FIFTY
SORENSON WAS GOING a mute kind of crazy on the bed. The guy in Reacher’s ear was breathing hard. Reacher said, ‘I have very modest demands, Mr Perry. If you want to get Agent Sorenson back safe and sound, all you have to do is precisely nothing. Don’t call me, don’t try to track me, don’t try to find me, don’t hassle me, don’t interfere with me in any way at all.’
The guy said, ‘Tell me what you want.’
‘I just did.’
‘I can help you. We can work together on this.’
Reacher asked, ‘Did you take the hostage negotiator’s course?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘It shows. You’re not listening. Just stay away from me.’
‘What are you planning to do?’
‘I’m planning to do your job.’
‘
Reacher said, ‘You’ve got dead people here, and a missing kid. You should have told the CIA and the State Department to sit down and shut up, but you didn’t. You caved instead. So stay out of my way while I fix things for you.’
‘Who the hell are you?’
Reacher didn’t answer that. He just clicked off the call and tossed the phone on the bed.
‘You’re crazy,’ Sorenson said.
‘Not really,’ Reacher said. ‘This way he’s blameless and you’re blameless but the job still gets done. Everyone wins.’
‘But he’s not going to do what you told him. I know this guy, Reacher. He’s not going to just sit there and take it. He’s not going to let you embarrass him in front of the CIA. He’s going to come after you. He’s going to start a full-on manhunt.’
‘Let the best man win,’ Reacher said. ‘I’ve been hunted before. Many times. And no one ever found me.’
‘You don’t get it. It’ll be easy. He can track my phone.’
‘We’ll leave it right there on the bed. We’ll buy another one.’
‘He can track my
‘We’re not going to use your car.’
‘What, we’re going to walk?’
‘No, we’re going to use Sheriff Goodman’s car. It’s right here. And he doesn’t need it any more, does he?’
Goodman’s car was still there on the crown of the road. The keys were still in it, which was what Reacher had expected. City cops usually took their keys with them. Country cops, not so much. There was nothing more embarrassing than having some street kid steal a patrol car during an urban melee, but that kind of danger was rare in the boonies, so habits were different.
And there was an added bonus, too. They didn’t need to buy a new phone. Goodman’s cell was right there, charging away in a dashboard cradle identical to Sorenson’s own Bureau issue. The screen was showing two missed calls. One from Sorenson’s cell, and the other from the department’s dispatcher.
Post-mortem calls.
Reacher racked the driver’s seat back and fired up the engine. The car was a police-spec Crown Vic, under the skin exactly the same as Sorenson’s more discreet version. But it was older and grimier inside. The seat had been crushed into Goodman’s unique shape by many hours of use. Reacher felt like he was putting on a dead man’s clothes.
Sorenson asked, ‘Where are we going?’
Reacher said, ‘Anywhere with cell reception. We need to wait until we hear from your tech guys. About the autopsy. You need to call them and give them the new number.’
‘We’re basically stealing this car, you know.’
‘But who’s going to do anything about it? That idiot Puller?’
Reacher turned around in Delfuenso’s empty driveway and headed back south and west towards the crossroads. He got less than half a mile before Goodman’s phone rang in its cradle. A loud electronic squawk. Urgent, and nothing fancy.
The readout window showed a 402 area code.
‘Omaha,’ Reacher said.
Sorenson craned over to read the rest of the number.
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘That’s my SAC’s private line.’
‘He’s calling Goodman? Why?’
‘You kidnapped me. He’s alerting local law enforcement all over eastern Nebraska. Iowa too, probably.’
‘Doesn’t he know Goodman is dead?’
‘I doubt it. I don’t see how he could. Not yet.’
‘How did he get this number?’
‘Database. We have lots of numbers.’
‘Has he spoken to Goodman before?’
‘No. I don’t think so. The night duty agent took a call from him. That’s all. That’s how this whole thing started.’
‘How do I work this phone?’
‘You’re not going to talk to him, are you?’
‘We can’t let everyone ignore him. He’ll start to feel bad.’
‘But he knows your voice. You two just spoke.’
‘What did Goodman sound like?’
‘Like a seventy-year-old guy from Nebraska.’
‘How do I work the phone?’
‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Quick, before it goes to voice mail.’
‘There’s a microphone in the windshield pillar. Just hit the green button.’
Reacher hit the green button. He heard telephone sounds over the car speakers, unnaturally loud and clear and detailed. Every hiss and every crackle was faithfully rendered. He heard Special Agent in Charge Perry’s voice. It sounded brisk and a little tense. It said, ‘Is this Sheriff Goodman?’
Reacher took his right hand off the wheel and put his little finger in the corner of his mouth. Like an intrusive implement during a dental procedure. He said, ‘Yes, it is.’
The voice filling the car said, ‘Sheriff, I’m Anthony Perry, the SAC at the Omaha FBI. The Bureau has an interest in a situation that may be developing in your neck of the woods.’
‘And what situation would that be, sir?’
‘I believe you may have met Agent Sorenson from my office.’
‘I had that pleasure last night. A mighty fine young woman. You must be proud to have her working for you, sir.’
Sorenson laid her head back and closed her eyes.
Perry said, ‘Well, yes, but that’s beside the point right now. We picked up a report from the Nebraska State Police that a child went missing this morning.’
‘Sad but true, sir.’
‘I believe Agent Sorenson may have headed directly to you as a result.’
‘That’s good,’ Reacher said. ‘I’ll be glad of all the help I can get.’
He gulped saliva past his finger.
Perry said, ‘Are you OK, sheriff?’
‘I’m tired,’ Reacher said. ‘I’m an old man and I’ve been awake for a long time.’
