Page 18 of Exit Strategy
‘My coworker wouldn’t agree.’
‘Your situation is different. Think about it. This guy offered you a cash bonus to stay in your job, payable in installments. Why?’
‘It’s a win-win. Why not? Installments don’t hurt him.’
‘No. They help him. He put you in place at the port. He wants you to stay there. Stuff must get smuggled every day. This won’t be his last opportunity to sell the details to thieves. The bonus was the carrot. When you lost your nerve he switched to the stick. Your nephew. But either way you’re an asset to him. Do you really think he’ll ever let you walk away?’
Gilmour was quiet for a moment and all the brightness ebbed back out of his face. He said, ‘So what can I do?’
‘Tell me, when the guys who threatened your nephew cornered you, that wasn’t at your regular apartment?’
Gilmour shook his head. ‘They showed up at my other place. It was supposed to be secret, for emergencies. In case I needed to disappear. I guess I wasted my money.’
‘So where’s your regular place?’
‘Federal Hill. It’s a nicer neighborhood. I’m getting a bit old for the nightlife – all the noise and the late-night drunks – but the park’s good. And it’s not too expensive.’
‘Okay. Take me there.’
‘Why?’
‘The guy you sold your soul to sent his goons to your backup place and forgot to stand them down. So there’s a good chance he sent another couple of them to your main address. Maybe he forgot to stand them down, too. If we’re lucky they’ll still be there.’
TWELVE
Gilmour pulled up outside a square yellow-brick building. It was three floors high with a flat roof and was set back six feet farther from the sidewalk than its neighbors. The space was taken up by a raised flower bed. It was crammed with bushes and shrubs. None were in bloom. Reacher didn’t recognize any of them, but he did spot a couple of empty Keystone Light cans that someone had shoved among the foliage.
Gilmour locked the car and led the way around the side of the building. He took the gun out of his backpack, held it down against his leg, and continued to a pair of glass doors. He unlocked them and stepped through into an entrance lobby. The floor was covered with black and white tiles, and six brass mailboxes were lined up along the left-hand wall. Reacher scanned the row of names.Gilmour’s wasn’t on any of them. Gilmour saw what he was doing and said, ‘Old habits. I don’t want to advertise where I live. And there’s no point leaving one blank because that’s like doing the same thing.’
‘Which one are you?’
‘3F.’
‘David Cruikshank?’
Gilmour said, ‘He was a buddy of mine at grade school. He died when we were twelve.’ Then he stepped forward and unlocked a second pair of glass doors. Reacher followed him into a hallway. The floor was oak. The planks almost glowed from years of polish. The stairs and banister rail were also oak, and wood panels rose three feet up the walls. The whole place smelled faintly of wax with a hint of some kind of spicy food. There was a door at each end, painted white. The one at the front of the building was labeled 1F. The one at the back, 1B. Gilmour led the way up one flight of stairs then paused. Reacher saw that someone had stuck a couple of handwritten notes on the door to the front apartment so that instead of 2F, it readNOT2B. There was no sound from the floor above, so Gilmour gestured to Reacher to be quiet and continued to the top floor. He moved slowly, placing his feet at the edge of the stairs, and craned his head to peer along the full length of the landing.
Gilmour whispered, ‘No one’s there. They must have gone. If they were ever here. Unless they’re inside …’
Gilmour crept up to the door marked 3F. He slid a key into the first of five locks. He started to turn it. Then he heard a sound behind him, from the far end of the corridor. The door to 3B was opening. Gilmour spunaround, started to raise the gun, then tucked it down and behind his leg. A woman stepped out onto the landing. She was maybe five foot six. Mid-thirties. She was wearing yoga pants and a long-sleeved running top. Strands of orange hair were escaping from a scarf that was tied around her head. And she was brandishing a fire iron in her right hand.
The woman said, ‘Oh. Nathan. It’s you.’
‘Who else would it be?’ Gilmour said. ‘You’re up late.’
‘I couldn’t sleep. I thought maybe it was your friends coming back. I told them I’d call 911. I warned them. You need to have a word with them. They can’t just trick one of those idiots downstairs into buzzing them in and then loiter around outside your door for hours on end. If it happens again I’m putting in a formal complaint against you. The landlord will kick you out.’
Reacher stepped to the side. He had no interest in getting in the middle of some neighborly squabble.
Gilmour held up his left hand, palm out. He said, ‘Gretchen, slow down. What friends? What are you talking about?’
‘The two guys who were here. This afternoon. Banging on your door and calling for you. One of them had a keg. I asked what they were doing and the taller one said you were going to watch a game together. Some streaming thing. I told them to get out. They didn’t, until I lost my patience and threatened to call the police on them. Then I think they lurked around outside for a while.’
‘They’re no friends of mine. I don’t know anything about this.’
‘Yeah, right. Don’t be an asshole.’
‘I’m not. I don’t even like sports. But don’t worry. I’ll find out who it was. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
