Page 75 of Exit Strategy
Strickland was screaming, a succession of shrill, primeval howls. Reacher waited for the sound to die down a little, then he said, ‘Who sold you the list of Basic Training dropouts?’
Strickland didn’t answer.
Reacher said, ‘Who sold you the list?’
Strickland started to moan.
Reacher said, ‘I know who it was. I just want to hear you say it.’
Strickland shook his head.
Reacher raised his right foot and held it over Strickland’s knee. ‘You speak, or I stomp. Your choice.’
Strickland didn’t speak.
Reacher started to lower his foot. He said, ‘You think you’re in pain now …’
‘No!’ Strickland was almost crying, ‘It was Hewson. Mark Hewson. He sold me the list.’
Reacher nodded. ‘Very good. Now let’s get you down.’
‘Right.’ Strickland sighed with relief. ‘I’m going to need morphine. A medic. A stretcher. Some splints. Some ropes. A block and tackle.’
‘Really? All that paraphernalia? Sounds like the kind ofsetup the army would use. I thought you private contractors were more efficient. Faster-moving. I bet we can find a much quicker way to get you down.’
Reacher took hold of Strickland under the arms and lifted him up. He tried to move slowly and carefully but he wasn’t quite gentle enough. Broken bones in Strickland’s legs mashed together. Strickland shrieked, then passed out from the pain. Reacher kept going, anyway. He carried Strickland out to the gantry. He lifted him up and over the safety rail and held him steady, dangling in thin air. Reacher didn’t care how long he would have to stay that way. He had a good grip. Strickland wasn’t heavy. And Reacher was a patient man.
‘Wait!’ Strickland came around. He looked down into the darkness then started to twist and struggle and his voice rose to a screech. ‘Stop. What are you doing?’
Reacher said, ‘Welcome back. This is an important moment in your life. Let’s take a second to appreciate the significance of what’s about to happen.’
‘What …?’ Strickland’s voice cracked. ‘What is about to happen?’
Reacher said, ‘Karma’s going to pay you back for all the poor souls you were ready to trade for a million dollars each.’ Then he let Strickland go. There was silence for two long seconds, then a sound like a soaking bath towel landing on a hard stone floor.
FORTY-TWO
Mark Hewson was due to visit the Kinsella mine at ten the next morning. He arrived outside the entrance at 9:45. He was riding in the back of a plain black town car, and his two bodyguards were wearing expensive-looking gray suits with prominent bulges under their left arms.
Reacher was wearing the largest uniform he had found in Strickland’s stockroom, which almost fit. He opened the door when the first guard was two paces away. The guy stepped through and gave the entrance to the mine a cursory inspection. He had been there before and knew what to expect. The only unusual thing was that Strickland’s Tesla was sitting on the roadway just inside the vehicle gate, facing down the incline, in place of the regular Humvee. The guard wasn’t worried about that. He didn’t care what kind of vehicle his bosswas going to ride in for eight hundred feet. He went back to the door, gave the signal, and Hewson and the second guard followed him inside.
Hewson’s suit was navy blue. The pants were a little tighter than they had been when he’d left the army, and his sandy hair was thinning on top. He was wearing wire-framed glasses and he had a black leather briefcase in his left hand.
Gilmour was also wearing one of Strickland’s uniforms. He stepped up alongside Reacher and they snapped into simultaneous, crisp salutes.
Hewson said, ‘At ease.’ Then a moment later, ‘Are you guys new?’
Reacher said, ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where are the usual guys?’
‘Deployed, sir.’
‘Already? Strickland’s not wasting time, I guess. Is he here? He’s expecting me.’
‘Yes, sir. He’s ready for you now. I can take you to him.’
Hewson nodded then turned and told the guards to wait in the car.
