Blue Moon

“But that’s ground zero for their search. If they’re behind the curve a little, they could be getting there right about now.”

“Actually I’m hoping being in a small metal box will cut off the transmissions. They won’t be able to search at all.”

“Then they never could.”

“Probably not.”

“Then there never was any danger.”

“Until we took them out.”

“How long does it take, for a thing like that?”

“We already agreed, neither one of us knows.”

“Does it have to be that mailbox? How about the nearest mailbox?”

“No collateral damage,” Reacher said. “Just in case.”

“You don’t really know, do you?”

“It’s not necessarily the kind of thing that has a yes or no answer.”

“Are the transmissions cut off or not?”

“I’m guessing probably. Not my area of expertise. But I listen to people talk. They’re forever bitching and moaning about their calls cutting out. For all kinds of reasons, all of which sound much less serious than getting shut in a small metal box.”

“But right now they’re right here on the table, so there is currently a degree of danger.”

Reacher nodded.

“Getting larger every minute,” he said.

—

This time Reacher carried the phones, for no reason other than normal squad rotation. There were plenty of cars around. Plenty of bouncing, blinding headlight beams. All kinds of makes and models. But no Lincoln Town Cars. No sudden changes in speed or direction. Apparently no interest at all.

They put the phones in the mailbox and squealed it shut. This time Reacher kept his jacket. Not just for the warmth. For the guns in the pockets. They set out to walk back to Barton’s house. They got less than a block and a half.

Chapter 26

Nothing to do with complex triangulations of cell phone signals, or GPS pinpoint telltales accurate to half a yard. Much later Reacher figured it had happened the old-school way. A random guy in a random car had remembered his pre-watch briefing. That was all. Be on the lookout. A man and a woman.

Reacher and Abby made a right, intending to make the next left, which involved walking the length of a cobblestone block, on a narrow sidewalk, defined on the right-hand side by an unbroken sequence of iron-bound loading docks in back of the next street’s buildings, and on the left-hand side by a sporadic line of cars parked on the curb. Not every space was filled. Maybe fifty-fifty. One of the cars was parked the wrong way around. Head on. It had no nighttime dew on it. In the split second it took the back of Reacher’s brain to spark the front, the car’s door opened, and the driver’s gun came out, followed by the driver’s hand, and then the driver himself, in a smooth athletic crouch, concealed behind the open door, aiming level through the open window.

At Reacher, at first. Then at Abby. Then back again. And again. Back and forth. Like on a TV show. The guy was making it clear he was covering both of them at once. He was wearing a blue suit. And a red tie, tied tight.

They won’t shoot me. They want to ask me questions.

It’s a psychological dynamic. Like in the theater.

It’s not necessarily the kind of thing that has a yes or no answer.

The gun was a Glock 17, a little scratched and worn. The guy was using a two-handed grip. Both wrists were resting on the window rubber. His trigger finger was in position. The gun was steady. Its left-right arc was controlled and horizontal only. Competent, except that a crouch was an inherently unstable position, and also a pointless one, because a car door offered no kind of meaningful protection against a bullet. Better than aluminum foil, but not much. A smart guy would stand straight and rest his wrists on top of the door. More commanding. Easier to transition to whatever came next, like walking or running or fighting.

The guy with the gun called out, “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Reacher called back, “Do we have a problem?”

The guy called out, “I don’t have a problem.”

“OK,” Reacher said. “Good to know.” He turned to Abby and said, quieter, “You could head back to the corner, if you like. I could join you there in a minute. This guy wants to ask me questions, is all.”

But the guy called out, “No, she stays, too. Both of you.”

A man and a woman.

Reacher turned to face front again, and used the maneuver to conceal half a step of forward progress.

He said, “We stay for what?”

“Questions.”

“Ask away.”

“My boss will ask the questions.”

“Where is he?”

“Coming.”

“What’s on his mind?”

“Many things, I’m sure.”

“OK,” Reacher said. “Put the gun away and come out from there and we’ll all wait together. Right here on the sidewalk. Until he shows up.”

The guy stayed crouched behind his door.

The gun didn’t move.