The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(37)

‘That might work.’ Reacher paused. ‘Is there a garage at your building?’

‘Yes. In the basement. Access is from the street behind.’

‘Is your car there?’

Rutherford nodded. ‘Each unit gets one space. You can rent more if you want. And there are visitors’ spots if you want to park this car in one.’

‘This car can stay on the street,’ Reacher said. ‘Have you got any duct tape at your place?’

‘Why would I have duct tape?’

‘How about a sharp knife?’

‘I have a couple of kitchen knives. But they’re not super sharp. I’m not much of a chef.’

‘Where’s the nearest hardware store?’

‘I’m not sure. But there’s a truck stop near the highway that sells those things.’

The truck stop wasn’t the biggest Reacher had ever been in, but it was close. More of a small village than a large gas station. It had pizza restaurants and burger joints and fried chicken stands. Two motels. A coffee shop. Even a souvenir shop. The forecourt with the fuel pumps was almost the size of a football field, but it still seemed like an afterthought. The pumps were divided into two groups. Four banks of regular-sized ones for cars and SUVs. And six banks of larger ones, spread wider and further apart for the trucks and their trailers.

They left the car at one of the regular pumps and headed into the main building. Rutherford took a moment to get his bearings, then led Reacher to a cabinet full of knives. Reacher picked out two. A large one and a small one. The large one he didn’t particularly like because of its dull, cheap steel but he took it anyway because he figured it looked intimidating, which could be a useful quality. The smaller one was much more satisfactory. Its blade folded so it would fit easily in a pocket. It had a good sharp edge and a mechanism that allowed it to open with a flick of the wrist. Reacher paid for the knives with cash then loaded two rolls of duct tape into his basket, along with a can of pepper spray for Rutherford. He was heading back to the register when he spotted a clothing section. Of sorts. He rooted around until he unearthed a pair of khaki pants and a pale green T-shirt that he thought would fit. He added a denim shirt he figured could double as a light jacket. Then he settled up for his goods and pre-paid for some gas. He handed a bag containing everything but the clothes to Rutherford and went to the restroom to change. He transferred his toothbrush and passport and ATM card and cash into his new pockets, and dumped the old garments in the trash. When he emerged he found Rutherford between two heated cabinets which dispensed the sausages for self-assembly hotdogs.

‘I got these for you,’ Rutherford said, and held out a different bag.

Reacher took it and looked inside. He saw two brightly coloured boxes. One contained a cell phone. The other a Bluetooth earpiece. He handed the bag back to Rutherford. ‘Thanks, Rusty. I appreciate the thought. But I’m not a cell-phone guy.’

‘Please take it,’ Rutherford said. ‘It’s really for me. You can’t be at my side twenty-four seven and it would make me feel better knowing I could call if I needed you. Even waiting here just now got me so nervous I almost followed you into the bathroom. And look.’ Rutherford reached into the bag and took out the phone. ‘I got you the oldest-fashioned kind they had. It was the last one left. It doesn’t even go online. It can make calls, and it can text. That’s all. I’ll set it up for you. I’ll keep it charged. And when this is all over, if you don’t want it any more, give it back. I’m sure there’s a museum somewhere that would take it.’

Reacher said nothing.

But he did let Rutherford pass him the bag.

The same time Reacher was changing his clothes, Speranski’s burner phone was starting to ring. He picked up right away. It was a very short call. From a man a short distance away. A report. First, a fact. Then an opinion. Brief and concise. Leaving Speranski feeling mightily relieved. He took a sip of iced tea, then dialled a number on his secure phone.

‘You can recall the team,’ Speranski said when the call was answered. ‘Rutherford and the drifter are back in town.’

‘You’ve seen them?’ the voice at the end of the line said.

‘No. My contact in the police department reported it.’

‘He didn’t arrest them?’

‘He didn’t come into contact with them. Not directly. Another officer did. She mentioned it without realizing the significance.’

‘Why did they come back?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe Rutherford got cold feet about flying. Maybe the drifter contacted him and called him back. We’ll find out.’

‘They give any clue where they’re going?’

‘Nothing concrete.’

‘OK. We’ll cover Rutherford’s building, the coffee shop, and the diner. He doesn’t usually stray far.’

‘Good. One other thing. Have the team swing by the ambush site on their way to town. Or a couple of them, at least. My guy was supposed to deliver the drifter. Something obviously happened to him.’

‘I’ll have them check. We can arrange clean-up if necessary. And if it’s not necessary?’

‘Make it necessary. The man failed. Or he sold us out. Either way, he’s no use now.’

Back outside Reacher pumped the gas, then told Rutherford to drive to the street behind his building and stop twenty yards short of the entrance to the garage.