Hannah whispered back, “Which guy? There are two of them.”
Reacher said, “Not for long.”
* * *
—
Reacher heard a voice from behind him. It was the guy who’d been giving the directions. The one who was definitely armed. He said, “Keep going. No one told you to stand still.”
The guy was close. Closer than when they left the building. Reacher could tell from the sound of his voice. The guy must have taken a couple of extra steps after Reacher stopped, just like Hannah had done. Reacher gauged the distance between them. He pictured the guy’s height. Subtracted a couple of inches. Shifted his weight onto the ball of his left foot. Then threw himself backward. He snapped into a fast, clockwise turn, twisting at the waist to add momentum and extending his right arm. He clenched his fist. It traced a wide arc like the head of a sledgehammer. One wielded by a 250-pound maniac. The guy saw the danger. He started to duck. He fumbled for his gun. But he was too slow. The side of Reacher’s fist slammed into his temple and felled him like a dead tree in a hurricane.
The second guy jumped back. He lifted his shirt and scrabbled for his own gun. Another Beretta. Reacher matched his movement. He stepped in close, stretched out his left hand, and pinned the guy’s wrist against his abdomen. He took the guy’s weapon. Then shoved him in the chest and sent him staggering away, too far to try to snatch the gun back.
Reacher said, “Your friend took my picture. Why?”
The guy didn’t answer.
Reacher said, “You wanted to finish the conversation outside. We’re outside. So converse.”
The guy shook his head.
Reacher raised the gun. “Try this instead. You picked this particular spot. No witnesses. No cameras. Why was that?”
The guy held out his hands, palms up. “I don’t know anything. If you’re going to shoot me, just get it over with.”
“You’re wrong,” Reacher said. “You do know some things. You know my name.”
“Oh. Yeah. OK.”
“You know you were sent out here to look for me.”
“I guess.”
“So you know who sent you.”
The guy shook his head.
“You know. Who was it?”
The guy didn’t answer.
Reacher prodded the body on the ground with his toe.
The guy closed his eyes for a moment. “Our boss sent us.”
“Name?”
“Mr. Brockman.”
“Organization?”
“Minerva Correctional.”
“You work at the prison in Winson?”
The guy nodded.
Reacher said, “How did Brockman know I’d be here?”
“He didn’t. He sent guys to a bunch of places. Just in case.”
“How many guys?”
“I don’t know. Eight? Ten? It wasn’t like a regular team briefing. We got given our orders in pairs. Word filtered out between us later.”
“Which places?”
“I only know one place for sure. The Greyhound station in Jackson. One of the guys who got sent there is my brother-in-law. He called me. A few minutes ago. They just caught a couple of punks trying to kidnap a homeless kid who’d come in from California. Said he wanted to see if we were having any fun like that. Which was horseshit. Really he wanted to break my balls because he knew we would be totally bored.”
“Guess his call was a little premature. What were you supposed to do if you saw me?”
“Verify your ID.”
“And then?”
“Stop you.”
“From doing what?”
“Getting to Winson.”
“Why?”
“So you couldn’t cause any trouble.”
“Why would I cause trouble in Winson?”
The guy shrugged. “Mr. Brockman said you were crazy. Crazy people do crazy things.”
“You had to verify my ID. How?”
“We sent your picture to some guys who know what you look like.”
“Which guys?”
“A couple of co-workers.”
“How would they recognize me?”
“Your paths crossed a couple of days ago. In some town in Colorado.”
Reacher smiled. “I see. Where are these guys?”
“In Winson. I guess. They’re still out sick.”
“I’ll make sure to drop by their houses while I’m in town. Maybe bring them some flowers. Now, Brockman. Is he a good boss?”
“I guess.”
“Is he a nice guy?”
“If he likes you.”