No Plan B (Jack Reacher, #27)(81)

“I didn’t know. I didn’t ask. They didn’t tell. But I’m not stupid. I guess I had a good idea.”

“Good. Now, Carpenter. How do I find him?”

“I don’t know.”

Emerson opened the barrel, took a ladleful of its contents, and poured it on the floor about eighteen inches from the guy’s feet.

The guy wriggled his toes farther away. “What’s that?”

“Something to focus your mind.” Emerson took out a box of matches, struck one, and lit the little creamy puddle on fire. “Another name for it is napalm.”

Emerson took another ladleful from the barrel and stepped toward the guy. Who started to hop on the toes of one foot. His other leg was raised, ready to kick if he got the chance. Emerson flung the gel. It landed and spread out across the guy’s crotch and thighs.

The guy screamed.

“What?” Emerson said. “I haven’t lit it, yet. Tell me how to find Carpenter.”

“You can’t find him. No one can. He disappeared, like a month ago. I tried to reach him myself but I couldn’t. He’s gone. History. No more.”

“Other contacts in his organization?”

“He was the only one. It was a security thing.”

“That’s a shame. It means you’re no use to me. You’re just a piece of annoying trash. And we all know the most environmentally friendly way to dispose of trash.” Emerson took out another match.

“Wait! Listen. Three weeks ago, maybe four, a new guy came on the scene. He only interacted remotely, and he said he represented a different supplier, but I think it was the same one.”

“Why?”

“The guy already knew the kind of bona fides I would want. They came through real quick. It was the same product. The same containers. The same destination. There’ve been two pickups so far. Both places the old organization used. A third pickup is scheduled, and that’s at another place they used. You tell me—coincidence?”

“This is just dawning on you now? You weren’t suspicious before?”

“Why would I care? I figured they must have a reason for this new name. New identity. Maybe someone was muscling in. Maybe they’d had quality issues in the past. Needed a fresh start. As long as there was regular work, good money, and no feds, I was happy.”

“The third pickup that’s scheduled. When is it?”

“Today.”

“Time? Place?”

“At 1:00 p.m. Abandoned paper mill ten miles southeast of a no-bit little town called Winson.”

“Any specific procedures or protocols when you show up?”

“I just drive in and wait. Another van comes in. Their guys open my doors, slide in the container, and off we all go. Two minutes, and I don’t even have to get out of the van.”

“You use the new-looking one?”

The guy nodded.

Emerson said, “The plans for the day have changed. We’re going in your place.”

“OK. That’s cool. What do you want me to do? Lie low for a while? Leave town for a couple of months? I can do that. And I can forget your faces. Anyone asks, you were never here. We never met. OK?”

Emerson crossed to the tool chests and rummaged through their drawers until he found a tray with three-inch sides. The kind of thing mechanics use to catch oil when they drain an engine. He said, “There’s something else you need to know. One of the consignments you transported for Carpenter was destined for my son.”

“So your kid got what he needed? That’s a good thing, right? Demand has to be met somehow. But if this is about the price you paid that’s not down to me. So how about this? I donate my fee. To him. To you. To whoever you want.”

Emerson plunged the tray into the barrel and pulled it out, full. “You think the price was high?”

“I don’t know the price. I was just thinking aloud.”

“I’ll tell you the price my son paid.” Emerson darted forward and dumped the gel from the tray on the floor around the guy’s feet. “He paid with his life.”

“No. Please. Stop. Your son died? That’s horrible. I’m sorry. But it’s not my fault.”

“I think it is.” Emerson struck another match. “And I think it’s fair you pay the same.”



* * *



—

Hannah kept her foot on the brake and the gear stick in neutral. “How can it be a trick? The company checked out. The letter’s genuine. If you don’t show up the guy who sent it could get spooked. He seemed twitchy enough already. We may never get another chance to meet him. To find out what Danny discovered. Which could be our only link to whoever killed Sam.”

Reacher said, “Have you still got the company information on your phone?”

Hannah nodded.

Reacher said, “Call the switchboard. Ask for Alan McInnes.”

Hannah shrugged, but she did as Reacher asked.

The switchboard operator said, “I’m sorry. Mr. McInnes isn’t in the office at present. Would you like his voicemail? But I should just let you know, Mr. McInnes is in Australia this week at a conference so it could be a while before he can respond.”

Hannah hung up the call. She said, “How did you know?”