Page 74 of Exit Strategy
‘It was a go bag,’ Reacher said. ‘Strickland’s running.’
FORTY-ONE
Kasselwood took out her phone, put it on speaker, and hit a key. Taylor answered on the first ring.
Kasselwood said, ‘Have you got eyes on the entrance to the mine?’
Taylor said, ‘I do.’
‘For how long?’
‘The last hour and a half.’
‘Have you seen Strickland leave?’
‘Negative.’
‘Have you seen anyone leave?’
‘Negative.’
‘Okay, listen. Strickland’s running. He’s dangerous. Stay alert.’
‘Understood.’
Kasselwood said, ‘He’s still here. Somewhere. We should leave and stake out the exit. Get him when he comes out. He can’t stay down here forever.’
Gilmour said, ‘If it was me, I’d be waiting just inside the exit. Like in the guard booth. I’d pick off anyone who tried to get by me.’
Reacher said, ‘I would have built another exit when I bought the place. I’d already be gone.’
Kasselwood said, ‘So is it safe to leave, or not?’
Gilmour said, ‘Wait.’ He turned back to Strickland’s computer. ‘I saw a camera icon on here.’ He clicked a couple of times, then nodded. ‘All right. Success. Let’s see if we can find where he’s been.’
Reacher and Kasselwood moved around the desk so that they could watch the screen. It was divided into twelve rectangles. One for each camera. Gilmour said, ‘He’s not on any of these live feeds. Let’s check the history.’ Gilmour called up the most recent recordings. The top three showed the four of them walking from the storeroom to Strickland’s office. The fourth showed Strickland himself. The camera was in the training area, in the central section between the four zones. Strickland was walking toward it fast, with a black pack on his back. He was using a sternum strap to keep it from slipping off his left shoulder. He walked right under the camera and disappeared from view. Gilmour said, ‘We could wait. See when he reappears.’
Reacher shook his head. ‘We need momentum. I’ll go find him. You deal with the guards at the entrance.’
Reacher made his way along the diagonal corridor that led to the heart of the training area. The urban zone was to his right, behind an eight-foot wall. The mountain zone was to his left, behind an artificial snowbank. He was moving slowly, smoothly, trying to make no sound. The gun he had taken from the security guard was in his hand.
The mountain snowbank was continuous, but there was a gap in the urban wall every forty feet. When Reacher was level with the second gap, he heard a sound on the far side. It was a crunch, like a footstep on loose gravel. He stopped and listened. He heard the sound again. He looked through the gap. The shell of a ruined house was on the other side. He thought about stepping through to investigate but decided against it. Instead he doubled back five feet, tucked the gun into his waistband, jumped, and grabbed hold of the top of the wall. He scrambled up, lay flat, and scanned the area. Nothing was moving. There was no sign of Strickland. Then he heard the crunching sound again. It was coming from inside the house now. He looked more closely. Parts of its roof were missing. Two of its windows were smashed. He had no way to tell if it was occupied. He lowered himself down. Pulled out the gun. And crept across to an intact window. He ducked under it and continued to another, which was broken. The ground around it was covered with shards of glass. He picked up the largest one he could find. He held it up like a mirror and used it to see through a gap in the frame. It was like he was looking into a child’s bedroom. There was a twin bed. A wicker basket full of soft toys. A shelf full of books. Then the bedroom dooropened. A robotic figure swung into the gap. It was made to look like a young man. It was dressed in black cargo pants and a Kevlar vest over a black T-shirt, and it had a Hell’s Angels–style motorcycle helmet on its head. It was holding a pistol in both hands. Its right hand swung up and it fired twice. It was shooting live ammunition, not paintballs like in the assessment videos. One bullet smashed the shard of glass Reacher was holding. He dropped the remains, counted to three, stood, raised his own gun, and fired back. He hit the robot between the eyes. It twitched and fizzled. A tongue of flame spewed for a second. Then it fell back out of sight.
Reacher turned and started to retrace his steps toward the wall. He made it halfway, then all the lights in the zone cut out. The whole area was totally dark. Reacher stepped left, fired four times in a broad, low spread, then dived to his right, where he thought the gap in the wall would be. He saw a flash, a brief spout of flame, and he caught sight of another robotic figure. This one was dressed like a grandmother. It was holding a tray full of glasses of lemonade, and there was a smoldering hole in the center of its chest where one of Reacher’s shots had caught it.
Reacher landed in the corridor, rolled, then jumped back up onto his feet. He moved forward five yards then pulled out his flashlight. He started moving again, slowly, like before, and continued until he got to the central area. Then he switched the flashlight off and stood in the dark, listening. All he could hear was the distant humming of electrical equipment.
Reacher felt the prickling sensation start to creep up from the base of his neck. It was fully dark, but somehowsomeone was watching him. It must be Strickland. He must be in some kind of control room to have pulled off the trick with the sounds and the robots. Maybe he had night vision goggles, too. Or infrared cameras. Reacher shifted his finger onto the trigger and listened hard, searching for any sense of where the control room could be. He strained his ears but picked up nothing. Then he latched onto an echo from long ago.No one ever looks up. He switched the flashlight back on and held it above his head. He saw nothing at first. Then he realized there was a long dark shape over his head, tucked in tight to the ceiling, like a hovering spaceship or the hull of a boat. He played the light all around it and saw that a metal gantry was attached at its far end. It was matte black, making it virtually invisible. He traced it all the way to the far wall of the cavern and saw that it connected to a metal ladder. The ladder was also black, and it disappeared into the shadows of a narrow alcove. Reacher saw where it emerged and crossed over to it. But he didn’t climb. He realized there was a problem. If the shape above him was the control room, and if Strickland was inside it, the only way to get to him would be to cross the gantry. It was fifty feet long, and it was completely exposed. Assuming he had a weapon, Strickland could pick him off at will.
Reacher turned and ran back toward the corridor between the urban zone and the mountains. He kept his flashlight focused on the wall. He counted the gaps. Located the one he had dived out of. He stepped through it this time. Crossed to the broken window. Tucked the gun into his waistband. Slipped off his shirt and wrapped his left hand with it. He cleaned as much of the broken glassout of the frame as he could. Climbed through. Crossed to the doorway. And wrestled the Kevlar vest off the remains of the robotic target he had shot.
Reacher didn’t try to wear the vest. He knew it would be too small, and that wasn’t what he had in mind, anyway. He took it back to the central area and carried it up the ladder, taking his time with the narrow rungs. He made it to the top, then set out to crawl along the gantry. He used both knees but only his right hand. He held the vest out in front of him with his left, like a shield.
The first bullet hit the vest when Reacher was fifteen yards from the end of the gantry. The thump jarred his wrist. Strickland was crouching in the control room’s open doorway. Reacher kept on crawling. Strickland kept on firing. Another bullet hit the vest. And another. Reacher did not stop. He was almost at the end of the gantry. Strickland rolled back into the control room and slammed the door shut. He wriggled forward and stretched up for the lock. On the gantry Reacher swiveled around onto his back, pulled his knees into his chest, then slammed both feet into the door. It flew open, hit Strickland, and knocked him down. The gun rattled away across the room.
For a moment Reacher and Strickland were both on their backs, lying feet to feet, two yards apart. They both started to scramble up. Strickland was shorter. Lighter. He could move faster. He was halfway up. There was no way Reacher could beat him so he changed tack. He took all his weight on his hands and his heels then launched himself forward with his body, parallel to the ground. He extended his feet, stretched his calves, and strained forevery last inch until his soles smashed into Strickland’s kneecaps.
Human knees are complex joints. The product of millennia of evolution. Effective, but fragile. No match for a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound weight. Certainly not one traveling at speed. Strickland’s knees snapped back the wrong way. Bones cracked. Tendons ripped. Ligaments tore. He pitched forward and landed face down on Reacher’s chest. Reacher rolled him to the side and stood up.
