Better off Dead (Jack Reacher #26)(68)

She paused with one hand hovering above the keyboard. She didn’t believe me. That was obvious. I guess she was weighing the consequences of proving me wrong. The paperwork involved with issuing a refund. Explaining to her bosses why she’d turned away a customer. The impact on occupancy statistics. “No need, Mr. Reacher. I’m sure you’re right.” She passed the passport back to me. “How many room keys will you be needing?”

“Just one.”

The woman opened a drawer and took out a piece of plastic the size of a credit card. She fed it into a machine on her desk and tapped some more computer keys. A little light turned from red to green. She retrieved the card and handed it to me. “Room 222. Would you like me to write that down for you?”

“No need.”

“OK, then. The breakfast bar’s in the lobby and it’s open from six until eight. Any questions, dial zero on your room phone. I hope you enjoy your stay with us, and visit again soon.”

The woman went back to her book. I went back to the truck. I sat on the rear fender, leaned my head against the tailgate, closed my eyes, and felt the cool evening breeze on my face. Ten minutes ticked past. Fifteen. Then I heard a vehicle approaching. More than one. I looked up and saw a line of silver sedans. Five of them. All identical. Chrysler 300s. The lead car swooped into the parking lot. The others followed, then fanned out and stopped in a row in front of me. The guy who was driving the nearest car climbed out. It was Wallwork. He hurried across, passed me a white plastic sack, then shook my hand.

    “Reacher. Good to see you.” He nodded toward the truck. “The device. It’s in there?”

“As promised.”

“Excellent work.” Wallwork gave a thumbs-up to the guys in the car next to his. “Thank you. We’ll take it from here.”

I unlocked the door, took out the backpack, and handed the key to Wallwork. “I’ve left a suitcase in there. It’s Fenton’s. Look after it until tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Wallwork took me by the elbow and led me away from the other vehicles. “Listen.” He lowered his voice. “I think we trust each other, so I’m going to be totally honest with you. After we spoke I called my old supervisor. The one who’s at TEDAC now. He’s on his way out here. We’re going to secure the area, and he’s going to examine the device. In situ. I know I said we wouldn’t move it until tomorrow. But unless he’s certain there’s no risk to the public, I’m going to have to break that promise.”

I said nothing.

“Think about it, Reacher. What if the device explodes? If it spews toxic gas into the atmosphere? If it’s radioactive? We have those risks on one hand. And a woman who put herself in harm’s way on the other. A woman you might not even be able to save, whenever we move the truck.”





Chapter 46


“Impossible.” The pilot looked at the place I was pointing to on the map and shook his head. “No. I refuse. I can’t do it. I cannot cross into Mexican airspace. Not without authorization. It’s out of the question. It’s not going to happen. Not under any circumstances. Do you understand?”

I was surprised. A little disappointed. But not in any way confused. So I didn’t feel the need to reply.

A pair of mechanics was watching us. So was the agent who had driven me from the hotel to the airfield. They were hanging around, not so close that the pilot might feel inhibited about yelling at me. But not so far away they would miss anything he said. The mechanics were apparently studying something on a handheld computer screen that didn’t have a keyboard. The agent was fiddling with his phone. All of them were overcompensating. Pretending not to be aware of us. But clearly listening to every word. And enjoying the confrontation. The pilot was belligerent. Unnecessarily so, I thought. The three of them had picked up on that, too. They were waiting to see where things went from there. Whether the pilot would be satisfied with a verbal argument. Or whether an escalation was in the cards. To something physical. Something to spice up their evening.

    “I’ll take you as close to the border as you like,” the pilot said. “Right up to it. But we will stay on the US side. I will not be party to an illegal border crossing. So do not ask me again. Are we clear?”

I said, “Fine. Los Gemelos it is. The US side. Let’s just get going.”

When I came up with this plan I figured I would have until at least 8:00 a.m. to carry it out. Maybe 9:00 a.m. at a stretch. That would be plenty of time. But if Wallwork’s guy insisted on moving the truck before morning, Dendoncker would know. I was certain of that. So he would also know that I’d double-crossed him. Not a problem for me. But a death sentence for Fenton. There was no longer a second to spare.

The mechanics quit gazing at their computer and drifted away toward the only hangar with an open door. The agent put his phone away and jumped in behind the wheel of his silver Chrysler. The pilot climbed up into the cockpit of the helicopter. Its silhouette was familiar. It was a Sikorsky UH-60M. The civilian version of the Black Hawk that the army uses. This one had more antennae than I remembered. It had wheels rather than skids. And it wasn’t dusty green. It was gloss black. Long and sleek and menacing. Like a predator rather than a workhorse. There was an index number on its tail but nothing to indicate which agency owned it. Just a discreet United States in gray letters toward the rear of its fuselage. I lifted my backpack into the rear compartment, climbed in after it, slid the door closed, buckled myself into one of the rear-facing jump seats, and put on my headset.