Blue Moon

“Start at the end,” Reacher said. “Ease of supply. How many blocks from their office is easy?”

“More about what kind of block,” Hogan said. “I would guess the whole of downtown. The business district. Anywhere with commercial zoning. Weird things come and go all the time. No one pays attention. Not like in a residential neighborhood. I would say the edge of downtown is the natural limit. West of Center Street.”

“That’s not isolated,” Barton said. “It’s right in the hustle and the bustle.”

“It’s like hiding in plain sight. Maybe not physically isolated, but very anonymous, all the same. There are all kinds of comings and goings, and no one sees a thing. No one knows anyone else’s name.”

Reacher asked, “What do they need for the internet?”

Vantresca said, “A mechanically robust connection to a cable ISP or a satellite, probably the satellite, because it would be harder to trace.”

“There are plenty of satellite dishes in town.”

“Lots of people use them.”

“What do they need for power?”

“A recent installation, up to code, with excess capacity as a safety margin, and automatic generator back-up in case of an outage on the grid. They can’t afford interruptions. Might screw up their gear.”

“What about accommodations?”

“Bedrooms, bathrooms, a mess hall, maybe a TV room, maybe a rec room. Table tennis, or something.”

“Sounds like federal prison.”

“I think windows,” Abby said. “Not a basement. This could be a long contract. Trulenko is a superstar. Maybe down on his luck right now, but even so, he has standards. He’ll want to live close to normal. He’ll demand it.”

“OK, windows,” Reacher said. “Which brings us to security.”

“Iron bars on the windows,” Barton said.

“Or anonymity,” Hogan said. “There are a million windows. Sometimes the lights are on, sometimes they’re off. No one cares.”

Vantresca said, “They need a single controllable point of entry, probably with an advance screen some way upstream, and a last-chance back-up a little ways downstream. Maybe you have to come in through a basement, and then go up the back stairs. Something like that. Under scrutiny all the way. Like passing through a long tunnel. Metaphorically, if not literally.”

“So where?”

“There are a thousand buildings like that. You’ve seen them.”

“I don’t like them,” Reacher said. “Because they’re all joined together. Because of the Navy SEALs. Hogan laid it all out, back at the beginning. They would look for emergency exits, and delivery bays, and ventilation shafts and water pipes and sewers and so on, but most of all they would look for places where they could gain access by demolishing walls between adjacent structures. You know how that goes down. They wake up some old geezer in the city plans department, and he finds a dusty old blueprint, that shows this guy’s cellar connects to that guy’s cellar, except some other guy bricked it up in 1920, but only single skin, and poor quality mortar. You could breathe on it and it would fall down. Or they could come in sideways, through a first-floor wall. Or window. Or the top floor. Or they could rappel off the roof. Don’t forget, the Moscow government made this decision. It was big business. Maybe the contract would run for years. Therefore they wanted exactly the right location. Which they are more than qualified to judge. They know all our tricks. They know our special forces train all the time in urban environments exactly like this one.”

“But out of town is not easy to supply. Impossible to have both at once.”

“No such thing as impossible. Merely a failure of planning. I think they got what they wanted. Very close at hand, so it’s no problem to drop by with a cup of sugar. But also seriously isolated. Potentially hundreds of feet from the nearest other person. Rock solid infrastructure in terms of wires and cables and automatic generators and mechanically robust connections. Luxurious accommodations flooded with sunshine and natural daylight. Categorically impossible to penetrate from the sides. Or even approach. Or from below. Or from above. Zero significant penetration by water pipes or ventilation shafts. A single controllable entry, plenty of opportunity for upstream early warning, and as many defensive back-ups as they want. I think Moscow specified the place of their dreams, and I think they found it.”

“Where?” Abby said.

“I was looking right at it, through the hotel window. With Maria Shevick. When she asked me if I wanted to get married.”

“To her?”

“I think generically.”

“What did you say?”

“I said it takes two to tango.”

“Where is Trulenko?”

“It’s a nest, not a hive or a burrow. It’s up in the air. They rented three high floors in one of those new office towers. There are two of them west of Center. They use the top and bottom floors as buffer zones, and they live and work on the middle floor. Can’t get to them up or down or side to side.”

Chapter 43