No Plan B (Jack Reacher, #27)(92)

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true. I was here when the prison was built. Added a few extras of my own. Had a feeling a day like this would come. When someone had to leave in a hurry. Thought it would be me, but hey.”

Reacher nodded. “One more question, then we can shake hands. What time is Begovic due to be collected?”

“Why?”

“I have a thirst for knowledge.”

Riverdale shrugged. “Twenty-five minutes from now, give or take.”



* * *



—

Reacher held out his right hand. Riverdale stepped closer to take it. Then Reacher drove the side of the tablet into Riverdale’s throat with his left. Riverdale’s larynx collapsed. He fell backward and landed in a sprawl on the couch. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t scream. He clawed at his own neck. Tears streamed from his eyes. Reacher hurled the tablet onto the ground and stomped it into fragments. He crossed to the desk and rummaged through the open drawer. Took out a twelve-inch ruler. Moved back and grabbed Riverdale by the shoulders. Flipped him over. Pinned him to the couch with his knee. Slid the ruler between the back of Riverdale’s neck and the steel chain that held the key. And started to turn.

The chain cut into Riverdale’s skin. Blood dribbled onto the couch. Reacher turned the ruler again. The chain bit deeper. Blood poured over the fabric faster than it could soak in. Reacher turned the ruler again. And again. And again. The chain cut Riverdale’s flesh. It tore his crushed windpipe. And finally sliced through his carotid. Blood sprayed right up the back of the couch and onto the wall. Reacher tilted Riverdale’s head a few degrees, pushed his neck down into the cushion, and held him there until his heart had nothing left to pump.

Reacher stood and looked at Begovic. He said, “What? I took a rational dislike to the guy. He got what he deserved.”

Begovic didn’t reply.

Reacher said, “You OK with what just happened?”

“Nothing happened.” Begovic’s face was blank. “I didn’t see a thing.”

Reacher nodded and started for the door. “Come on. Time to go.”

Begovic didn’t move. “What about the key? The secret exit?”

Reacher said, “We’re not using it.”

“Why not?”

“Either it doesn’t exist, or it’s booby-trapped.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s a universal principle. If something seems too good to be true, it is too good to be true.”

“I guess.” Begovic took one step, then stopped again. “I wish I’d understood that sixteen years ago.”

“What happened sixteen years ago?”

“I got arrested. The first time.”

Reacher stayed quiet.

Begovic said, “I met a girl. Wanted to buy her a ring. But I didn’t have any money. So a guy loaned me some. More than I needed. A friend of my dead uncle.”

“The money was dirty.”

“Right. But that wasn’t the problem. I didn’t get caught. He kept one of the bills with my prints on it. Said he’d tell the police I was passing forgeries unless I did something for him. And it was easy, so I thought, why not?”

“What did he want you to do?”

“Go certain places. Certain times. Where people would see me. That was all.”

“You were his patsy in waiting. When he felt the heat, he framed you.”

“Right. Then I got in more trouble. Most of that was on me. But it started with him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Not your fault. Just tell me, how are we going to get out if we can’t use the key?”

“I have an idea. But we could use a diversion first.”



* * *



—

Reacher smashed the square of glass with his elbow and jabbed the button that lay behind it. A klaxon spooled up and began to wail. Red lights started to flash. Reacher joined Begovic at the window and they looked down at the exercise yards. Inmates started to appear from two of the units. A and B. Slowly at first. The men looked tentative. Uncertain. Then the streams of bodies grew faster. More boisterous. The yards started to fill up. Inmates jostled and pushed. Guards appeared in the watchtowers. One had a bullhorn as well as a rifle. He started to call out instructions. They were muffled. Indistinct. Whatever he was saying, the prisoners took no notice.

Reacher turned to Begovic. “Why is no one coming out of C Block?”

Begovic shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Is the block in use?”

“Think so. It was before I went back in solitary. Used to see guys from there in the chow hall. Doubt they closed it down since then. Why would they? Where would everyone go?”

Reacher thought about his conversation with Maurice, the journalist, outside Hix’s house. About drugs. Maurice’s theory that Minerva was making them. Then supplying them to the captive population. Reacher had dismissed the idea when he found out about the organ trading. Now he was reconsidering. Maybe this wasn’t an either/or situation. Maybe Minerva was greedy enough to do both. He said, “These guys from C Block. Do you remember anything about them?”

“I guess. They were kind of cliquey. Sat together, mostly. Didn’t talk to the other prisoners. Seemed friendlier with the guards.”