The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(87)

‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We can’t change anything by sitting around. Let’s get to work on the server. See if we can find old man Klostermann’s smoking gun.’

Rutherford was still out for the count in room nineteen. He was curled up at the top of his bed, under the covers. His laptop was sitting at the other end, tethered to the other pieces of equipment. Sands sat cross-legged and fired it up. He didn’t stir. There was no sign he knew she was there even when she started hammering on the keyboard. Reacher stood and looked over her shoulder. One by one a series of images appeared. Some were mildly interesting. Most held no appeal at all. None had any relevance to Klostermann’s father. And none gave any clue about Russian spies, however laterally Reacher tried to think about what he saw.

‘OK,’ Sands said after a few minutes. ‘I’m starting to get an idea of how they put this together. The scans were done in loose chronological order. There are a few outliers, ones that were misfiled or found later or whatever. And they kind of branch into rough categories. Property records. Meeting minutes. That kind of thing. They do seem to cover the right period. 1946 to 1952, correct? When the father arrived, to when he bought the Spy House.’

‘That should do it,’ Reacher said.

‘I’ll keep looking. There are hundreds of files, though. Don’t feel like you have to stay. I’m weird. I like this kind of thing.’

Reacher stuck it out for another ten minutes then made his excuses and went back to room eighteen. He took a long shower. Then he put his shirt and pants under his mattress and got into bed. He listened to a few of his favourite songs in his head. Counted to three. And didn’t drop right off to sleep. Something was bothering him. It was the damn flowers, he realized. The edelweiss. Something about his memory of them still wasn’t right.

Reacher did finally get to sleep. He woke up again at half past two in the morning. Or more accurately, something woke him up. Like a switch being thrown. From sound asleep to completely conscious in an instant. An instinctive response. Something had triggered a warning. A sound. He heard it again. Something metallic. It was coming from the door. To the courtyard. Not the next room. Someone was picking the lock. Trying to get in. Reacher took one of the captured Berettas from under his pillow and moved it beneath the duvet. Then he lay completely still.

The door opened a quarter of the way. A slim figure darted inside. The door eased back into place. Only one person had come through. Small. Wearing black. With a tactical backpack.

‘Reacher?’ It was a woman’s voice, and she was whispering. ‘Reacher, are you in here? Please say you are or I’m going to be mighty embarrassed.’

‘Fisher?’ Reacher said.

‘Thank God. Your crappy old phone is hard to track. Wallwork couldn’t say for sure if you were here or next door.’

‘I’m here.’ Reacher sat up and switched on the bedside light. ‘I’m supposed to be. It’s my room. The question is, what are you doing here?’

‘There’s a problem. I have new orders. The guy from Moscow is in the country already. He’s ramping things up. Going after the server even harder than before.’

‘That’s not much of a surprise.’

‘No. But maybe this is. Going after the server means going after Rutherford. And since none of the Russians know where Rutherford is, the new guy wants to flush him out. By going after his mother.’

Reacher said nothing.

‘You see the issue here,’ Fisher said. ‘We can’t do anything to protect her. If we did the Russians would know there’s a leak. And aside from what that would mean for me personally – as in a slow and agonizing death, which I’d rather avoid – they would pull their agent out of Oak Ridge. We would never find out if they got a copy of The Sentinel. It would be a disaster all around.’

‘You have to do something,’ Reacher said.

‘That’s why I’m here. I’m assuming you know where Rutherford is?’

‘Let’s say I do.’

‘Good. Then I need you to do two things. First, get Rutherford to make another copy of the server. Second, bring him to the diner opposite his building. I need him there at six a.m., with the server in a car parked outside. Any questions?’

‘You’re resurrecting the original ambush idea?’

‘I’m adapting it. I know what the objective is now. And where it will be. But I have to truncate the timescale. I need it done and dusted, including Rutherford’s apparent suicide, before noon. That’s still the Moscow guy’s ETA in town.’

‘It won’t work.’

‘It has to. Time will be tight. And it’s not without risk. Mainly for me. I have to go against orders. Try to pass it off as initiative, combined with the desire to redeem myself in the eyes of my superiors. The fact that I will get the server this time ought to be enough to save my bacon. It better be. All Rutherford has to do is play along. He’ll be fine. And it’s better than the alternative.’

‘No. It’s not possible. Rutherford’s down with a migraine. He couldn’t copy a shopping list, let alone a server. And he can’t move.’

‘That’s not funny, Reacher. Tell me you’re joking.’

‘It’s no joke.’

‘Then we’re screwed. The whole operation’s shot to hell. There’s no way to save it.’