The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(51)

Sands opened the door to Mitch’s apartment when Reacher knocked. She’d dried her hair and styled it and had changed into yoga pants and a loose, pale blue silk shirt. ‘Everything OK?’ she asked. ‘What did this Officer Rule person want with you?’

‘She had some information for me. On the QT. A kind of cop to ex-cop thing. Related to a case I’d asked her about at the station house earlier.’

‘Is it helpful, this information?’

‘Helpful’s not the word I’d use. But it does add perspective.’

Rutherford was in the kitchen, tethered to his computer. Apparently it was showing its age by refusing to operate unless it was attached to an outlet.

‘Is that thing working?’ Reacher said. ‘I need you to find the email Toni Garza sent you. The journalist.’

Rutherford rattled some keys and prodded a square pad and after a minute he gestured for Reacher to come closer.

‘Here it is.’ Rutherford pointed at the screen. ‘Like I said, she was enquiring about property records. For a particular address. No mention of an owner’s name.’

‘What about her second message?’ Reacher said.

Rutherford shook his head. ‘That was a voicemail. I deleted it as soon as I listened to it.’

‘Do you have the address of the property?’ Reacher said. ‘Is it still standing? If someone lives there I want to pay him a visit. Or her. First thing in the morning.’

‘We have to track down the servers in the morning,’ Sands said.

‘Let’s see what I can find,’ Rutherford said. ‘Give me two minutes.’ He pressed and prodded and called up maps and databases, then nodded. ‘Oh, yes. It’s still standing. It’s actually famous. Or notorious. I’ve never seen the street address before. I only know it by its local name. The Spy House. Two Soviet secret agents lived there. Back in the 1950s. Now it’s owned by a businessman. Henry Klostermann.’





FIFTEEN





There were two bedrooms in Mitch’s apartment, and two other occupants that night alongside Reacher. Although Reacher felt that describing the sleeping areas as bedrooms was going a little far. They had no doors. No windows. No walls to speak of. The only things separating them from the rest of the apartment were the wooden dividers, and they only came up to Reacher’s chin. He knew without looking that the beds would be too short so he figured his best bet was to let Sands and Rutherford use them. He could sleep on the couch. He’d have to forgo his usual practice of pressing his clothes under the mattress. But it would be better from a security perspective. It meant that if anyone found out where they were billeted he would be the first one they came to if they got through the door.

Reacher woke himself at 7:00 a.m. He could hear slow peaceful breathing plus the occasional grunt and snort from the other side of the dividers so he lay still for another half hour and ran a few of his favourite guitar riffs through his head. Then he got up, coaxed Mitch’s complicated coffee machine into action, and while it gurgled and hissed he took a shower. He emerged from the bathroom fourteen minutes later, still unshaved and with his hair still damp, and found Sands perched on a stool at the kitchen counter. She was wrapped in the same robe as the day before and was sipping coffee from a plain white mug. She stood when she saw Reacher and poured a mug for him, and then poured another as Rutherford stumbled out from behind the dividers, rubbing his eyes.

Sands was in favour of calling ahead to set up an appointment at the Spy House. She felt it was the polite thing to do. And also the practical thing. They could make sure someone was home. Avoid the risk of a wasted journey. And the risk that the sight of Reacher arriving unannounced could lead a panicked homeowner to call the police. Reacher didn’t agree. Experience told him that surprise was his friend. He’d prefer to be knocking on the door at 4:00 a.m., the way the KGB had done back in the day. And if no one was home, all would not be lost. It’s easier to search a house when the owners aren’t there.

Rutherford was still too dopey to voice a coherent argument either way so they decided that Reacher would go unannounced and Sands would stay at the apartment and find out what the town did with its discarded computer equipment. She was clinging to the hope that they could find the servers Rutherford had trashed and keep the dream of making their fortune alive. Reacher drained one more mug of coffee then stood up to leave.

‘Wait.’ Rutherford slid down from his stool. ‘I’ll come with you. Give me two minutes to get dressed.’

‘You don’t want to stay and help Sarah?’ Reacher said.

Rutherford shook his head. ‘There’s no point. No one would talk to me. Sarah’s far more persuasive, anyway. And I always wanted to see inside the Spy House.’

‘Why? It’s not going to be full of spies in disguises practising secret codes with invisible ink. It’ll just be a normal house.’

‘I know. I still want to see it.’

Reacher sat back down and drank another mug of coffee while Rutherford rustled and rummaged behind the divider. He returned wearing the same pants as the day before and the same kind of polo shirt, only in a different colour. Reacher stood and picked up the key to Marty’s car.

‘You know what?’ Rutherford said. ‘Why don’t we take my car?’

Reacher smiled to himself. ‘I get it now. You don’t want to see the Spy House at all. You just want to find out if I brought your Beetle back in one piece.’