glanced up at the house again.

He said, “I assume the kind of decisions they’re making can’t be made fast.”

“Normally I guess not,” Reacher said. “But this time they can’t be made slow, either.”

“How long have we got?”

“My instinct would be get out of here within two or three days.”

“Until then we should say nothing to Noble.”

“Easy for me,” Reacher said. “But you have a license from the state of Illinois.”

“Tell me about it. While simultaneously having credible evidence a man named Arthur Scorpio, in Rapid City, South Dakota, which is presumably comfortably inside the western division, is currently coordinating a network invisible to the DEA, but that extends at least into Wyoming and Montana, and that uses some kind of last-surviving loophole source, like El Dorado, the discovery of which would be hailed as a major triumph and the capstone of an outstanding regional success story. I could hand it over on a plate. In fact I have a professional obligation to do exactly that. If and when I believe a crime has been or is about to be committed. And on top of all that I have obvious ethical obligations. I should tell Noble everything I know.”

“But not yet,” Reacher said.

“Because the illegal supply must be allowed to continue. At least until my client arranges an alternative semi-legal supply somewhere else.”

“Relax,” Reacher said. “You’re retired.”

“Second career.”

“Fewer rules than the first.”

“But more rules than you.”

“I have rules,” Reacher said. “I have plenty of rules. One of which says a wounded veteran gets the benefit of the doubt. But another of which says always be gone before the government arrives. So I agree. We need to thread the needle.”

—

The house stayed quiet and the door stayed closed. Reacher borrowed Bramall’s phone, and carried it to the head of the ravine, where it could soak up maximum signal.

He dialed the number he remembered.

The same woman answered.

“West Point,” she said. “Superintendent’s office. How may I help you?”

“This is Reacher,” he said.

“Hello, major.”

“I need to speak with General Simpson.”

“Wait one, major.”

The supe came on and said, “Developments?”

“We found her,” Reacher said.

“Condition?”

“We have concerns,” Reacher said. “The Purple Heart was a severe facial wound. She has dependency issues with the painkillers we gave her in the hospital. She has no visible means of support.”

“Can I help?”

“At this point only with information. I need to know which boxes she checks. In terms of her mental state. Might help us with what happens next.”

“What information?”

“It was a roadside IED. I want to know more about it. Specifically why she was there, and who else was hurt or killed.”

“I’ll try.”

“And I want to know more about Porterfield. She said it’s safer if we don’t. I’m not sure what that means. Who was this guy? All we know is fourteen years ago he was a brand new butter-bar lieutenant who didn’t make the first cut. What part of that twelve years later got him so much attention?”

“Sanderson must know.”

“I can’t push for an answer. The emotional situation here is delicate.”

“Did you give back the ring?”

“She asked for a layaway. Until happier times ahead.”

“Will they come?”

“Maybe,” Reacher said. “The first part will be hardest.”

He gave the phone back to Bramall. Then they waited, ending up in the same places as the day before, Reacher on the porch step, Bramall on a rock at the edge of the ravine. The cowboys were all grouped together in the mouth of the track, standing around, as if they were expecting someone to show up, sometime soon.