Past Tense (Jack Reacher #23)(108)

She knew the voice. It was Karel. The weasel with the tow truck. From the Yugoslav army. Who looked like a blurry face in the back of a war crimes photo. She should have known. She was stupid.

Karel asked, “Where’s Shorty?”

She didn’t answer.

“Didn’t he make it? Or maybe you don’t know for sure. Maybe you went your separate ways. You ain’t a pair right now. He ain’t up ahead, because I checked. He can’t be behind you, because that would be neither use nor ornament.”

She looked away.

“Interesting,” Karel said. “Is he back there for a reason?”

She didn’t answer.

He smiled under his glassy snout.

Wide and delighted.

He said, “Is he wounded?”

No reply.

“This is exciting,” he said. “You’re out gathering roots and berries, to make a potion, to heal your man. You’re worried. You’re anxious to get back. This is a truly delightful situation. You and I are going to have so much fun.”

“I was looking for a quad-bike,” she said.

“No point,” he said. “My truck is parked in the way. No one gets out of here before me. I ain’t dumb.”

He lowered his aim.

To her legs.

“No,” she said.

“No what?”

“Yes, Shorty was wounded. Now I need to get back to him.”

“How bad was he wounded?”

“Pretty bad. I think his thigh bone is broken.”

“Shame,” Karel said.

“I need to go see him now.”

“The game says freedom of movement depends on not getting tagged.”

“Please,” she said.

“Please what?”

“I don’t like the game.”

“But I do.”

“I think we should quit. It has gotten way out of hand.”

“No, I think it has gotten to the good part.”

Patty didn’t speak again. She just stood there, with her flashlight in one hand and her arrow in the other. It was the working flashlight, not even the weapon. The arrow would be good for slashing or stabbing, but the guy was ten feet away. Out of range.

He drew back the string an extra inch. The arrowhead moved backward, the same inch, toward his hand, clenched tight around the grip. The bow curved harder. It sang with tension.

It was the working flashlight .

All in one movement she dropped the arrow and found the switch and lit up the beam. It was like she remembered, from the first time, checking on the Honda’s heater hoses. A bright white beam of light, hard and focused. She aimed it right at the guy. At his face. At his big glass eye. She lit it up and pinned it down. He flinched away and his arrow fired wide and low and thrashed through the undergrowth and thumped in the ground. He ducked and squirmed and twisted. She chased him with the beam of light, like a physical weapon, jabbing, thrusting, aiming always for his face. He fell to the ground and rolled over and tore the machine off his head.

She switched off the flashlight and ran through the trees.





Chapter 41


Patty knew running would turn out either smart or dumb, depending on whether Karel caught her or not. Simple as that. At first she was hopeful. She was running well, and she figured he might be slow to get going. He might worry a little about an ambush up ahead, with the beam of light. Like a space movie on Shorty’s TV.

Then, bad news. She heard crashing feet behind her. Getting closer. She darted right and changed direction. Karel was slower to turn. She got ahead of him. He caught up again. He got to where he was just behind her. Up ahead in the bouncing night vision she saw the track. Coming up. Closer and closer. Bright and clear. She was running toward it at an angle. There were crashing feet behind her. She burst out on the track. Karel burst out after her. He planted his feet. He raised his bow.

They were lit up by headlight beams. Amplified twenty thousand times. Like atom bombs. They ducked away. Karel flipped up his tube. Patty tore the whole apparatus off her head. The world went dark, except the car. The black Mercedes. All lit up. Slowing down. Mark at the wheel. He came to a stop. He opened the door. He got out. He stayed away from the headlights. He stepped forward in the shadows.

Karel raised his bow again.

He aimed the arrow at Patty.

But he spoke to Mark.

He said, “What’s on fire up there?”

Mark paused a beat.

“Everything’s on fire,” he said. “We’re in a whole new ball game now.”

“We?”

“You’re kind of involved. Wouldn’t you say? People have died. This is going to be no stone unturned. We should get out. Right this minute. Just you and me. We need to do it, Karel. The pressure will be heavy duty. We might not survive it if we stay.”

“Just you and me?”

“You’re my number one draft pick. The others are useless. They’re a burden. You know that.”

Karel didn’t answer.

Mark said, “We don’t have much time.”

“We have plenty,” Karel said. “The night is still young. We can’t be disturbed. No one can get in.”

“We need to talk about that. Really we need to move your truck right now.”

“Why?”