The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(42)

The guy didn’t respond.

‘Take a moment to think,’ Reacher said. ‘Have you ever seen an X-ray of a knee? It’s not the bones you need to worry about. They heal up easily. It’s all the other parts you need to keep in mind. Ligaments. Tendons. Cartilage. But mainly ligaments. If they get damaged, not too severely, and you’re a famous sports player with limitless money and immediate access to a hospital, there’s a chance of a decent repair. Only you’re not a top sports guy. I’m guessing you don’t have limitless money. And I can assure you that if my foot crashes down on your knee with all my weight behind it, the damage is going to be way beyond severe. That’s for damn sure.’

The guy heaved back, trying to free his foot. He flailed with his left hand, trying to land a blow or gouge Reacher’s eyes, but he was stymied by his own locked leg. ‘OK,’ he said, panting, when he finally gave up. ‘Fine. Do what you have to do. I’m not saying a word.’

Reacher didn’t move.

‘Come on. What are you waiting for? Just do it.’

‘This is your last chance,’ Reacher said. ‘What does Rutherford have that you want?’

‘It doesn’t matter what you do to me. I’ll never tell you anything.’

‘If that’s the way you want it,’ Reacher said. He lifted his right foot, held it still, and looked the guy in the eyes. Then stamped down hard towards the knee of the guy’s standing leg. The guy threw his head back and closed his eyes and whimpered, but he didn’t say a word. Reacher’s shoe was solid and heavy. He stopped his foot with the sole an inch from the guy’s knee. He paused, then lowered his foot to the ground. He released the guy’s leg and simultaneously punched him just below the ear. The guy went down sideways, his right leg still extended like he’d just kicked a ball, and didn’t move again.

Reacher checked that the guy was breathing then retrieved his weapon. It was well maintained and, unlike Marty’s, loaded. Reacher searched the guy’s clothes. He had a wallet with some cash which Reacher took as spoils of war, but no credit cards or ID or anything indicating a name or an address. Or any kind of temporary accommodation. He had no spare ammunition. And nothing else in his pockets except for a phone. Reacher pressed the button below its screen and a message appeared saying that his print wasn’t recognized so to try again or enter a keycode. He held the button against the unconscious guy’s thumb and the screen lit up. Reacher touched a picture of a phone and a list of calls appeared. There was nothing since yesterday. There were no voicemails. No text messages. And the picture of an address book only revealed five entries. All were numbers. No names. Reacher put the phone in his pocket, slipped the gun into his waistband, and fetched his bag from the gap between the dumpsters. He took out the duct tape. Fastened the guy’s ankles together. Taped his hands behind his back. Stuck a strip over his mouth. Then hoisted the guy over his shoulder and heaved him into one of the dumpsters.





THIRTEEN





The Suburban was still parked in the same spot when Reacher stepped out of the alley. He waved with both arms to attract the driver’s attention then gestured for the guy to join him. The driver shook his head and indicated that Reacher should come to him. Reacher threw up his hands as if exasperated and hurried along the sidewalk until he was level with the passenger door. The window whirred down and Reacher could see that the driver was holding a gun. Another Beretta. Presumably also well maintained. Presumably also loaded. He had it in his left hand, low down in his lap, pointing sideways. Not an ideal firing position. But that was compensated for by the size of the target he had to aim at. Reacher’s chest.

‘Come quick,’ Reacher said, ignoring the gun. ‘To the alley. Your friend needs help. Bring the car.’

‘What are you talking about?’ the driver said.

‘I waited for you at the coffee shop and when you didn’t show I came back to look for you. I figured I’d cut through the alley to save time and I found your friend. He was on the ground. In bad shape. He was bleeding. He had this big cut on his forehead. He was unconscious. Breathing, but only just. He must have gotten mugged. He had no wallet. No phone.’

‘Did you call 911?’

‘I couldn’t. I don’t have a phone. That’s why I came to get you. And I figured that with this whole computer situation going on it would be quicker for you to drive him to the hospital anyway.’

The driver paused, then put down the gun. ‘All right. Show me.’

‘Come on. Follow me. Pull into the alley. Then you’ll see him.’ Reacher set off at a fast jog, and after a second he heard an engine fire up behind him. Tyres squealed and a moment later the Suburban shot past him. It continued to accelerate then darted into the mouth of the alley without signalling. Reacher caught up and squeezed along the passenger side. The driver climbed out, his gun in his hand, and joined Reacher at the front of the vehicle.

‘Where is he?’ the driver said. ‘I don’t see him.’

‘I forgot,’ Reacher said. ‘I put him in the dumpster. The far one. To keep him safe. I didn’t know if you’d still be waiting, or how long it would take to find you.’

The driver raised his gun to Reacher’s chest. ‘You forgot?’

‘What?’ Reacher said. ‘You never forgot anything?’