Page 11 of Exit Strategy
‘It’s boring.’ Jacklin strolled over to the storeroom door. He pressed his palm against the metal as if he’d be able to sense what was on the other side. He said, ‘Ever wonder what’s so important about this place?’
‘No. Nor should you.’
Jacklin traced the outside of the keypad with the tip ofhis finger. He said, ‘Ever catch sight of the code when Strickland opened the door?’
‘No.’
‘Me neither. Maybe I’ll take a guess …’
‘Are you insane? What if you set off an alarm? Leave it alone. Sit down. Keep quiet.’
NINE
Two cars were waiting outside the building next door when Reacher left the warehouse. They both had their headlights on and the weak yellow beams were illuminating the entrance he’d pretended to be heading for. They were both taxis from Rides-R-Us. But these cabs weren’t empty. As well as their drivers they both had two passengers in their back seats.
Reacher had emerged from the loading dock at the side of the warehouse, so he could have doubled back and avoided being seen. But he didn’t do that. He had questions. So he stepped into full view and walked forward until he was level with the point where the buildings joined. The driver of the nearer cab spotted him and twisted around in his seat. Both back doors swung open and two men climbed out. A moment later the other cab’s doors opened and two more men appeared. They rangedin height from five-ten to six-four, and in age from mid-thirties to late forties. They all had close-cropped hair, and they all had on the kind of overalls that construction workers wear, with all kinds of loops and straps and pockets for holding tools. They formed up into a rough line, shoulder to shoulder, and started toward Reacher. As they moved, the tallest one took a slight lead. He wound up directly in front of Reacher, six feet away, with his buddies a pace or so behind.
Reacher had his first answer. The guys had come looking for him. That was clear. He glared at each of them in turn and then focused on the tallest one. He said, ‘Who sent you?’
The guy seemed surprised to be hit with a question, and he didn’t respond.
Reacher said, ‘I want a name. I want an address. Tell me, and you can all walk away. Refuse, and you will all go to the hospital.’
The tallest guy sniggered, then gestured toward the cabs with an outstretched thumb. He said, ‘Pick one. Get in.’
Reacher said, ‘That’s a strange name. Are you sure?’
The guy’s eyes narrowed for a moment. He said, ‘What? No. I’m not giving you a name. I’m telling you, get in the car.’
Reacher said, ‘When you’re explaining, you’re losing. You know that, right?’
Deep furrows appeared across the width of the guy’s forehead. ‘We never lose. Now get in.’
‘Remember, you don’t have to do this. Tell me who sent you and you can all walk away.’
The guy scowled. ‘Get in the car. Now.’
Reacher smiled at him. ‘Make me.’
‘Happy to.’ The guys stepped back and fanned out a little wider. Each one took a heavy leather glove from a pocket in their overalls and slipped it onto their right hand. Then each one pulled out something black and shapeless and heavy. One after another the guys raised their arms out sideways to chest height, flicked their wrists, and the objects they were holding unfurled, stretching down in dull loops toward the ground.
Motorcycle chains.
Nasty weapons, when used by people who knew what they were doing. They tore skin. Ripped flesh. Broke bones. Severed ears. Burst eyeballs. The traces of oil and grease they left behind infected the wounds they made. They wrapped around limbs, immobilizing them, preventing escape. Restricting retaliation. And critically, from Reacher’s point of view, their length outweighed the advantage he usually gained from the span of his arms and legs.
The guy on the left end of the line broke away and looped around behind Reacher’s back. The guy on the right did the same. The tall one waited for them to take their positions, then said, ‘Not such a smart-ass now, huh? So, last chance. Get in the car. Or it’ll be you going to the hospital. In pieces.’
Reacher didn’t reply. He was already moving. He spun around and locked his eyes on the guy who had wound up between him and the spot where the two buildings joined. He had wanted to get to him before he had the chance to start swinging his chain, but the guy was toofast. He kept the chain down at his side, parallel to his body. He gripped it tight, working his wrist, building the speed and momentum and guiding the chain as it cut a wide, vicious circle through the dim yellow light.
The tall guy said, ‘Have your fun, boys.’
Reacher heard the other three chains start moving. They made awhoop, whoopsound like distant helicopters and Reacher could smell the droplets of filthy oil that were shaking free from them. He was surrounded. The four guys were moving closer. Their chains were scything around like circular saw blades, slicing through the air, closing in on him. There was no way to outrun them – no one can move faster than a whirling chain – and no space to dodge between them.
Reacher pulled his flashlight out and flung it hard at the nearest guy’s face. The guy flinched and instinctively raised his dominant hand – the one holding the chain – to deflect the incoming object. The chain wrapped itself around the guy’s other arm and bit into his back. He screamed. Reacher launched forward. He grabbed the guy’s gloved right hand with his left. He pulled, dragging the guy toward him, doubling their closing speed, and simultaneously threw a straight right that hit the guy’s jaw like a bowling ball. His head snapped back and his body pivoted around and crashed to the ground like a felled tree. Reacher let go of his hand and kept going, stomping on his chest and breaking away from the other three. He continued to the alcove where the buildings came together, turned, and retrieved the section of drainpipe that had broken off when he climbed up to the missing window, earlier that day. He grippedit with both hands, held it straight out like a lance, and charged back toward the other three. The end of the pipe caught the central guy – the tallest one – square in the chest. He cannoned backward, flopped to the ground, and lay there writhing and gasping for breath. The guy to his right flailed at the pipe with his chain. It wrapped around once, twice, then got caught on itself, locking up tight.
The guy heaved frantically, trying to pull Reacher off balance. He soon realized that wasn’t going to happen so he changed his plan. He tried to occupy Reacher. To leave him defenseless. That was a mistake as well. The guy was heavyset. That was for sure. But he was no match for Reacher’s two hundred and fifty pounds. Or his fury. Reacher pulled back, then pivoted counterclockwise, bringing the guy spiraling after him like a fish on a line. Reacher increased his speed and stepped to his left. The chain worked loose and the guy reeled backward. Reacher followed him. The guy staggered and fell. He tried to jump back up but Reacher was too close. He kicked the guy in the side of the head, spinning him around and dropping him face down on the ground. The guy struggled up onto his hands and knees. He was unsteady. His eyes were unfocused. Reacher kicked him again. In the gut this time. The force lifted him a couple of inches into the air. He went down flat. Reacher kicked him in the face, just to be sure, and left him bleeding but otherwise inert on the crumbling asphalt.
Reacher turned to the remaining guy. He kept him at bay with the pipe and said, ‘It’s just you and me now. Besmart. Give me the name. Your boss. No one will know it came from you.’
