Lee Child - The Midnight Line

—

Stackley was a man who believed data and information should be put to work at once. It was rule one in the modern business environment. Or maybe rule two, after ruthless control of costs. Different magazines didn’t always agree. He played it safe by working both ends. Every morning, right there in his truck, before he got up, he read his overnight texts and played his voicemails. Therefore right away that day he knew the big guy was supposed to exit the picture. He spent his early calls working out how to do it. He was a man who believed delegation was the hallmark of a successful executive. It was rule one in the modern environment. Or two, or three. Or whatever. But it was definitely up there.

By the time he turned at Mule Crossing, Stackley had decided on his strategy. By the time he passed what he had learned was his predecessor Billy’s place, he had decided on the bait. By the time he passed what he had learned used to be a guy named Porterfield’s place, he had decided on exactly where to offer it.

He drove on, many miles, and turned in on the next-but-one track on the right, ahead of what he knew from the morning before was a slow four miles over roots and rocks. Not good for his truck. But he was a man who believed productivity depended on the maximum use of all fixed assets. It was the number one rule in the new environment.

—

Behind him Reacher heard the front door open, and he stood up and turned in time to see Mackenzie step out of the house. In the shadows behind her was a small vague figure. A silvery color. Mackenzie closed the door on it and came down the path. She glanced at the cowboys, still all the way over at the mouth of the track. She headed for Bramall, and Reacher followed. She chose a rock and sat down on it. Reacher chose one six feet away. Bramall used the one he had used before. They looked like three castaways on a rocky shore, making a plan. The endless plain behind them looked as wide as an ocean.

Mackenzie said, “We’re making progress, I think. More than I thought we would so soon. That is, if in fact she means what she’s saying. Sometimes I think she’s agreeing to things far too easily. Because they’re about the future. She knows nothing will change today. That seems to be the limit of her horizon. But every day becomes today when you get there. She needs to take this seriously. She needs to understand the day will come when I have to move her.”

“When will that be?” Bramall asked.

“New accommodations and the right kind of doctor are the essential components. We can get those searches started immediately, while we’re still waiting here. As soon as tomorrow, if we want. By the way, I decided to move in. I think we all should. There are empty houses here. The drive back and forth to the hotel is ridiculous.”

Bramall said, “Move in?”

“More efficient, don’t you think? If I’m close by all the time, I can look after her all the time. Maybe in the end we might get this done faster.”

Bramall said, “We don’t know who owns this place.”

“Someone who hasn’t shown up for three years. Why would they show up now? We won’t be here very long.”

Bramall said, “How long, do you think?”

“Depends entirely on the accommodations and the doctor.”

“Best guess?”

“Mentally I’m allowing a month,” she said. “Worst case two.”

Up at the head of the driveway there was engine noise and tire scrub and the cowboys stood back. Reacher saw a beat-up old pick-up truck drive out of the woods. It had a plastic camper shell in the bed. He had seen it before. On the dirt road. Driving by, with a guy at the wheel, late thirties maybe, looking straight ahead, paying no attention.

Mackenzie turned to see.

“This must be Stackley,” she said. “Rose hoped he would come by again today.”

Chapter 36

Stackley saw the cowboys step back. He recognized them from the day before. The same three guys. Partly they were moving to get out of his way, and partly to form up like a welcoming committee. Or like a guard of honor. Deep down Stackley enjoyed dealing dope. Customers were so grateful and enthusiastic. Not like some jobs he had worked.

Then beyond the cowboys he saw the dusty black Toyota. Right there. The actual truck he had called Scorpio about. He had described it, parked on the shoulder of the dirt road, like a cop, with the two men and the woman in it, who folks said had been asking questions. One of the men was big.

Stackley had called it in, and had gotten his reply.

He looked at the house. All quiet. The door was closed.

He looked right, at the far tree line.

Nothing there.

He looked left, at the rocks near the edge of the ravine.

Three people sitting on them.

An old man in a suit.

A pretty woman.

And a very big guy.

Stackley stopped his truck in the mouth of the driveway. He paused a second, and then shut it down. He got out and led the eager cowboys back to the camper door. Where he did something he never did. He let them see inside. He pulled back his blanket a little too far, as if carelessly, and he exposed the boxes, dozens of them, most still shrink-wrapped, some opened but still mostly full, all white and clean and printed with American writing. Behind his shoulder he felt the hum of desire. Which was good. He needed his new pals to feel what he had to offer.

He huddled them close, and he told them what they could do for him, and what he could do for them. Delegation. Rule one in the modern environment. Especially against a guy so big.

—

Reacher saw them cluster at the back of the truck. They all looked inside. Inspecting the merchandise, maybe. They seemed happy with the quality, or the quantity, or both. They reminded Reacher of his mother, a lifetime ago, on a foreign base somewhere, huddling on the curb with the other army wives, when the fish truck came to call. Then Stackley moved in close, and started on a big discussion. The price, maybe. Important to them all, in different ways.

Mackenzie said, “Rose isn’t coming out of the house. I guess her friends are buying for her. Maybe they always do. Which would mean Billy never saw her. He couldn’t have helped us anyway.”

Reacher said, “We need to talk about Billy.”

“Why?”

“He’s in the system now. The Boy Detective has already talked to him once.”

“He’s denying everything.”

“Will he forever?”

“I assume you guys were kidding about the rubber hoses and the nightsticks.”

“He’ll take a deal. Or he’ll cough it up by accident. He doesn’t know which pieces they’re missing. Sooner or later he’ll say the wrong thing. It would be prudent to assume the clock is already ticking. We might want to revisit the timescale for getting out of here. No point still being around when the supply cuts off. Definitely no point still being around when the Feds show up. I know how hard this is for both of you, but those kind of problems would make it much worse.”

“You don’t think a month is possible?”

Reacher saw money change hands, behind the truck at the mouth of the driveway.

He said, “I think we should aim for a little faster.”

He saw small white boxes change hands in the other direction.

“How much faster?” Mackenzie asked.

“I told Mr. Bramall my instinct would be get out of here within two or three days.”

“Impossible.”

“How fast can you do it?”

The truck started up and turned around, and headed back down the driveway. The cowboys carried the small white boxes toward the house. They stacked half of them on the porch, outside the front door, and they took the rest away with them, down a path that curved through the trees, and out of sight.

“It’s about finding the right doctor,” Mackenzie said. “She can’t live without this stuff.”