Page 10 of Exit Strategy
Reacher moved to the top of the staircase so that he would be close enough to react if the guy went for the gun. He said, ‘There is no money.’
‘Then you’ve wasted your time coming here. If you were going to shoot me you would have already. Beyond that, I don’t care how big you are. There’s nothing you can do or say that’ll make me stay. Tell your boss he’ll never hear from me again. He can whistle for his updates.’ The guy started to turn away, then spun back around. ‘And tell him he’s an asshole.’
Reacher moved down one step. ‘Most bosses are. But I’m not here to threaten you. I came to return your note.’
‘Return it? Why?’
‘You gave it to me by mistake. I figured you were in some kind of trouble so it might help you to know your message had gone astray.’
‘Mistake? No. I was told to find the biggest guy in the place. That was you. I checked everyone. There’s no doubt about it.’
Reacher thought for a moment, recalling the scene outside the coffee shop when he left. He said, ‘Which direction did you approach from?’
‘The east. Why?’
‘Half a block away, to the west, a guy died. Right around the time you arrived. Looked like a heart attack. I saw him being loaded into an ambulance. He was bigger than me. Maybe he collapsed on the way to meet you.’
The guy shook his head. ‘Not possible. If something like that had happened I would have been told. New arrangements would have been made. I wouldn’t have been left … shit. Wait. And don’t panic. I’m not going for a weapon.’ The guy picked up his backpack, rummaged inside, and pulled out a phone. He set it on the stairs then rummaged around again until he found its battery. Then he sat, fitted the battery, switched on the phone, and waited. Thirty seconds passed then the phone let out a series of beeps. The guy studied the screen and nodded. He said, ‘You were right about the dead guy. That’s a relief. And a new meet’s been proposed. Same time, same place, tomorrow. Well, today, as it’s after midnight.’ He typed out a brief message, hit Send, stood,and slipped the phone into his pocket. ‘Second time’s the charm, right?’ He held out his hand. ‘Anyway, thank you. I appreciate you taking the time, coming out here, letting me know.’
Reacher ignored the guy’s hand. ‘You’re not going to this do-over meeting?’
‘Of course I am.’
‘Why?’
The guy was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Listen. I appreciate you hauling your ass across town to give me my note back. But what I do andwhyis none of your business.’
Reacher nodded, stepped past the guy, and made his way down the stairs. At the bottom he turned and said, ‘Planting the note on me. That was some technique. Where’d you learn it?’
The guy shrugged. ‘A past life. I spent time in the army.’
‘What was your MoS?’
‘Intel. Sixty-sixth Military Intelligence Brigade.’
‘Out of Wiesbaden, Germany?’
‘Right. How do you know that?’
‘Doesn’t matter. But take my advice, soldier. You’re in trouble. Your gut is telling you to get the hell out. Listen to it. Leave town. Today. Now. Don’t stick around to collect whatever money you think you’re owed. Or any possessions. Or anything else. Just go. Get out in one piece.’
Compulsivewas a word that Strickland had heard many times in his life. Too many, when it was applied to him. It had started informally. The word had been thrown around by friends. Girlfriends. Soldiers he’d servedwith. Commanding officers. Then it had gained weight when it had been written down by the counselor he’d been forced to see during his recovery after his return from Iraq. The word seemed negative to him. Judgmental, the way others used it. Strickland saw the behavior it described differently. He felt it was a sign of thoroughness. Of logic. Just because something had turned out a particular way in the past, there was no guarantee it would again in the future. That wasn’t a matter of opinion. That was philosophical doctrine, as far as he was concerned. It made sense to check important things every time you could. Which was why he didn’t take the direct route from his office to the control room when he got off the phone with Mark Hewson. He took a detour to the far side of the complex, to the new storage room. It wasn’t in the most convenient location in terms of geography, but it made sense from a logistical viewpoint. It had only been added three months previously, when the need to store perishable cargo suddenly arose. It needed a lot of power for its environmental equipment, so it was cost-effective to position it near the main distribution facility. That saved laying a bunch of new cable, plus a lot of time.
The room was rectangular, sixty feet long by twenty feet wide by eight feet tall. Its walls and ceiling were made of high-density foam wrapped in heat-reflecting foil and covered with steel mesh, which Strickland thought made it look like a cage. It had one door, made of hardened steel, and an electronic lock controlled by a keypad. Only two people knew the code. Strickland himself and Steve McClaren. Neither was the kind of person whowould leave a door unlocked. Given its location, the likelihood of a break-in was remote. But Strickland didn’t leave anything to chance. He had the door guarded by two operatives 24/7 on twelve-hour rotations. And to make sure the operatives were in position and the door was secure, he passed by whenever he got the opportunity.
Strickland thought of himself as a considerate boss, so he provided seating for the guards. He heard the chair legs scrape against the rough floor as he came closer. He turned the last corner and saw the guards standing, alert, M16s slung across their shoulders, muzzles pointing toward the ground. The guard on the right started to raise his, then recognized Strickland and relaxed. Strickland looked each guard in the eye, threw them a loose salute, then continued on his way, satisfied.
The guards waited until he’d disappeared from view, then the one on the right sat back down. His name badge saidWalker. His buddy was named Jacklin. He said, ‘Why does Strickland keep walking by like that?’
Walker said, ‘Why do you care?’
‘I don’t. But it’s weird. I wish he’d stop.’
Walker grunted.
Jacklin said, ‘I hate it here.’
Walker shook his head. ‘It’s better than deploying. There are no bullets flying here. The food is better.’
