Better off Dead (Jack Reacher #26)(44)

He hesitated, then looped the tie around the rim. Fed the tail through the tie’s mouth. Pulled until the first of the teeth started to engage. Slid his wrist through the gap. And tightened the tie halfway.

I said, “Tighter.”

He took up half the remaining slack.

I leaned across, took hold of the loose end, and pulled it hard. The plastic bit into his wrist. He grunted.

I said, “Left hand on the wheel.”

He rested it at the ten o’clock position. I took another tie and fastened it. I grabbed his elbow and tugged. He grunted again. His hand wouldn’t slip through. I figured it was secure enough. So I closed the door and climbed into the seat behind him.

I said, “Where’s Dendoncker?”

The guy didn’t answer.

I pulled the guy’s mask over my head and made a show of adjusting the straps. Then I placed the canister of gas on the armrest between the front seats.

“DS gas, your friend said. Before he died. Like CS gas on steroids. Am I getting that right?”

The guy nodded.

    “I don’t believe him. I think this is a dummy. A prop. I think you guys were trying to bluff me. I think I should pull the pin. See what happens.”

The guy started thrashing around in his seat, sticking his elbow out, trying to knock the canister out of my reach. “No!” he said. “Please. It’s real. Don’t set it off.”

“Then answer my question.”

“I can’t. You don’t get it. Dendoncker—you don’t cross him. Nothing’s worth doing that.”





Chapter 30


I tapped the gas canister. “This stuff makes you blind, right? Keeping your eyesight—that sounds worth it.”

The guy shook his head. “I had a friend. We worked together for five years. For Dendoncker. My friend used to go to Walmart, once a month. The nearest one’s like a hundred miles away. They have some special drink he liked. Chai, he called it. From India. Dendoncker thought that was suspicious. He had my friend tailed. The guy following him saw someone in the store at the same time who looked like he might have been a Fed.”

“Looked like a Fed, how?”

“He wasn’t definitely a Fed. But he might have been one. That was enough for Dendoncker. And at the same time he was looking to sell a bunch of .50 cal sniper rifles. To some drug lord. From Mexico. There’s a big demand for those things down there. A lot of money to be made. The buyer wanted a demonstration before he would part with his cash. So Dendoncker got my friend. Had him tied to a pole a few hundred yards away in the desert. Naked. Made the rest of us watch. Through binoculars. The rifle worked fine. The drug guy—he was a terrible shot. He fired a dozen rounds. Hit my friend in the leg. In the shoulder. Clipped him in his side, by his gut. He wasn’t dead. But Dendoncker left him there. Sent someone to collect his body a couple of days later. I saw it. It made me puke. His eyes had been pecked out. Snakes had bitten his feet. Something big had taken chunks out of his legs. I tell you, I swore right there and then, there was no way I was ever going to let anything like that happen to me.”

    I tapped the canister.

The guy tried to twist around and face me. “Another time Dendoncker was selling land mines. To another drug lord. He was building a giant new compound. Wanted to fortify it. He also asked to see the merchandise in action. To prove it worked. Dendoncker had a bunch planted in some remote spot. Then he made a guy, I can’t even remember what he was supposed to have done, walk through it. He made it ten feet. And that was the end of him.”

“When I’m done with Dendoncker, he’ll be in no position to hurt anyone. That’s for damn sure.” I tapped the canister again. “But this stuff? In this enclosed space?”

The guy leaned forward and banged his forehead on the steering wheel. Once. Twice. Three times. “I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to. I don’t know where Dendoncker is. No one does.”

“What do you know?”

“We were ordered to take you to the house. Someone would come and collect you from there. I have no idea where they would take you. That’s way above my pay grade.”

“How would they know to come for me?”

“I’d send a text.”

    “To what number?”

The guy reeled off a string of ten digits. It was an Alaska area code. Presumably a burner phone, used to disguise its current location.

“What message were you to send? The exact words.”

“There are no exact words. Just that we have you.”

“How long after you send the message would they arrive?”

The guy shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes they’re waiting when we get there. Sometimes we have to wait five minutes. The longest was maybe ten.”

“Where do you wait?”

“In the house.”

“Where is the house?”

The guy described the place I’d followed the Lincoln to earlier.

“Always there?” I said. “Ever anywhere else?”

“No.” The guy shook his head. “It has to be there. Whoever comes, wherever they go, it’s always through there. There’s no other way, as far as I know.”

“What’s your deadline for delivering me?”