The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25)(92)

Fisher blocked his path. The SOCOM was in her hand. The suppressor was still attached. ‘Stop. Hands behind your head. Right now.’

Reacher glanced at the technician. She was still sitting, frozen, no sign of a weapon. He looked at the bedroom door. It was still closed. That simplified the geometry. He kicked the gun out of Fisher’s hand then moved half a step to his right so that his body was in a straight line between the two women. That way the technician could see him pull his arm back. Wind up for a punch. Launch his fist towards Fisher. But she couldn’t see what kind of connection he made. All she saw was Fisher crash down to the side, hit the floor, and lie there totally inert.

Reacher checked the bedroom door. It was still closed. He looked at the technician. Her training had finally kicked in. She was scrambling for her purse. Trying to pull out her Glock. Reacher stepped across and hit her on the side of the head, left-handed. Not too hard. Enough to put her lights out. But not to cause lasting amnesia.

Reacher retrieved the SOCOM from the floor. He looked at the bedroom door. The handle was turning. It was beginning to open. The muzzle of a Glock appeared in the gap. Held in two hands. Moving slowly forward. The woman was clearly cautious. Which was fortunate. It kept her out of danger when Reacher fired two quick rounds into the door frame. She ducked back inside the room and slammed the door. Reacher made for the exit. The shots hadn’t made an excessive noise, thanks to the suppressor. Like someone whacking a table with a rolled-up magazine. But it was possible the sound had carried to the next room. Maybe occupied by other members of the Russian crew. Maybe by civilians. Either way, Reacher figured that the charade had gone on long enough. He went outside. Identified the car. Climbed in. Started the engine. Nudged the lever into Drive. And pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor.

Reacher drove fast for half a mile then pulled over to the side of the road. He slid the SOCOM under his seat and took out the phone Fisher had given him. He needed to call up the pictures she had taken and then send them to Wallwork. He hit the menu button. Then closed the phone.

Something was bothering him. Something about the situation was not right. He put the phone back in his pocket. Pulled back on to the road. And continued, as fast as he dared, to the truck-stop motel where he’d left Sands and Rutherford.

The same time Reacher was approaching the truck stop, Speranski’s secure phone was starting to ring.

‘The bait has been taken,’ the voice at the end of the line said.

Speranski smiled to himself. ‘How soon will they bring her?’

‘I said the bait’s been taken. Not swallowed. She gave the phone to the drifter. He left with it. But he hasn’t sent the message.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe he’s holding out for more money. Maybe he doesn’t know how to work the phone. Maybe he got cold feet. We’ll find out. And we’re monitoring around the clock. The moment he sends it, you’ll know.’

Reacher parked the Chevy outside room eighteen and hurried inside. Sands was there. She was standing at the end of the second bed. Eyes wide. Feet shoulder-width apart. Arms straight. Holding her Colt in both hands. A classic shooter’s stance. The isosceles. Named for the triangle shape made by the back and the arms. A good stance for accuracy. Which could have been a problem for Reacher, given that Sands was aiming directly at his chest.

‘Reacher!’ Sands lowered the gun and hurried towards him. ‘Where have you been? I was worried sick. I kept calling and you didn’t pick up.’

‘Long story,’ Reacher said. ‘Major developments. I’ll explain everything, but right now I need your help.’ He pulled Fisher’s phone out of his pocket. ‘There’s a picture on here. Of a document. From the server I gave the Russians. Fisher thinks it’s the one with the spy’s ID. She wants me to send it to Wallwork.’

‘That’s easy. Give me the phone. I’ll do it now.’

‘No. I think there’s something wrong. I think Fisher is being set up.’

‘Why?’

‘A few reasons. Starting with the flowers. Klostermann’s edelweiss. They weren’t there when Rusty and I went to his house. Then they were the next day. When he was meeting with the Nazis. Seems a little coincidental.’

‘Not necessarily. Could be lots of reasons for not having flowers every day.’

‘There’s also the money. Why pay fifteen thousand dollars for the server when Klostermann could just wait a week for the ransom to be paid and the digital archive to open up again? That’s what a normal person would do. And why pay Toni Garza to go looking for the server the moment the ransomware attack happened? It’s like he knows the archive won’t be unlocked.’

‘It won’t be unlocked, according to Agent Fisher.’

‘That’s my point. How could Klostermann know that? Only the Russians know, because they’re behind the attack.’

‘But Klostermann is part of the Nazi group. You met them. Saw their tattoos. They’re organizing a rally. That’s all for real.’

‘The group’s for real. The rally’s for real. That doesn’t mean Klostermann is. Those Nazis believe he’s one of them. But that doesn’t prove anything. They weren’t the sharpest knives in the drawer. Klostermann could easily be a Russian. Discord and division. The core of their strategy. Boost rival groups and set them against each other. Breed violence and hate.’