The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(26)

‘Good. Keep me posted. I want to know the moment Rutherford is intercepted.’ Speranski paused. ‘Wait. What about the drifter? What’s his status?’

‘That’s unclear. There must have been some kind of a delay after he was taken from the courthouse. He hadn’t been delivered when the team pulled out. I judged that finding Rutherford was a higher priority.’

‘So where is he?’

There was a momentary silence on the line. ‘That’s another thing we don’t know.’

Reacher stayed where he was, silent, and still. He didn’t want to reveal himself only to come face to face with another half dozen ambushers who had been lying in wait all along, so he gave it fifteen more minutes before he risked leaving. He crawled back the way he’d come until he reached the trees parallel to the road. Then he stood and started moving faster. He’d covered a quarter of a mile when he felt something vibrating in his pocket. He took out Marty’s phones. The burner was buzzing. Reacher opened the phone and held it to his ear.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Where the hell are you?’ It was a man’s voice, broken up and distorted.

The signal must be weak, Reacher guessed. Probably due to the remote location. Probably not great for clarity. But just in case he pulled up his shirt, doubled over the material, and used it to cover the little microphone.

‘Two minutes out,’ Reacher said.

‘What’s taking so long?’ The other man’s words were almost drowned out by the pops and howls on the line.

‘That guy you sent me to deliver? He’s a piece of work. I had to knock him out.’

‘He’s unconscious?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘That’s good. There’s been a change of plan. The team that was sent to meet you has been reassigned, temporarily. Another situation. More urgent. But that’s my concern. Have you got any rope with you? Or plasticuffs?’

‘I have a pair of real cuffs. Police department issue.’

‘They’ll work. Now, do this. When you get to the gas station take the guy inside the building and cuff him to something. Make sure it’s secure, and when you leave make sure there’s no sign you’ve been there. And make sure to keep your phone switched on. I may have another job for you later.’

Marty was sitting bolt upright when Reacher got back to the car. He was stiff, proprietorial. Attempting to reclaim a little dignity. Reacher climbed in on the passenger side and gave him his keys and phones and gun.

‘Did you find the place?’ Marty unlocked the handcuffs.

‘I did,’ Reacher said. ‘Now drive.’

‘Where?’ Marty fired up the engine. ‘Please say the highway.’

‘To the gas station. Half a mile, like you said.’

Marty tensed up. ‘Is that safe?’

‘Completely. There’s no one there.’

‘Then why are we going?’

‘Because I’ve decided to cut you a break.’

‘How? What are you going to do?’

‘Cuff you to something solid then borrow your car. I’ll leave the keys at the courthouse.’

‘You’re going to send the police to get me?’

‘No. The guy on the phone is sending someone. He thinks they’ll be collecting me.’

‘I’m not following.’

‘The guy called on your burner phone a minute ago. There’s some snafu at his end, causing a delay. Tell his guys you tried to cuff me like he told you to, but I must not have been as unconscious as you thought. I got the jump on you, and cuffed you instead.’

‘They’ll never believe me.’

‘I could knock you out if that would help?’

Marty paused like he was seriously considering it.

‘How about this?’ Reacher said. ‘I’ll cuff you with your arms so high up behind your back there’s no way you could have done it yourself. It’ll be uncomfortable, but it should save your ass.’

Marty didn’t answer. He just pulled the car on to the old gas station’s forecourt and trudged to the kiosk in silence. Reacher followed him inside.

‘Why are you helping me?’ Marty winced as Reacher tightened the cuffs. ‘I tried helping someone once. Look at the trouble it got me in.’

‘I’ve been in trouble before,’ Reacher said. ‘I survived. And right now I have bigger fish to fry.’

Reacher’s general approach to driving was to find someone else to do it. He was capable of operating a vehicle, in a technical sense. The army had provided thorough training. He’d never killed anyone with a car. At least, not by accident. He’d never had any collisions. Not unintentional ones. His problem was mainly one of temperament. Good driving called for a balance of action and reaction, speed and restraint, measurement and control. A middle ground, stable and sustained. Reacher, on the other hand, was built for extremes. His default was to move extremely slowly or extremely fast. One moment he could appear languid, lazy, almost comatose. The next he could erupt into a frenzy of action, furious, relentless, for as long as necessary, then relapse into serene stillness until the next threat presented itself. But that morning, having shackled the only other person in the vicinity to a water pipe, he was out of alternatives. There were no buses passing by. No cars to hitch a ride in. And even if there had been, there was the issue of speed.