Past Tense (Jack Reacher #23)(81)

Reacher said, “I told you I was paying. You should have picked out somewhere expensive.”

Burke said, “I did.”

He got tuna and Reacher got chicken. They both stuck with water. They ate outside, at a government-brown picnic table near the head of the trail.

“Now give me the message,” Reacher said. “From the ornithologist.”

Burke didn’t answer right away.

Something on his mind.

In the end he said, “Obviously it’s you he really wants to talk to. He seems extremely excited. He said he was completely unaware that Stan had kids.”

“Who is he, exactly? Did he tell you?”

“You know who he is. You called him. He’s a professor at the university.”

“I mean how is he related?”

Burke took a long drink of water.

“He explained in great detail,” he said. “The short version is you count back four generations on your father’s side. Not your father himself, not your grandfather, not your great-grandfather, but your great-great-grandfather. Who was one of seven brothers. Who all had numerous children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren. Apparently you and the professor are both in there somewhere.”

“Plus about ten thousand other people.”

“He said he wants to talk to you about Stan. He said he feels a connection, because of the birdwatching. He said he wants to meet with you face to face. He said he has an idea he wants to discuss with you.”

“Five minutes ago he didn’t know I existed.”

“He was very insistent.”

“Did you like him?”

“I felt pressured by him. In the end I took the liberty of telling him in my estimation you would likely move on very soon, not being the type of passerby likely to put down roots, in which case it might prove very difficult to arrange a face to face meeting, simply because of scheduling issues alone.”

“But?”

“He said we simply must make it happen.”

“And?”

“He’s coming tomorrow.”

“Coming where?”

“I was unable to suggest an exact rendezvous. I felt I shouldn’t speak for you. I didn’t know your preferences. In the end he offered a suggestion. I’m afraid I took the liberty of accepting on your behalf. I felt rushed. He put me on the spot.”

“What was his suggestion?”

“Ryantown.”

“Really?”

“He said he knows where it is. He was there for research. I tested him on a couple of things, and he knows his stuff.”

“What time tomorrow?”

“He said he’ll be there at eight o’clock in the morning.”

“In a ruin in the woods.”

“He said it was appropriate.”

“For fighting a duel, maybe.”

“Appropriate was his word, not mine. And Ryantown was his suggestion, not mine.”

“Did you like him?” Reacher asked again.

“Does it matter?”

“I would like to hear your personal opinion.”

“Why would I have one?”

“You heard him talk. You got a sense of the guy.”

“I’m giving you the message,” Burke said. “That’s what I promised. Don’t ask for editorial comment. It’s none of my business.”

“Suppose it was.”

“It’s not for me to say. I wouldn’t want to influence you one way or the other.”

“When people say that, it means they would, really.”

“He sounded very eager.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It could be both.”

“How?”

“Look, he’s a professor at the university. An academic. I respect that tremendously. I was a teacher myself, don’t forget. But it’s different now. They have to promote themselves all the time. It’s not just publish or perish anymore. They have to be on social media. They need something new every day. I would worry that some tiny part of what he wants is a picture of you in Ryantown, for a blog post or an on-line article. Or to re-launch the research he did before. Or some combination. Absolutely can’t blame him. He needs to feed the beast, or his students will rate him low. Visuals are important. Hence the early start. The morning light will be atmospheric. You could stare moodily into the sky, looking for the lost bird.”

“You’re a very cynical man, Reverend Burke.”

“It’s different now.”

“But everyone takes pictures. Everyone puts stuff on line. It’s no big deal. It’s not a reason to worry about meeting a person. You’re overselling it. You’re trying to head me off at the pass. You should tell me what’s really on your mind.”

Burke was quiet a long moment.

Then he said, “If you meet with him, he’ll tell you something upsetting.”

“We don’t need to walk on eggs,” Reacher said.

“Different kind of upsetting.”

“What kind?”

“I heard him talk. I felt not everything he said made sense. At first I wasn’t sure he was getting it straight. Then I thought I was misunderstanding the ancestry jargon.”