The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(25)

Reacher figured they’d put one person on the roof to spot Marty’s car approaching and give the word to the others. The car would swing on to the forecourt, and if Reacher was calling the shots he’d have it continue between the buildings and stop when it was halfway out at the other side. One person would break cover, open the rear door on the driver’s side, then drop back. Another would follow with a tranquillizer gun and shoot the target before he had a chance to scramble out of the tight space. So three people, minimum. Enough to handle the job easily. But if they were cautious they could use two people to open both rear doors, and have two with dart guns. That would require a higher level of skill and training to ensure that the guys with the guns didn’t shoot each other across the back seat of the car, but it would avoid any problems if the target gambled and threw himself at the opening door or managed to grab the gun before it fired. So more likely five people. And if they were more cautious still, they would have someone mobile to sweep up if anything went wrong. Six people. Two pairs, two singles. The same complement as yesterday.

Reacher decided to leave the lookout on the roof until last. They were too physically removed to pose a threat, and even if they were armed they wouldn’t risk shooting in case they hit their own people. The pairs were likely to be concealed somewhere near the adjacent rear corners of the buildings. The sweeper was the unknown factor. He or she would be the one to take off the board first.

If one existed.

Reacher settled in to observe. He could wait all day. Meanwhile his opponents would be getting jumpy. They’d no doubt been informed that Marty had left the courthouse. Concern would be creeping in by now. They’d be worrying that something had gone wrong. The longer the delay, the more stress they’d be under. The greater the stress, the greater the chance they’d make a mistake.

Twelve minutes passed. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. Then Reacher heard a vehicle. It was approaching from the north. Reacher caught movement on the roof. Near the pillar with the letters. A head appeared, rising slowly. It was a woman. Dressed in black. With red hair. He’d seen her before. Yesterday. On the opposite side of the alley before she helped get her unconscious buddy into the back of the Toyota. She stayed still for five or six seconds then sank back down, raising her hand to her ear as she went. A car appeared. Moving fast. An ink-blue Mustang convertible with its roof down. A man was driving. There was a woman smiling in the passenger seat. It flashed past, engine howling, scattering gravel in its wake.

The next vehicle Reacher heard was heading the wrong way so he stayed still, pressed into the ground, invisible. The engine note was the same so he guessed it was the Mustang coming back. The guy showing off, hoping for action that night. Or hurrying home after an earlier indiscretion. Five more minutes passed. Ten. Then he heard a vehicle coming the right way. Something slower and softer. Reacher pulled up into a crouch, ready to race forward.

There was movement on the roof. The woman’s head appeared again. She was rising faster this time. She stood all the way up, touching her ear, and started running towards the centre of the building. She would have been looking right at Reacher if she wasn’t so focused on the rooftop beneath her feet. When the southbound vehicle rolled by she didn’t even turn her head. Then she was gone. Reacher guessed she’d jumped down through a hatch. He dropped down too, nestling into the ground. Ninety seconds later the woman wriggled out through a gap at the end of a length of plywood hoarding near the midpoint of the rear wall. The guy Reacher had knocked out squeezed through after her and they ran to the Toyota. The two shorter guys Reacher had exchanged words with emerged from the kiosk and sprinted to the Suburban. Then both vehicles fired up and sped away, wheels spinning on the loose surface, heading away from town.





EIGHT





Speranski was in his dining room, eating his breakfast, when the secure phone rang again.

‘We have a problem,’ the voice at the other end of the line said. ‘We’ve lost Rutherford.’

‘How the hell did that happen?’ Speranski hurled his newspaper across the room. ‘Two people were supposed to be watching his building. Were my instructions not clear?’

‘They were clear. Two people were watching. One was the senior agent. She got a text from Rutherford’s doorman. Rutherford had asked him to call a cab.’

‘So how did that lead to Rutherford disappearing?’

‘The agent told the doorman to go ahead. And to order a second cab to arrive at the same time. So they could follow. The two operational vehicles were both in use at the ambush site. She figured that if the doorman didn’t get him a cab Rutherford would have just run out and hailed one on his own. Or taken his own car. Either way, just as bad. Maybe worse.’

‘So what went wrong?’

‘I don’t know. Either the doorman screwed up or the cab company did. Only one car came and Rutherford took it.’

‘Tell me we at least know its number?’

‘We do. Number, description, and photograph.’

‘Did Rutherford state his destination?’

‘He did. You’re not going to like it. Nashville airport.’

‘No.’ Speranski stood up. ‘Rutherford cannot be allowed to board a plane. That would be an absolute disaster. Where are the agents who were watching him?’

‘En route to the airport. So is the balance of the team. Given the urgency of the situation I recalled them from the ambush site.’