The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(16)

‘Rusty, I admire your spirit, but are you sure this is the best path to take? It would be a hollow victory if you can’t enjoy it because you’ve been bundled into the back of some other thug’s car.’

‘That detective was clear he didn’t think it was a serious kidnap attempt. How could it be, really? What would be the point? I’m not rich. I have no famous relatives. I don’t know any secrets. I haven’t slept with anyone’s wife.’

‘Well, someone sent those guys after you. And it wasn’t someone wanting to invite you over for milk and cookies.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that. I didn’t recognize any of them. So they wouldn’t recognize me. It could have been a case of mistaken identity.’

‘There are these new things. They’re called photographs. I’ve been told that even cell phones can take them now.’

‘Point taken. But hiring a bunch of thugs to drag me somewhere and kick my ass? Why do that? It’s a lot of trouble. A lot of expense, probably. And even if everyone in town believes the attack is my fault, who really got hurt? It’s all hysteria. The papers, social media, people are talking nonsense. Saying the town’s schools are going to close. There’ll be no new swings in the park. Half the police department’s cars will have to be scrapped. Gas prices will double. House prices will crash. It’s all a load of crap. Some of the town’s employees are having to work longer hours, sure. And use their own phones. But who doesn’t have unlimited minutes these days? The online historical archive is delayed, so the town will lose a little face, but we’re not alone. Lots of towns have been disrupted recently. It’s not worth committing crimes over. As long as the systems are back up and running by the end of the month for payroll, it’s no biggie. Despite the hype.’

‘How long have the computers been down?’

‘Two weeks.’

‘There’s a week left to the end of the month. The town has no backup. You said it takes time to start from scratch, and there’s no IT manager. Sounds like a biggie to me.’

‘But the town’s not starting from scratch. We’re paying. Didn’t I tell you that? The deal must be almost done.’

‘If someone’s paying, someone’s going to be left with a hole in their bank account. They might not be happy about that.’

Rutherford shook his head. ‘The insurance company is paying. They’ve got a guy negotiating, trying to get the price down. Maybe the guy you rode in with. Even if he can’t get them to budge and they have to pay full sticker, I don’t see a major corporation going after a pound of my flesh.’

The friendly waitress collected their plates.

Reacher took a sip of coffee. ‘You said you were working on some kind of new system. To detect these attacks and stop them. It was defeated, I get that. But is there any way it could still help? Think about someone wearing body armour. It’s supposed to be impermeable but he gets shot by some new kind of round that is able to penetrate. It sucks for him because he’s dead but the forensic guys can still learn a lot. The calibre of the bullet. Was it jacketed? What kind of material? And so on. Then some deductions can be made.’

‘I was thinking the same way. That was exactly what I was hoping for. I checked. Multiple times. No luck. And I sent a copy to my ex-FBI friend. She’s working on it too. She has more resources but it doesn’t look hopeful.’

Reacher put some money down and slid out of the booth. The friendly waitress slipped her phone into her apron pocket and approached. She asked to talk to Rutherford for a moment. There was something she needed help with. Her voice said it had to do with a computer. Her body language said it had to do with something else. Reacher smiled. He found people respond to crises in two ways. Some get to work fixing the problem. Others, proving the problem wasn’t their fault. Reacher liked the first kind. Rutherford seemed like the first kind. It was nice to see someone not dumping on him for a change.

Reacher stepped outside. He moved to the side of the window to give Rutherford some privacy. A man stepped out of the shadows. He was around six feet even. He had sunken eyes set into a pale, unshaven face. Shabby work boots with torn leather exposing their steel toecaps. Grubby jeans. A tight black T-shirt under an olive jacket. Army surplus, Reacher thought. Probably Italian, by the shade of green.

The man’s hand slid into his jacket pocket and directed something hard and cylindrical towards Reacher’s chest. ‘Move it,’ he said. ‘Into the alley.’





FIVE





Speranski was back in his living room, reading his newspaper, when the secure phone rang again.

‘Good news,’ the voice at the other end of the line said. ‘The Center agreed. The team was sent back out. And right away they re-established contact.’

‘Excellent,’ Speranski said. ‘Where?’

‘Going into a diner. Opposite Rutherford’s building.’

‘Can they take him there? What’s the plan?’

‘Not inside. They’re going to wait. Take them when they come out.’

‘Them?’

‘Correct. Rutherford and the drifter.’

Speranski was silent for a moment. Had his contact in the police department lied to him? Or failed to carry out an adequate interview?