Better off Dead (Jack Reacher #26)(66)

    The container was large enough to hold a device with three artillery shells. I was sure of that. But I couldn’t verify that anything was actually inside. The lid was fixed down. With padlocks. Eight of them. Heavy and shiny and new. A line of holes had been drilled in the sides, near the top. An inch and a half in diameter. And the whole thing was secured to anchor points on the floor of the truck with orange straps. Six. Heavy duty. Cinched down tight. It looked like checking the contents was going to be someone else’s problem.

“You need to get going.” Mansour was pacing up and down alongside the truck. “And remember. If you stop, we’ll know. You deviate from the route, we’ll know. You mess with the device, we’ll know. Do any of those things and there’ll be a price to pay. Only you won’t pay it. The woman will. I’ll see to it. Personally. I’ll make a video and send it to you.”

I couldn’t help wondering how important this guy was to Dendoncker. How he would react if I took a minute to finish what I started the day before. I was tempted to find out. Very tempted. But I forced myself to leave the guy alone. For the time being. There was no sense in jeopardizing the mission. Not with Fenton still behind enemy lines. And anyway, good things come to those who wait.

I rolled down the tailgate and latched it in place. “In that case there are two things you need to know. First, I stop for coffee. Frequently. That’s not negotiable. And second, I’m taking a detour. A short one. Down the street on the other side of the house. I parked my car there, yesterday. There’s something in it I want.”

“What?”

“Fenton’s suitcase.”

“Why do you need that?”

    “I don’t. But she will. When I’ve delivered the package and Dendoncker lets her go, we’re going to get together.”

Mansour thought for a moment. He must have realized he was in a bind. He couldn’t admit that Dendoncker had no intention of releasing Fenton or he knew I wouldn’t do what they wanted me to. He said, “The street parallel to this one?”

“Correct.”

He started toward the passenger door. “All right. I’ll come with you.”

The driver’s seat was already pushed all the way back. The mirrors were fine. The controls seemed straightforward. So I fired up the engine and pulled away from the curb. I took it easy on that first street. Negotiated my way around the next couple of turns. Continued to the end. Lumbered back and forth across the fishtail until I got the truck turned around. Then I pulled in behind the Chevy and climbed down. I didn’t have the keys so I couldn’t unlock the trunk—Dendoncker had kept them after he searched me—so I opened the driver’s door and found the release lever. Mansour lifted the lid. He reached in and already had Fenton’s case unzipped by the time I got to the back of the car. He rummaged around, messing up her neat packing and spilling the odd item, but he seemed satisfied there was nothing in there he needed to worry about. Nothing I could use to defuse their bomb or derail their scheme. He ran his fingers around the outside of the case one last time then closed it up, lifted it out, and set it on the sidewalk.

He said, “OK. You can take it. Better get moving.”

I stepped around the case and opened the car’s back door. “There’s one other thing she’s going to need.” I picked up the backpack I’d retrieved from the Lincoln after the crash outside the Border Inn.

    “Wait.” Mansour scowled at me. “What’s in there?”

“Just this.” I pulled out Fenton’s prosthetic foot and shoved it in his face. “Hard for her to walk without it.”

The guy jumped back. “Fine. Take that, too. Now get out of here.”

I guess Fenton was right when she said people were freaked out by anything to do with wounds or injuries. Mansour certainly was. Enough not to find out if anything else was in the bag.



* * *



—

I left Mansour to walk back to the house and started out following Dendoncker’s directions. They led me through the final few mazy streets on the outskirts of the town and onto the long straight road that went past The Tree. The spot where I first met Fenton. No one was staging an ambush there that day. No one was there at all. Alive. Or dead.

I drove slowly and steadily, like an old geezer taking his antique car for its weekly outing. I was mindful of the cargo in the back of the truck. I didn’t want it blowing up if I hit a pothole. And I didn’t want to get pulled over with it on board. I figured it was unlikely there would be any police patrols around those parts. But it’s the things you don’t expect that bite you in the ass.

I kept an eye on my mirrors the whole time. I wanted to know if I was being followed. I couldn’t see anyone. No black Lincolns. No worn-out Jeeps. So I also scanned the sky. For small planes. Or helicopters. Or drones. And again I came up blank. Which wasn’t a surprise. I believed Mansour when he said they’d be monitoring me. But it was more likely they’d have put a GPS chip in the bomb. Or in the truck. Or both. Which would be fine. That wouldn’t hurt me at all. In fact, I was relying on it.





Chapter 45


The small roads led me through scrub and desert for forty minutes, then I merged onto the highway. Traffic was light. I let the truck settle down to a steady fifty-five. I checked the mirrors. I checked the sky. No one was following. Nothing was watching. After twenty minutes I came to a truck stop. I pulled in. Topped off the truck’s tank. Then headed into the little store to pay. I filled a to-go cup with coffee. Hot, this time. With no milk. And I asked the clerk for change for the pay phone. The guy looked like I’d asked for a date with his mother. He must have been in his early twenties. I guess it wasn’t a request he heard very often. Maybe it was a request he’d never heard at all.