Better off Dead (Jack Reacher #26)(61)

    Dendoncker crossed the room and stood against the left-hand wall, next to the chalkboard. He was at the end of a row of artillery shells. There were nine altogether. Divided into three groups of three. One in the center of each set was pointing straight up. One was angled to the right. One was angled to the left. Each of the trios was fixed to a metal base, like a tray. The sides were four inches high and there was a wheel at each corner.

“This is what we’re talking about.” Dendoncker pointed at the shells. “One of these. They generate smoke. That’s all. Nothing harmful. Nothing dangerous.”

I stayed near the door.

Dendoncker blinked a couple of times then stared off into the distance as if he was struggling to complete a complex calculation in his head. “OK. I see the problem. This is what we’re going to do. Pick one.”

I didn’t move.

“The original plan was to go with three, but we decided a single one would get the point across better. Less is more. Isn’t that what people say? So, pick one. We’ll take it outside and trigger it. You’ll see for yourself that it’s benign.”

I figured that if Dendoncker was prepared to sacrifice one of his bombs it would be crazy not to let him. That would be one fewer to deal with later. I made my way over to the line of devices. Examined them each in turn. Saw that the shells all had a series of holes drilled around their bodies just below the point where the nose cone was attached. Each hole was half an inch in diameter. Each shell had a tube sticking out of one of the holes. The tubes were made of black rubber and they snaked down to a pump mounted at the center of each tray. Each pump was wired to a battery. The kind that might be used in a small car, or a lawnmower. Each battery was also wired to a watch and a cellphone. The watches were digital. Just the bodies. No straps. Some ancient Casio model. I remember my brother, Joe, had one just like it in the early ’90s. They were secured to the left-hand shell of each device. The phones were taped to the shells on the right. They had real keys and small screens. They looked basic. Old-fashioned. But solid. Reliable. And presumably redundant if the watches did their jobs.

    I had thought I would maybe see something different in one of them. Something small and subtle that showed it had been set up specially for the demonstration. Or that Dendoncker would try to trick me like a hustler who needs their mark to pick a particular card. Either way, I would go for one of the others. But there was nothing. The devices were identical as far as I could tell. Dendoncker stood back. He stayed still. His body language was silent. His expression was neutral.

“What are you waiting for?” Dendoncker swept his hand along the line, but without emphasizing one device over another. “They’re all the same. Just pick one.”

When in doubt I always let the numbers guide me. There were three devices. There are two prime numbers between one and three. So I pointed to the second device.

Dendoncker pulled out his phone and told whoever answered his call to report to the workshop right away. Two minutes later Mansour appeared in the doorway. Dendoncker pointed to the device I’d picked and said he wanted it taken outside. Mansour loped across the room and studied it for a moment. Then he grabbed it by its central upright shell. He dragged it away from the wall and steered it back toward the door. The whole time he was dealing with it he was ignoring me. Actively, the way feuding cats pretend not to notice one another.

    We must have made a strange-looking procession. First Mansour wheeling the bomb in front of him. Then Dendoncker. Then me. And finally the guy with the Uzi, farther back, keeping what he probably thought was a safe distance. No one spoke as we went through the first set of double doors. Along the glass corridor. Through the second set of doors. Across the dining hall. Through the assembly hall. And out into the parking lot. Mansour continued until he was level with the pair of SUVs. It was almost fully dark by then. His outline started to fade as he reached the limit of the glow that was spilling out through the tall windows. The orange light was no longer visible from around the corner of the building. There was no sound, except for the device’s wheels skittering across the asphalt. The soccer players must have called it a night.

Dendoncker made another call. He said he wanted the floodlights switched on. A moment later the whole perimeter of the building lit up. It was like a castle moat, only made of light rather than water. Ahead of us Mansour prodded the device’s wheels with his toe. One at a time. Engaging their locks. Then he made his way over and stood at Dendoncker’s side.

Dendoncker dialed another number and held the phone out to me. “Want to do it?”

I shook my head.

“OK.” Dendoncker hit the green button, closed the phone, and slid it back into his pocket. “Just watch.”

Nothing happened for ten seconds. Twenty. Then I heard three beeps. From the device. High-pitched. Electronic. The pump began to hum. It built up to a steady drone. Smoke appeared. Just a wisp at first. White. From the holes in the central shell. It grew into a steady stream. It was thick. Dense. Like steam from a kettle. Blue smoke began to pour from the right-hand shell. It mingled into a single plume but maintained the two distinct colors. Finally the left-hand shell got in on the act. Red smoke gushed out. It was at full force right away, billowing upward and quickly matching the other shades for volume.

    “See? Smoke.” Dendoncker walked forward until he was a couple of feet away from the device. He flapped his left arm and made a show of wafting some of each color into his mouth and nose. He kept it up for ten seconds then coughed and retreated to his previous spot. “It burns the throat a little. I can’t deny that. But it’s not poisonous. There are no explosions. And there’s no danger. So, are you satisfied?”