The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(69)

‘Ready?’ Reacher said.

Sands and Rutherford looked at each other and nodded.

Reacher pulled the door. Its hinges squealed. Daylight flooded in almost to the far wall. Inside, the floor was covered with heaps of equipment. A similar mix to the junk at the recycling plant. Only here it was neatly sorted into categories. Computers in one area. Monitors next to them. Then keyboards. And mice. And printers. And TVs. And DVD players. Presumably everything was serviceable, although Reacher didn’t know how to tell for sure. Everything was certainly ordered and organized. And there was only one thing that wasn’t electronic. A cabinet. It was six feet tall, standing on its own at the back of the space, half hidden in the shadows. Its solid right side was facing them, and the remains of its glass door was hanging open.

‘There it is!’ Rutherford pushed past Reacher and rushed forward, pulling out his phone as he went. He switched on its flashlight. Dodged around to the front of the cabinet. Looked inside. Then slumped sideways, ending up with his right shoulder propped against the wall.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sands said.

Rutherford couldn’t speak. He just gestured vaguely with his left hand.

Sands crossed the room, looked into the cabinet, and turned back to Reacher. He knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth. ‘It’s empty. They’re gone.’

Reacher had a vision of the servers receding even further into the distance. And the new guy from Moscow heading in the opposite direction. On a plane. Growing ever closer.

‘Any chance they’re in one of these piles?’ Reacher said.

Rutherford struggled back upright and shook his head. ‘No. There’s only one lot of computers, and they’re all desktops. The servers aren’t here. We’re too late.’

‘That’s the wrong way to look at it,’ Reacher said. ‘We’re not too late. We’re a step closer. We know for sure they were here. Which means we’re on the right track.’

‘That’s true,’ Sands said. She took Rutherford’s arm and led him to the door. ‘Come on. We’re not giving up.’

‘What can we do?’ Rutherford said. ‘It’s a dead end.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Sands said. ‘The servers were here. Someone knows what happened to them.’

‘I guess,’ Rutherford said. ‘But who?’

‘We already know who,’ Sands said. ‘Bill Budnick. The man who threatened Thomassino. Who owns this place. We’ll talk to him. Make him tell us who he sold them to.’

‘Think he’s still here?’ Rutherford said. ‘What if he doesn’t work evenings?’

‘We’ll go inside,’ Sands said. ‘It should be easy to see if he’s around. And if he’s not, someone will know how to contact him.’

‘No need to go looking for him,’ Reacher said. ‘Give it five minutes. Maybe less. He’ll come to us.’

Reacher leaned into the van and slid the bolt cutter under his seat then turned and shoved the outhouse door closed.

‘Right,’ Sands said. ‘The half-hour thing.’

‘I don’t follow,’ Rutherford said.

‘Thomassino said he could show up here any time the place is open.’ Reacher slid the new lock into place and clicked it shut. ‘No need to call ahead. He just had to stay for half an hour.’

‘Meaning that whoever searches his truck is always here,’ Sands said. ‘He needs time to look through all the stuff. Figure out what’s valuable. Move it to the outhouse. And get clear before Thomassino comes back out. Thirty minutes is already tight. Anything else, like relying on another person to notice Thomassino had showed up, taking their call, driving here from wherever he’s based – that would add too much overhead.’

‘Maybe,’ Rutherford said. ‘But it doesn’t follow that Budnick does that himself.’

‘True.’ Reacher leaned against the wall. ‘But professional criminals generally want two things. As much reward as possible. And as little risk as possible. If Budnick doesn’t deal with the trucks himself he has to bring in someone else to do it. At least one person. Maybe two, to cover all the week’s shifts. These people would need to be paid. Which dilutes the profit. They might drop a dime on him. And they would have to keep sneaking away from the kitchen or the dishwasher or whatever their cover job is, which would be suspicious. Which would increase the risk.’ He pointed to a fire door at the back of the main building. ‘A dime gets a dollar that the next guy who comes out of there is Budnick. Meantime, Rusty, you better get back in the van. Keep your head down. You’re local. You’ve been in the paper. He might recognize you.’

The fire door opened after three minutes and a man stepped out. He was dressed in a pale grey suit with a white shirt and a flowery tie. His hair was neatly parted. And he was enormous. Six two and at least four hundred pounds. The perils of being surrounded by free food all day, every day, Reacher thought. The guy stood still for a moment, head tipped slightly to one side. Assessing the situation.

The guy came to a conclusion and started towards the outhouse. He was light on his feet. He moved fast. Reacher updated his appraisal. The guy was not a slob, after all. Maybe a former wrestler. Or a lineman. Not that his background was going to make any difference. Not unless he had a heart attack before giving Reacher what he wanted.