Lee Child - The Midnight Line

“We should have children,” he said.

He heard a click of foil inside the hood. A smile, he hoped.

She said, “Those days are over.”

“Apparently Porterfield didn’t agree.”

“We were friends, that’s all.”

“There were two dents in the bed.”

“How do you know?”

“The guy who fixed his roof told a guy who told a guy who told us in a bar.”

“The roofer was looking at my bed?”

“Your bed? Sounds like you agree with him.”

She said, “Sy was different.”

He said, “What would it take to fix the infection?”

“A long course of IV antibiotics. It’s a common thing. Most wounds get infected. The bacteria wall themselves off. It’s hard to get rid of.”

“And you don’t want to go to the hospital.”

“I didn’t like it. I was an embarrassment. I was every soldier’s worst fear. A disfiguring wound. The glamour was with the arms and legs. All that scientific technology. Titanium and carbon fiber. Some of those legs cost a million bucks. They looked better than new. Guys would wear shorts to show them off. Not me. I would have been a PR disaster.”

“You can get IVs at home,” Reacher said. “With a certain kind of doctor. Your sister will find one. The kind who will also advocate a very long slow glide path, when it comes to dependency issues. The kind who might want to maintain your current habit for at least another year, while you settle in.”

“I don’t believe her.”

“That she wants to?”

“That she can.”

“She has money. This is the civilian healthcare system we’re talking about here. She can get what she wants.”

“People will see me. It’s a suburb.”

“It’s Lake Forest, Illinois. You could wear a bag on your head. They’ll think it’s performance art. A year from now you’ll have your own show.”

“I like it here better.”

“Because of what Stackley brings. Before that what Billy brought. Which is a freak aberration. That trade was closed down. You’re on the end of the very last leak. They’re hunting for it right now. They have Billy in a cell. They’re two steps away from cutting you off. Think about it tactically. We need immediate action.”

She didn’t reply. She just breathed a bit harder, and stiffened. He felt it from a yard away. A low vibration, through the wood of the step.

She said, “I’m going inside now.”

He said, “I’m sorry I upset you.”

“I’ll be fine ten minutes from now.”

She stood up, and stepped up on the porch, and then he heard her turn around again and wait. He looked up at her. She looked back at him from deep inside the hood. In the movies her eyes would have lit up red.

She said, “This is the problem. It will need to be seamless. Unfortunately I find I need this stuff. Like right now the most important thing in the world to me is a new fentanyl patch. Right now that’s worth a hundred rings or a dozen sisters. But fortunately I have a new fentanyl patch. I already decided to lick it. I already made that choice. Does all that upset you?”

“Yes,” Reacher said. “A little bit.”

“Me, too,” she said.

—

He waited ten minutes for the hit to click in, but she didn’t come out again. So he took a walk, around the tree line, until he saw the cowboys coming along their path toward him. The three guys, as always with the one in the lizard skin boots a step in front. They said hello to Reacher in a way that made him feel they were surprised to see him. He told them he had stayed behind.

The guy in the boots said, “The others aren’t here?”

“For a couple more hours,” Reacher said.

“Were you talking to Rose?”

“I was,” Reacher said. “As a matter of fact.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She said she was there when Porterfield died.”

“I believe that’s true.”

“Where were you?”

“We were in Colorado. Spring was late down there. We got work hauling hay.”

“What did she say about it when you got back?”

“She never talks about things like that.”

Reacher said nothing. The three guys looked at one another, a little hesitant, a little momentous, as if they had just gotten a weird idea.

The guy in the boots said, “We could show you the place where he was found, if you want.”

“Is it near here?” Reacher said.

“About an hour on foot. Mostly uphill.”

“Is it interesting?”

“The walk is interesting. As far as the argument goes. You get to judge what kind of person could have carried a body that far.”

“You said anyone could have.”

“I said anyone would have. There’s a difference. The people who could have are a subset of the population.”

“OK,” Reacher said. “Show me.”

They crossed the clearing near the corner of the house, and headed toward another gap in the trees, but first the guy in the boots detoured to the crew-cab, and came back with a rifle. He said right or wrong, remember why they were going. It was bear country.

Chapter 37

The path rose through the woods, which thinned a little as the slope got steeper. Some trunks were scored by elk antlers. There were moose prints on the ground. No sign of bear. Not yet. Which Reacher was happy about. The guy’s rifle was an ancient M14 Garand. A U.S. soldier’s main squeeze sixty years before. A clumsy weapon. But competent. Except it was chambered for the NATO round. Which was a slim little thing compared to a bear. Maybe it was all the guy had left. Maybe he had traded the rest away, to pay for something that had suddenly gotten expensive.

Better than nothing, Reacher thought.

They walked on. The air felt thin. Reacher felt he was breathing hard. Not the three cowboys. They looked normal. They were used to it. At sea level they would be dizzy with excess oxygen. Maybe better than licking a patch. The hike itself was no big deal. Roots and rocks and gravel, the same as the tracks they had been driving, but narrower. The gradient was modest. Occasionally there were big steps up. Carrying a heavy weight would have been slow and awkward, but possible. For a subset of the population. Like the guy had said.

Five minutes later they came out on an open area where a young tree had been pushed down by a moose. There were animal tracks in and out, some of them large.

The guy with the rifle said, “It was a place like this.”

“Like this?” Reacher said. “Or this place?”

“It’s further on. But you get the picture. In case you want to turn back now.”

Reacher looked left and right and onward, into the trees. He wasn’t sure what he expected to see. He felt a bear was unlikely. What were the odds?

“I’m OK,” he said. “Let’s keep going.”

They did. The woods changed around them as they walked. The clearings stopped coming, because the trees themselves thinned out, to the point where the whole vista became a kind of low-density mixed-up half-woods, half-clearing type of landscape. Low scrub on the ground. Access lanes were clear and straight. Lines of sight were long. It was good predator country.

The guy with the rifle said, “Still OK?”

Reacher looked all around. The back part of his brain was stirring. It was telling him that kind of terrain was best gotten out of, and quickly. Some kind of a primitive instinct. The front part was thinking about bears. Unlikely, it was telling him. But a reality at some low level of probability. A factor. Worth taking into account. Worth preparing for.

In his mind he heard General Simpson’s voice, on the phone from West Point: Off post she would have been armed at all times .

He looked all around again.

There were no bears.

Not there.

He said, “Let’s go back.”