Better off Dead (Jack Reacher #26)(80)

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—

    I spent the next hour in Conference One with two guys with guns. Neither of them spoke, which suited me fine. I sat in the same chair as before. Leaned forward. Cushioned my head in my arms. Ran through some Magic Slim. And followed up with a little Shawn Holt.

I didn’t sit up until Lane came into the room. He walked to the head of the table and set down a small box. It was black. Dusty. And a bunch of colored wires were sticking out of one corner.

“Mr. Reacher, I owe you thanks. And an apology. Today was a bad day for terrorists because of you.” He pointed to the box. “This was found in the city destroyer. It transmits and receives, and it’s coded to the transponder in the smoke bomb. If they’d come within range of each other, there’d be no more Redstone Arsenal. No more us. And maybe thousands of other casualties.”

I said nothing.

“One question.” Lane sat down. “How did you know?”

Michael’s warning had been the key. Along with Dendoncker’s desperate behavior. But those were all things I didn’t want to get into. They’d only raise more questions. Ones I didn’t feel like answering. So I said, “No biggie. Just a lucky guess.”

    “And motive? Khalil trying to destroy some evidence that’s stored here?”

“Trying to destroy evidence, yes. Khalil, no.” I had no proof of that. Only a hunch. Which meant the West Coast was going to have to wait after all.





Chapter 55


“He won’t come,” Fenton said. Again.

She first said it when she met me at the small airfield an hour from Los Gemelos.

She said it right after she climbed in behind the wheel of Dr. Houllier’s Cadillac.

She said it three more times as the huge car wafted and wallowed along the long straight roads into town.

She said it as she parked outside The House.

She said it as we walked through the tunnel.

She said it as we checked that the money and the narcotics were still there.

She said it as we confirmed that the final smoke bomb had been removed from Michael’s workshop.

She said it as we sat down against the back wall of the old school’s assembly hall.

And every time she said it, I gave the same reply. “He will.”

    “How can you be sure?”

“He has no choice. His plan failed. That means he can’t stay in the United States. He can’t return to Beirut. He’ll be on watch lists everywhere. So he’ll have to go to ground. Forever. So he’ll need every penny he can put his hands on. And every valuable thing he can sell.”

“What if the FBI already caught him? He tried to destroy TEDAC. They’ll have a hard-on for him like you wouldn’t believe.”

“The Bureau wants to find him. Sure. But they don’t know where to look.”

“You didn’t tell them?”

I said nothing.

“Outstanding. Gold star for you. But what if they found him on their own? Or if you’re wrong about his plan? What if you misunderstood? If it didn’t fail?”

“Then he won’t come.”

Fenton elbowed me in the ribs and we settled in to wait.



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—

It was pushing 7:00 p.m. Twelve hours since I was woken up by the phone. Six hours since I broke into the city destroyer. The sun was low. Everything its dipping rays touched turned orange or pink. The view was magnificent. If it only happened once a century everyone would gather to watch. Then rave about what they saw. The colors changed by the minute. The shadows shifted and lengthened. The sky began its final fade to gray. Then two brighter points appeared. Low down. Unsteady. But growing bigger. Coming our way.

Headlights.

Fenton and I moved into the dining hall. We left the doors open, just a crack. We peered through. Five minutes passed. Ten. Then the tall windows lit up like giant mirrors. They went dark again. The outer doors opened. And Mansour walked in. He was followed by Dendoncker. They went straight for the aluminum containers. The ones that were full of cash and pills.

    Fenton went first. She was carrying one of the captured Uzis. She raised it and lined it up on Dendoncker’s chest.

She said, “You. Against the wall. Hands in the air.”

Dendoncker didn’t hesitate. He was a smart man. He did exactly what she told him to.

I took a step toward Mansour. He grinned, held out his hand, and gestured for me to keep on coming.

I said, “You don’t have to do this. You know you’re going to lose. You should go sit in the car. I’ll send your boss out when we’re done talking. Assuming he can still walk.”

Mansour stretched both arms straight up above his head then started to bring them down slowly, out to each side, in a broad circle. His fingers were arrowed. It looked like the start of some kind of martial arts ritual. Maybe it was supposed to symbolize something. Maybe it was supposed to impress. Or intimidate. But whatever the purpose I saw no advantage in letting him finish so I darted forward and kicked him in the right knee. Viciously. Hard enough to shatter most people’s patellas. He grunted and threw a wild roundhouse punch at my head. I ducked under it and jabbed him in the kidney. I brought my other fist up under his chin. I put all my strength into it. Pushed up onto my tiptoes at just the right moment. Timed it perfectly. Against a normal guy the fight would have been over there and then. It almost was with him. He rocked onto his heels. His neck snapped back. He started to fall. If he’d hit the ground he would have been toast. There was no way I would have let him get up again. But the wall saved him. Or the climbing bars that were attached to it did. He slammed into the center of a section of the frame. It was ten feet tall by six wide. There was plenty of spring to it. Which cushioned the impact. Allowed him to stay on his feet. He staggered forward. The bars swung after him. They were hinged at the right side. The force of the impact had unhooked their latch. They continued through ninety degrees then stopped, sticking straight out into the hall. I guess they all did that to form a series of obstacles for the kids to climb when they were doing circuit training.