No Plan B (Jack Reacher, #27)(94)

The guy stopped talking. He was looking at Reacher. He couldn’t understand why someone he didn’t recognize was there. Apparently in authority. Who wasn’t part of the program. He glanced across to Begovic. He couldn’t understand why the prisoner was standing upright. Why he was still conscious. Why he wasn’t boxed up, ready for transport. The guy’s brain struggled for a second. It was trying to fit all the pieces together. Then it quit the puzzle. It didn’t matter what the exact picture was. Because whatever shape it took, something was wrong. That was obvious. So he let go of the gurney and his hand darted toward his pocket.

Reacher didn’t know if the guy was going for a gun or a phone. He didn’t wait to find out. He stepped forward and spun the rifle around as he moved. Then he drove the flat end of its stock into the bridge of the guy’s nose. The guy collapsed onto the gurney then rolled off its side. He crashed down onto the floor and lay still, facedown, with blood pooling steadily around his head.

“Don’t move.” Reacher reversed the rifle and pointed it at the guy who’d been pushing the gurney. “You can show us the way out. Or I can take you to one of the exercise yards. There are about a hundred guys there who would make you very welcome. That’s for sure. OK. You have five seconds to decide.”



* * *



—

Self-preservation won the day. Reacher and Begovic followed the guy through the unit’s south wing. The cell doors were all open. There was no sound from inside any of them. Just the squeaking of three pairs of shoes on the concrete floor. A door was set into the wall at the far end. It was made of steel. Painted gray. It looked new. Shiny. The guy who was in the lead held his ID card up to a white plastic square set into the frame. The lock clicked and the guy pushed the door open. It led to a covered walkway. It was narrower than the other ones Reacher had been through. There were no lines painted on the ground. It had solid corrugated metal in place of open mesh. The air was hot and stale. It ran straight for thirty yards. There was a dogleg to the left. Then it ran straight for another forty yards. There was another gray steel door at the end, which opened into a kind of large shed. There were floor-to-ceiling shelves on two sides. They were full of janitorial supplies and prison uniforms and cans of dried food. A van was parked in the center. It was dark blue and shiny, like the one Reacher had seen outside the Riverside Lodge. It had been backed into the space. In front of it, in the middle of the opposite wall, there was a roll-up vehicle door. No other people were in sight. Reacher looked through the driver’s window. The keys were in the ignition.

Reacher said, “What opens the exit door?”

The guy said, “There’s a remote clipped to the visor. Hit the button, the door rolls up. Approach the gate in the inner fence. It’ll open. Pull forward toward the gate in the outer fence. The inner one will close on its own. Then flash your headlights three times. The guy in the booth will let you out.”

“Flash the headlights. Really?”

“That’s the signal.”

Reacher saw that the guy wouldn’t meet his eye. So he opened the van’s rear door and said, “Get in. You’re riding with Begovic. When we’re clear of here I’ll come and let you out. But first I’ll knock on the bulkhead. If the door opens and Begovic hasn’t heard a knock, he’s going to shoot out one of your kneecaps.”

The guy shook his head and took a step back. “Wait. You don’t flash your lights. You don’t do anything. Just approach the outer gate. The officer in the booth has orders to let this van in or out, any time, no record, no search. Don’t worry. You won’t be penned in for long.”

Penned in. Two words Reacher did not like the sound of. Not when they applied to him.



* * *



—

Reacher didn’t make the guard get in the back of the van. Because Reacher didn’t know Begovic well enough. He couldn’t predict how Begovic would stand up to the pressure. If he got flustered or showed signs of panic there was too much danger the guard would go for the gun. He could make a noise. Alert whoever was on duty in the booth. Begovic could wind up taking a stray bullet. Or a deliberate one. So Reacher took a different approach. He knocked the guy out, rolled his body onto the bottom shelf at the side of the room, and piled a bunch of balled-up orange jumpsuits in front of it.

The van’s engine started at the first turn of the key. The exit door opened at the first press of the remote. The gate in the inner fence rolled aside the moment the van approached. It slid back into place the second the van was through. Then nothing more happened. The outer gate stayed where it was. It was completely still. Inert. Like it was welded shut. Or it was just another fixed panel in the fence. The electrified fence. That was on their left. On their right. And now effectively in front and behind. There was no way forward. No way back. Nowhere to go even if they abandoned the vehicle.

The outer gate didn’t move.

Reacher looked at the booth. He couldn’t see inside. The glass was mirrored. Maybe no one was there. Maybe the fire alarm protocol required the guard to assist with the evacuation on the other side of the prison. Or maybe the guard was still at his post, waiting for some kind of signal. Something Reacher didn’t know about. Something he had to do or the guard would raise the alarm. Reinforcements would come from behind, Reacher thought. Through the warehouse. Heavily armed. He checked the mirror. The roll-up door was still closed. For the moment.