The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(49)

Next up was a pair of bathrooms. There was a cleaning closet tucked in between them. A broom had been left behind. And a mop. And a bucket. A roll of towels. A bottle of bleach. And some floor polish. Reacher moved on to the door at the end of the corridor. It led to the final section of the building. A car-sized space with a roll-up door to the side, drain holes in the floor, but no vehicle lift and no room for serious tools. Some kind of valet bay, Reacher thought. Where cars had been detailed before going on display. Or got ready for collection. There was a metal cabinet against the far wall. Reacher wrestled it open and found a tub of hand cleaner, long dried up. A tin of wax. Some chalky paste for brightening up whitewall tyres. A bottle of detergent. A tube of tar remover. And a bottle of glass cleaner. Reacher opened it. Sniffed the contents. Nodded to himself. And doubled back to the cleaning closet to collect the bleach. He figured it was time to find out how well he remembered his high school chemistry.

Reacher squeezed out through the gap in the plywood hoarding and made his way back to the Beetle. To the rear. He felt around the inside of the fender until he found the tracking device. He detached it and placed it on the ground directly below the car. He took a last swig of coffee. Removed the lid. Emptied the dregs. Tied the one remaining T-shirt around his head so that it covered his mouth and nose. Then, working at arm’s length, which was further for Reacher than for most people, he poured bleach into the coffee cup until it was half full. He topped it off with glass cleaner. Replaced the lid. Closed the passenger door. Wound down the driver’s window then climbed into the car and started the engine. He held the cup in his left hand so that he could shift and set off slowly back to the road. He drove with no lights, as smoothly as he could manage, in the direction of the town.

The Toyota was still under the bridge. It was tucked in with its passenger side close to the thick brick pillars that must have supported the structure for the last hundred years. Reacher pulled across so the Beetle was tight up against its driver’s side, making it the meat in a sandwich. He pulled the T-shirt away from his face. The driver stared at him. She looked surprised for a moment. Then suspicious. Reacher gestured for her to roll down her window.

‘How are you guys doing?’ Reacher flashed what he hoped was a friendly smile. ‘Surveillance duty can be pretty dull, can’t it? That’s why I’ve brought you something. Should liven things up.’

Reacher removed the lid, stretched his arm across the driver’s lap, and tipped the contents of the cup all over the Toyota’s centre console. Then he wound up his own window and sat for a moment and watched as curly fingers of thin green smoke began to rise and twist inside the other car. High school chemistry. He’d remembered it pretty well. The four occupants squealed and clawed at their eyes then scrabbled for their door handles. The doors on the opposite side slammed into the brick pillars leaving a gap too narrow to escape through. The doors on Reacher’s side were snagged against the Beetle’s running board. Reacher held his position for another moment then pulled away. In his mirror he saw the first pair tumble out. Then the second pair followed, stumbling around with their arms stretched out like horror movie zombies.

Reacher felt like he was getting a peek into the future when he arrived back at Mitch’s apartment. Rutherford was stooped. Hunched. He dragged his feet along the floor as he walked. His eyes seemed dim and unfocused, as if he’d aged fifty years in the course of the evening.

‘Have you been drinking?’ Reacher said.

Rutherford didn’t reply.

‘Where’s Sarah?’ Reacher said.

‘Bathroom.’ Rutherford made it as far as the couch and slumped down.

‘How did you do?’

‘We have some good news,’ Rutherford said. ‘Some OK news. And some absolutely catastrophic news. Which do you want first?’

‘Start with the good.’

Rutherford gestured towards the kitchen. A large grey laptop was sitting on the countertop, connected to an outlet by a twisted grubby wire. ‘We got that.’

‘A computer?’ Reacher said.

‘Not just any computer.’ A hint of defiance crept into Rutherford’s voice. ‘The computer the asshole town lawyers wanted me to pay fourteen thousand dollars to see. Which leads to the OK news. I at least have a future as a cat burglar ahead of me if I can’t get my job back. We got in. We got out. No one had a clue we were ever there.’

‘And the server things?’

‘That’s the bad news. They’re gone. We looked everywhere. Not even the broken glass from the cabinet door was left.’

‘But we’re not giving up, are we, Rusty?’ Sarah emerged from a door to the side of the kitchen. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and she was wearing a black satin robe that was several sizes too big for her. ‘We’re going to find those damn things. Starting tomorrow. We’ll search the whole state. The whole country, if we have to. They must be somewhere.’

‘What do they look like?’ Reacher said. ‘Could you describe them to me?’

‘I can get you pictures, if you like,’ Rutherford said. ‘Model numbers. Serial numbers. Why?’

‘You should let me find them. You and Sarah should leave town.’

‘No way.’ Rutherford crossed his arms. ‘We’ve been over this before.’

‘We should find the servers, then leave.’ Sands sat on the couch next to Rutherford. ‘They’re portable. We can work on them anywhere. There’s nothing to be gained by staying in harm’s way longer than we have to.’