Blue Moon

They discussed the dealbreakers, one by one. Security, accommodations, power, internet, isolation, ease of supply. Three high floors in a brand new downtown office tower met every objection. The elevators could be reprogrammed. No problem for Trulenko. Only one car would be allowed to stop. The other doors could be welded shut. From the outside. Likewise the stairwell doors. The lone functioning elevator could open into a cage. Maybe hurricane fencing, installed inside the hallway. Some kind of padlocked gate. Men with guns. The elevator doors would close behind the visitor, who would then be trapped, behind the wire. Plenty of time for scrutiny.

If the visitor even got that far. There would be guys in the lobby. Maybe leaning up near the elevator buttons. Maybe a lot of them, because of Situation C. They would be on the lookout for unfamiliar faces.

“Which tower?” Abby asked.

“There must be paperwork,” Reacher said. “Some city department. Three floors, leased by an unknown corporation with a bland and forgettable name. Or we could talk to the supers. We could ask them about weird deliveries. Maybe scaffolding components, or a commercial dog run. Something like that. For the cage.”

“Which is going to be a problem,” Hogan said. “I don’t see how we get in.”

“We?”

“Sooner or later your luck will run out. You’ll need the Marines to rescue you. You army boys always do. Much more efficient if I prevent that necessity upfront, by supervising the operation from the get-go.”

“I’m in too,” Vantresca said. “Same reason, essentially.”

“Me as well,” Barton said.

Silence for a beat.

“Full disclosure,” Reacher said. “This will not be a walk in the park.”

No objections.

“What first?” Vantresca asked.

“You and Barton figure out which tower. And which three floors. The rest of us will go pay a visit to their main office. Behind the taxi company, across from the pawn shop, next to the bail bond operation.”

“Why?”

“Because some of the greatest mistakes in history are made by secret satellite operations cut off from the mothership. No command and control. No information, no orders, no leadership. No resupply. Complete isolation. That’s what I want for these guys. Quickest way to get it is just go right ahead and destroy the mothership. No need to pussyfoot around. The time for subtlety is long gone.”

“You really don’t like these people.”

“You didn’t speak well of them yourself.”

“They’ll have sentries all over the place.”

“Doubly so now,” Reacher said. “I’ve been calling Gregory on the phone and yanking his chain. No doubt he’s a big brave fellow, but even so, I bet he called in extra reinforcements. Just to be sure.”

“Then it was a dumb idea to yank his chain.”

“No, I want them all in one place. Well, all in two places. The mothership, and the satellite. Nowhere else. No loose ends. No waifs or strays. We could call it Situation D. Much more satisfactory. Massed targets are always more efficient than running after lone fugitives individually. That would take days, in a place like this. We would be chasing around all over town. Best avoided, surely. We’re in a hurry here. We should let them do some of the work for us.”

“You’re nuts, you know that?”

“Says the guy prepared to drive in a straight line at twenty-five miles an hour toward nuclear-tipped antitank artillery.”

“That was different.”

“How exactly?”

Vantresca said, “I guess I’m not sure.”

“Find the tower,” Reacher said. “Get the floor numbers.”

—

They used the moneylender’s Lincoln again. Commonplace, west of Center. And untouchable. Abby drove. Hogan sat next to her in the front. Reacher sprawled in the back. The streets were quiet. Not much traffic. No cops at all. The cops were east of Center, every single one of them. Guaranteed. By that point the fire department would be pulling crispy skeletons out of the wreckage. One after the other. A big sensation. Everyone would want to be there. Stories, for the grandchildren.

Abby stopped on a hydrant, four blocks directly behind the pawn shop, which was directly across the street from the taxi dispatcher. A straight line on a map. A simple linear progression.

“How far out will the sentries be posted?” Reacher asked.

“Not far,” Hogan said. “They have to cover the full 360. They can’t waste manpower. They’ll keep it tight. All four corners of the block their office is on. That would be my assessment. Maybe they’re even stopping traffic. But nothing more than that.”

“So they can see the front of the pawn shop and the front of the taxi dispatcher.”

“From both ends of the street. Probably two guys per corner.”

“But they can’t see the back of the pawn shop.”

“No,” Hogan said. “To go one street wider in every direction would cost them three times the manpower. Simple math. They can’t afford it.”