Past Tense (Jack Reacher #23)(92)

Or would they simply be followed from their very first step out the door?

So many questions.

Including the biggest question of all. What kind of tag would it be? Probably not the schoolyard kind. Not a slap on the shoulder. Not a beanbag. Six men. Thirty square miles. Quad-bikes and night vision. Confident of success.

Not good.

Which led to the biggest decision of all. Stick together, or split up? They could go different directions. It would double their chances. More than. If one of them got caught, the other would benefit from the diversion.

One of them might get away.

—

Reacher sat in the Subaru on the wide gravel shoulder. If the organic jute wasn’t true, then nothing was true. Told you so, said the back part of his brain. The tow truck wasn’t there for an abandoned car. Not the way the story was told. Amos said taxis wouldn’t drive out that far. The abandoned car was invented. It was part of a fantastically elaborate bullshit story. Along with the alleged plumbers and electricians, and maintenance, and water, and power.

The tow truck was a roadblock.

Burke said, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m wondering where the people were. We saw one guy, but there were four vehicles parked. So overall I’m thinking something weird is happening up there. But then I’m thinking, how bad could it be? It’s a motel. But then I’m thinking, it has a roadblock. And I guess bad things could happen at a motel with a roadblock. Possibly very bad things. But I lose the phone if I go up there. And I want to hear about Carrington. And Elizabeth Castle. It’s my fault they’re together. And I think Amos is going to call me. She wants me back in town. This time she paused before she said no. A significant amount of time. Sooner or later she’s going to ask me.”

“What could you do there?”

“I could walk around. They have my description. I’m the real thing. Carrington is a pale imitation. It would take the pressure off him. Now the bad guy would be coming after me.”

“Doesn’t that worry you?”

“He wants to take me back to Boston. He wants to throw me off a building. That would be a long and complicated operation. I don’t see how it could end well for him.”

“What kind of bad things could happen at a motel with a roadblock?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Reacher said.

—

The last of the day was fading, so the outside lights were on, up and down the boardwalk. The six men were starting to lay out their gear. All six doors were open. All six rooms were lit up bright. Guys wandered in and out, as if absentmindedly, holding bits and pieces. There was an element of display involved. Not that there was much latitude for showing off. The rules were tight. Everyone started equal. The playing field was level. Everyone got a randomly issued identical quad-bike. Like a lottery. Everyone used the same night vision. Standard practice. The course owner got to specify the exact device. Mark picked generation two army surplus. Which was the industry consensus, and a plentiful unit. Clothing and footwear were not restricted, but those experiments had been conducted long ago, by different people, and now everyone dressed the same. Nothing in the soft bags was worth a second look.

The hard cases were a different story. Strange, ungainly, suggestive shapes. Again, not restricted. A personal choice. Or factional, or ideological, or faith based. Anything was permitted. Or any combination. Recurve, reflex, self, long, flat, composite or takedown. Everyone had a favorite and a theory, backed by a little experience and a lot of wishful thinking. Everyone was planning improvements. Everyone was tinkering.

There were plenty of sideways glances, when the hard cases came out.

—

The last of the day was fading, so the view from the gravel shoulder was changing. It was dimming and going gray. In his mind Reacher replaced it with the motel. As they first saw it. The close-up view of what lay ahead. Bright sunshine. The office on the left, the Volvo wagon outside of three, the fake carpet van outside of seven, the small blue import outside of ten, and the long-bed pick-up truck outside of eleven. Plus room five’s lawn chair, slightly out of line.

Burke said, “What?”

“It’s a back of the brain thing,” Reacher said. “You prefer the front.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“What do they need, to make a bad thing happen?”

“Theologically?”

“In practical terms.”

“There could be many things.”

“They need a victim. Can’t do a bad thing without one. Maybe it’s a young girl. For example. She was lured there, and trapped. Maybe they’re going to force her to make a porn movie. The motel is a convenient location. Certainly it’s remote.”

“You think it’s porn?”

“I said for example. It could be a lot of different things. But all those things require a victim. Everything has that in common. A victim, on the premises. Somehow captured and held there, immediately available, when the rest of the party gathers.”

Burke said, “On the premises where?”

“Room ten was qualitatively different,” Reacher said. “Two separate ways. First the car. The only foreign plate. Also smaller and cheaper and worn out. Therefore probably a young person’s car. Possibly far from home and vulnerable. Secondly the bedroom window. The blind was down. The only one out of twelve.”