“Is he? Maybe he just wants people to think that. As cover. He’s a retired cop. Lots of those guys set up as private detectives when they turn in their badges.”
“He was an MP. Not a regular cop.”
“So what? Same skill set. And he’s capable. That’s clear. Ask the guys we sent after him.”
Brockman shrugged. “OK. Say you’re right. He came here because the woman hired him. What difference does it make?”
“The difference is that we now have two people to take care of.”
“Which is no biggie. We know exactly where they both are. The only question is whether to stick Harold and the boys on them in their rooms while they sleep, or wait till the morning and jump them when they come outside.”
“Do it in their rooms. As soon as possible. Have the bodies brought out on gurneys, in case there are any other guests snooping around.”
“I’ll set it up with Harold.”
“Good. And in the meantime, who’s watching the hotel?”
“The cop.”
“Too obvious. Send one of our guys.”
“We haven’t got anyone. Only the guys we sent to Jackson and they’ve been working since 3:00 a.m. We need them to back Harold up, tonight. Better for them to grab some rest. Come back fresh.”
“If Reacher sees a patrol car out front, he’ll know something’s up. He’ll—”
“If Reacher was watching he’d have seen the patrol car leave. I had Moseley send his guy back, and tell him to stay out of sight. On the street.”
“Send him back? He left?”
“Only for a minute. He’s supposed to be on patrol. He started to go back out. Reported to Moseley. Moseley called me. I took care of it.”
“You sure?”
Brockman nodded. “Moseley had his guy check with the hotel when he got back on station. The clerk confirmed he saw Reacher and the woman heading to the elevators. He was certain they hadn’t come down. He swore he would have noticed if they’d come back through reception. He knew the police were interested in them after the first phone call so he was extra vigilant.”
“OK. Just make sure Harold knows he has two targets now. And tell him to take the insurance with him. The envelope. He needs to make sure it’s somewhere Reacher will find it if he comes out on top.”
“Harold won’t like that. He’ll think it shows you don’t have faith in him.”
“Why would I give a rat’s ass what Harold thinks? Tell him anyway.”
“You’d give more than a rat’s ass if you’d seen the size of him. He’s not the kind of guy you want mad at you. Whether you’re the CEO or not.”
* * *
—
Reacher had waited for the police car to pull a wide, lazy turn and disappear toward the center of town. Then he started along the corridor that led to the elevators and the guest rooms. Hannah followed, still towing her suitcase. They passed the elevators and continued to the end of the corridor. To the emergency exit. A sign said the door was alarmed. Reacher was annoyed by that. An inanimate object couldn’t experience trepidation. It was a ridiculous proposition. And if the claim was meant as a warning, that didn’t work, either. The hotel’s owners wanted to keep costs to a minimum. The desk clerk’s ill-fitting uniform made that clear. So did the generic prints on the walls. The coarse carpet on the floor. The flimsy handles on the bedroom doors. The kind of people who were satisfied with such low-level junk wouldn’t want to get fined for false alarms. There was too much risk that a drunken guest would take a wrong turn and blunder into the latch. Or a smoker would sneak out for a crafty cigarette. Or someone would want to get outside without being seen. Someone like Reacher or Hannah.
Reacher pushed the release bar. The door swung open. No lights flashed. No klaxons sounded.
* * *
—
If you don’t want a thing to come back and bite you in the ass, do it yourself.
That was a principle Curtis Riverdale had lived by his whole career. It meant more hours with his sleeves rolled up, for sure, but it had been worthwhile. It had always served him well. In the past. But that afternoon, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure if it would be enough.
Riverdale had made the arrangements for the next day’s ceremony himself, as usual. He had lined up the outdoor seating. The temporary fences. The podium for the TV cameras. Refreshments for the journalists. The stage, for Bruno Hix to strut and preen. A tent to shroud the prison’s entrance, for security. Fierce-looking guards to be seen in the watchtowers. And the protestors. He was sure not to forget about them.