Better off Dead (Jack Reacher #26)(62)

I waited another minute until the last of the smoke had petered out. The blue lasted longest, but all three shells had produced a prodigious quantity. The space between the wall and the fence along the whole width of the building was filled with a swirling patriotic cloud. I was impressed. When Sonia first told me about Michael’s plan I was dubious. I pictured a tiny spurt. Pale colors. A blink-and-you-miss-it kind of deal. Nothing to impress an audience. Live, or on TV. But if a thing like this went off in the middle of a ceremony there was no way the crowd could fail to notice.

“Satisfied?” Dendoncker glared at me. “Good to go?”

I was starting to think I’d been wrong. Maybe I should have been more interested in Dendoncker’s proposal after all.

I said, “You want me to take one of these things, drive for three days, then leave it somewhere?”

“Precisely.” Dendoncker nodded. “That’s all you have to do.”

“Where do you want me to leave it?”

“You’ll be given directions, one day at a time.”

Three days’ drive. Enough time to get all the way up into Canada. Or down into Central America. But realistically, given that kind of distance, the target would be on the East Coast. D.C., maybe. Or the White House. Or the Pentagon.

    I said, “OK. But why do you want me to leave it anywhere? What’s the point?”

“I have my reasons. You don’t need to know them. And they’re not up for debate. The only question is who drives the truck. You can do it and walk away when the job’s done. Or you can choose a different outcome and I’ll find someone else to do it.”

“And the woman?”

“Her fate is your fate. You choose to live, she lives. You choose not to…”

“OK. She can come with me. In the truck. Share the driving. Help with the navigation.”

Dendoncker shook his head. “She’s going to remain our guest until you complete the mission.”

“In other words, you don’t trust me.”

Dendoncker didn’t reply.

“That’s OK,” I said. “I don’t trust you, either. How do I know you won’t kill the woman the moment I’m out of sight?”

Dendoncker took a moment to think. “Fair point. Before you leave I’ll return your phone. I’ll give you a number. You can call it anytime. Talk to her. Confirm she’s OK.”

“You let a captive sit around all day with a phone?”

“Of course not. One of my guys will bring her the phone when you call.”

I would have been happier if I was sure which of his guys would answer the phone. If I could guarantee it would be one guy in particular. But I had a good idea who it would be. What role he would play, anyway. And in the circumstances I figured that was good enough.





Chapter 42


My mother was French. I was born in Germany. I’ve lived on bases in dozens of countries. I’ve listened to people speak all kinds of languages. Some sound familiar. Some I can make sense of pretty easily. Others, not so much.

The words I heard come out of Dendoncker’s mouth sounded just like they were English. Only I knew they meant something else altogether. Something I could understand with no trouble at all. He wanted me to do his dirty work. To plant the device for him. He would keep Fenton alive until it was in place. Then he would kill her. And me. Maybe the truck he’d supply was booby-trapped. Maybe he’d have someone lying in wait with a sniper rifle. But one way or another there was no scenario in which he could let Fenton or me survive.

I understood Dendoncker’s words when he laid out his plan. I was sure I did. But whether he understood mine when I agreed was a whole other question. One he wasn’t going to like the answer to.



* * *



—

    The demonstration was over. Terms were agreed. The wind was picking up. It was tugging at our clothes. The desert night was growing chilly. There was no reason to stay outside so we headed back into the building. We trooped along in the same order as before. But two things were different this time. The first was that Mansour wasn’t wheeling a bomb in front of him. He just left its spent remains outside in the parking lot, still shrouded in the last traces of smoke. The second came when we reached the far end of the glass corridor. We passed through the double doors and Mansour turned left. Dendoncker went to the right and headed for his office. I stopped and stood still. The guy with the Uzi almost clattered into me.

“This way, asshole.” Mansour stopped outside the first door he reached and worked its lock.

I let a moment tick past then moved up alongside him. The guy with the Uzi trailed along behind.

“In.” Mansour pushed the door open.

I stepped through and he shoved me in the back. Hard. His fingers were spread. His hand landed square between my shoulder blades. He put his full weight into it, like he was trying to launch me through the back wall. A little payback for earlier, I guessed. Probably hoping I’d at least end up flat on my face and look stupid in front of the guy with the Uzi. In which case he must have been disappointed. Because I saw him move. He was reflected in the glass. So I planted my foot. Leaned back into the pressure. And barely broke my stride.

The room was just like Dendoncker’s office and the workshop, only it was laid out the opposite way around. The bathrooms were on the left and the chalkboard was on the right. There was only one piece of furniture. An army cot. It was in the dead center of the room. It was bolted to the floor. And Fenton was sitting on it. She grabbed her crutch, stood up, and took one step in my direction.