A flap in the tent that was covering the prison entrance opened and a man stepped out. He was wearing a dark suit and a tie and his hair looked freshly cut. He stood for a moment, blinking in the sunlight. Then Brockman, who had done nothing up to that point, jumped down, took the guy’s arm, and helped him onto the stage.
The guy took the microphone and stepped forward. “Thank you all for being here. Thank you, Mr. Hix. Thank you, Mr. Brockman. And most of all, thank you to the Minerva corporation and everyone who is associated with it. When others wanted to lock me up, they fought to set me free. I am truly grateful, and I swear with you all as my witnesses that I will make the most of every second that has been given back to me.”
The guy waved, then Hix and Brockman shepherded him off the other side of the stage and into the BMW.
Jed ducked and tried to scramble under the barrier.
Reacher grabbed him, pulled him back, and wrapped an arm around his chest.
Jed wriggled and squirmed. “Let me go. I need to get to my dad. He’s not messed up. You guys are wrong.”
“I can’t let you go, Jed,” Reacher said. “Because that man is not your dad.”
* * *
—
Lev Emerson had stood at the entrance to the workshop just north of Vicksburg and watched the flames curl and flutter. He had watched the body twitch and twist. Brighter and faster then softer and gentler until the corner with the chains hanging from the ceiling was dull and limp and ordinary once more. He crossed the courtyard to where Graeber was waiting after stowing the barrel and checking his mapping apps for an abandoned paper mill near the town of Winson.
They drove in convoy, Graeber in front in the shiny black van that was expected at the paper mill, Emerson behind in his shabby white workhorse. They took a short jog east then settled in on a steady southbound heading until they hit the outskirts of Jackson. Then Graeber pulled into a gas station. When they were both done topping off their tanks Graeber pointed to a diner at the side of the site. It was nothing fancy. Just a long, low brick building with a flat roof and a neon sign promising good food.
“What do you think?” Graeber said. “Want to grab a bite? Some coffee? We have plenty of time.”
Emerson looked the place over. There were a dozen open parking spots outside its windows. It would be no problem to keep an eye on the white van. He said, “Sure. Why not?”
* * *
—
The inside of the diner was as simple and functional as the outside. There were ten four-tops, split into two lines of five. Plain furniture. A gray linoleum floor, scratched in places. A serving counter with two coffee machines. A clock on the wall. A framed map of the state. And a TV. A large one. It was the only newish thing in the place. It was tuned to a local news channel. The sound was off, but words summarizing the action were scrolling across a plain band at the bottom of the screen.
Emerson was facing the windows. He was glancing at a menu, wondering what to eat, then Graeber grabbed his forearm.
Graeber said, “The TV. Look.”
The screen was filled with the scene from outside the prison in Winson. A guy in a suit with a brand-new haircut was standing on a stage, speaking into a microphone. The text said, Exoneree Anton Begovic released from custody following successful appeal, thanks to Minerva Corporation. Minerva CEO Bruno Hix said…
“Begovic?” Emerson pulled out the stolen phone, opened it to Carpenter’s picture, and held it up.
Graeber said, “Or Carpenter. It’s the same guy. No doubt about it.”
The camera followed the guy in the suit as a couple of other men guided him into a waiting BMW. The car eased forward, slowly, because of the crowd.
Emerson said, “Look at the plate—MC1. Contact Fassbender. He owes us a favor. Tell him to find out who owns that car. Like, yesterday.”
* * *
—
An accounting thing, Angela had told Sam. Reacher had expected something complicated. Something that would require training and qualifications to unravel. But it turned out to be the simplest discrepancy in the book. One too many. One prisoner. One breakfast. One lunch. One dinner…
* * *
—
Jed jumped into the back of the VW and said, “How can you be so sure that wasn’t my dad? You’ve never met him.”
“I saw his photo from the day he was arrested.”
“People change,” Hannah said. She pulled an exaggerated, fake shiver. “If you saw a picture of me from sixteen years ago…”
Reacher said, “Part of the real Anton Begovic’s ear is missing. Ears don’t grow back. That’s why the photo in the envelope in Angela’s purse was so critical. Without it we would never have known the wrong guy just got released.”