Better off Dead (Jack Reacher #26)(14)

“What happened to the sealed ones?”

“They got off-loaded at the destination airport. Two more got put on in their places. Same size. Same shape. Same kind of seals.”

“What would have happened if you opened one by mistake?”

“I thought about trying that, but the plane flew back empty. No new passengers got on board, so there was no need to open any of the containers. And when I thought back to the outbound flight I realized something. It was the other woman who always picked which container we should open. At the time it seemed reasonable. I was new, she had experience, she knew where things were. But later it felt different, like she had been steering me away from the sealed ones. And it was the same basic picture with all the other flights I worked on. Different passengers. Different destinations. But there were always containers that weren’t accounted for.”

    Fenton climbed out of the Jeep. She started toward a door at the center of the long side of the courtyard. I followed. I saw that the buildings on all four sides had originally been separate. Now they were joined together. Some were sticking out. Some were set back. But they were all the same height. The roof that connected them was continuous and uniform. It must have been added later.

Each original section of the building had a sign mounted on its front wall. I guessed they stated the initial occupant. There were lots of names. Lots of different businesses and services. A blacksmith. A cooper. A hardware store. A place to buy provisions. A warehouse. One whole side had been a saloon. Presumably the places had originally been independent but now their signs were all the same shape. They used the same colors. The same font. The doors and windows were laid out in different configurations but they were the same style. They used the same materials. They looked the same age. And each one had a glass rectangle mounted on the wall near the door, the size of a typical security keypad but with no buttons.

I said, “What is this place?”

“My hotel. Where I’m staying. Where we’re staying, I guess.”

I looked around all four sides. “Where’s the office?”

“There isn’t one. The place is unmanned. It’s a new concept. Part of a new chain. They’re in five cities. Maybe six now. I don’t remember.”

    “So how do you get a room?”

“You book online. You don’t see anyone. You don’t interact with anyone. That’s the beauty of it.”

“How do you get a key? They send it in the mail?”

Fenton shook her head. “There isn’t a physical key. They email you a QR code.”

I said nothing.

“A QR code. You know. Like a two-dimensional bar code. You display it on your phone and the scanners by the doors read it. It’s excellent.”

“It is?”

“It is. Particularly if you happen to book with a false ID. And a false credit card. And a made-up email address. That way, no one can ever trace you.”

“This isn’t going to work for me. I don’t have a false ID. I don’t have any kind of a credit card. Or a phone.”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “Well, never mind. We’ll figure that out later.”

“There are cameras.” I gestured to a pair of them. They were mounted on the wall near the Jeep’s parking spot. A mesh cage protected them. “Someone could trace you that way.”

“They could try. The cameras do appear to be working. But if anyone tries to access their files, they won’t see anything. They’ll just get snow. That’s the beauty of the training they give you at Fort Huachuca. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.”





Chapter 9


Fenton fiddled with her phone then held its screen up to a scanner below a sign that read Carlisle Smith, Wheelwright. The door clicked open. I followed her inside. I couldn’t picture any hard manual labor taking place in there now. The room was all pastel colors and throw cushions and nostalgic black-and-white photographs. Plus the standard hotel stuff. A bed. A couch. A work area. A closet. A bathroom. Everything you could need for a comfy night, except for a coffeemaker. There was no sign of one of those. But there was a suitcase, neatly squared away, sitting on its own by the door. Fenton saw me looking at it.

“Old habits.” She wheeled the case across to the bed. “Always be ready to move.” She turned to look at me. “I figured I would be moving again today. I hoped it would be with Michael. But really I knew. There was no chance. I was always going to be leaving alone. I just had to be sure. It wasn’t a surprise. But still, back there, at The Tree, it hit me. Harder than I expected. Pushed me close to the edge for a second or two. I’m sorry you had to see that. It won’t happen again. Now, let’s focus. Come on. Make yourself at home.”

    I figured it was a minute after 3:00 p.m. I was hungry. Breakfast was a long time ago. I’d made an early start, back in El Paso. I didn’t know if Fenton had eaten at all that day. But she must have burned plenty of adrenaline. I figured food would help both of us. I suggested we order some. Fenton didn’t argue. She just pulled out her phone. “Pizza work for you?”

Fenton took the chair from under the desk and tapped away at her screen. I sat on the couch. I waited until she was done summoning up our food, then said, “I told you why I’m here. Now it’s your turn.”