The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(38)

‘Is there a camera on the outside?’ he asked when they arrived.

‘Yes.’ Rutherford pointed. ‘There’s one right above the door. Sometimes if it’s late and it’s raining and a nice doorman is working you can flash your headlights and he opens it for you remotely. Saves you getting out.’

‘How do you open it normally?’

‘With a fob. You just hold it up to a sensor. And there’s a keypad for backup.’

‘Does the code get changed frequently?’

‘No.’ Rutherford rolled his eyes. ‘It’s been 1 2 3 4 ever since I moved in.’

‘How’s the garage laid out?’

‘You drive down a ramp, which curves to the left. You’re supposed to honk but no one does. Then the main space is just a basic rectangle. There are pillars every three car widths apart. Spaces along each side. And a double row in the centre.’

‘Cameras?’

Rutherford thought for a moment. ‘Yes. There are those little half globes dotted around on the ceiling. I couldn’t say how many.’

‘Is there pedestrian access to the building?’

‘Yes. There’s a door at the far end. It leads to a flight of steps up to the lobby. You need your fob to open it, or there’s another keypad you can use.’

‘Good. We’ll risk one drive-by, then I want you to loop around to the front of the building and stop somewhere with a clear view of the main entrance.’

Rutherford drove slowly past the garage entrance then cut through an alley, squeezing past a pair of dumpsters, and rolled the car to the kerb diagonally opposite the diner. He left the engine running, ready to go. Reacher scanned the street ahead, working systematically, projecting a mental grid across the storefronts and the sections of sidewalk. No one was loitering. No one was waiting in any of the parked cars. No vehicle passed them more than once. No one was out walking. Rutherford took the new cell phone out of its box. Reacher repeated his scan, looking behind them this time. Rutherford worked at a credit-card-sized piece of plastic until he’d separated a section which held a little gold chip. He inserted it into a slot in the back of the phone. He slid the battery into place over it and hit the power button. Reacher repeated his scan to the front. Saw no one. The phone lit up and played a tinny electronic tune. Reacher repeated his scan, behind. Saw no one.

‘There’s a little charge in the battery,’ Rutherford said, and passed the phone to Reacher. ‘Are we going to be in the car for a while? I could charge it the rest of the way.’

‘No,’ Reacher said. ‘The coast’s clear. It’s time to move. Here’s what I want you to do. Go into your building and tell the doorman you came back from the airport because you forgot something. Tell him you rebooked your flight for this afternoon and you’re going to drive to the airport this time but need his advice about when you should leave to get there by a quarter after four. Whatever time he suggests you should thank him, say you’ll see him in a couple of weeks when you get back, then head upstairs. Only don’t stay in your own apartment. Go to your neighbour’s. Wait for me there. OK?’

‘OK.’ Rutherford handed the car key to Reacher and opened his door. ‘And I’ll text you when I get there. You have a phone now. You might as well use it.’





TWELVE





Rutherford’s text arrived after five minutes. It contained two words. In. Safe. Reacher read it, waited another five minutes, then took the truck-stop bag from the back seat, climbed out of the car, and headed into Rutherford’s lobby.

The doorman’s booth jutted out from the side wall, opposite the elevators, equally spaced between the front entrance and a door which Reacher assumed led to the stairs to the garage. It had mahogany sides which matched the panels on the walls and its green-veined marble top was the same pattern as the floor. As far as Reacher could tell. At least eighty per cent of its surface was covered. There were ring binders full of directories and procedures and regulations. A computer monitor. A phone, bristling with all kinds of buttons and displays. And a cell phone with a large screen. The space behind the counter was probably the regular size but the doorman seemed to completely fill it. He looked like he was in his late twenties, with a shaved head, a doughy face, small eyes and a heavy build. Very heavy. The kind of guy who had done well on the high-school football team, Reacher figured, but whose life had been all downhill from there.

‘Help you?’ the guy said.

The years Reacher spent in the military police had taught him that most investigations go with the numbers. A wife turns up dead, it’s usually the husband who killed her. Something goes missing from the stores, it’s usually a quartermaster who stole it. Someone shares secrets, it’s usually for the money. Unless they’re being blackmailed, which is less common. Or tricked. Or acting on principle, which is the rarest thing of all.

‘Name your price,’ Reacher said.

The guy stared back, blankly. ‘For what?’

‘You just made a call. Or sent a text. Or an email. Name your price to message me instead in future.’

The guy stretched out and covered his phone. It completely disappeared beneath his giant paw. ‘I didn’t send a text. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Sure you do,’ Reacher said. ‘You just had a conversation with Mr Rutherford. Then you told someone what time he’s leaving for the airport. Just like you told them he asked for a cab this morning.’