No Plan B

Chapter 17

The sky gradually brightened and the Greyhound bus continued to thump and rumble its way east. It crossed the rest of Arizona, cut the corner of New Mexico, and dropped diagonally down into Texas. With every mile Jed Starmer grew more accustomed to its sounds. He became less likely to be disturbed. But also less tired due to all his hours of sleep, so one effect balanced out the other, meaning that it took him around the same length of time to wake up when the bus stopped in El Paso as it had done in Phoenix.

Jed drifted to the surface, looked around and located the depot sign. He checked his watch. They were bang on schedule. So they would be in El Paso for an hour and five minutes. It was lunchtime and he wouldn’t get another decent break until they got to Dallas in the early hours of the next morning. Which meant it made sense to get out and find some food. He was starving, but he felt more energetic than the last time he woke up. He slid across onto the seat next to the aisle. Some of the other passengers were already outside, wandering about. He waited for an elderly couple to shuffle by, then stood up and started toward the door. Then he stopped again. He didn’t have his backpack. It hadn’t been on his lap. He hadn’t been hugging it. He hadn’t wanted to look like a little kid. So he’d put it on the seat next to him. Before he fell asleep. But now it wasn’t on the seat. It wasn’t on the floor. It wasn’t in the luggage rack. It was nowhere. It was gone.

Jed remembered the guy in the bus station in L.A. The surfer-looking dude who had found his ticket when he dropped it. The guy had warned him. Told him to hang on to his bag. To keep his arm through the strap when he slept. He should have listened. He should have…

Jed spotted the backpack. It was outside the bus. A guy was carrying it. He was moving quickly, along the concourse between the piers. He was almost at the depot exit. Jed started to rush down the aisle but almost at once he had to slow down. Nearly to a standstill. The old couple was in the way. Dawdling. Creeping along. It was like they were experimenting to see how slowly it was possible for human beings to move without their feet fusing with the floor. Jed hovered along behind them until they reached the door. They climbed down. Jed jumped out. He ran to the exit. There was no sign of the guy with his backpack. Then Jed caught a glimpse of him. Through a car window. A cab. The guy was reclining in the backseat. He was cradling the backpack. Its top flap was pressing against the glass.

The cab was twenty yards away. Jed ran toward it. He waved. He yelled. The cab accelerated. Jed jumped. He screamed. He kept on running. But the cab just moved faster and faster until it was gone from Jed’s sight.

Jed was left on the sidewalk, doubled over, out of breath. He was alone in a strange town, hundreds of miles from the only place he had ever thought of as home. All his worldly goods were gone. His dream of a new life was shattered. Tears blurred his vision. He slid his hand into his pocket. His fingers searched for coins. If he could find a quarter he could call his foster mother. Beg her to come and get him. To take him back. To save him.

Jed could call.

Whether his foster mother would answer was a whole other question.

Graeber and the other four guys had been waiting for an hour by the time Emerson arrived at the warehouse in Chicago. The four guys were surprised. It wasn’t like Emerson to be late. But these were not normal times. Graeber had laid out some of the background for them. Not everything. Emerson was a private kind of guy. He wouldn’t want his family’s dirty laundry washed in public. And Graeber was ambitious. He didn’t want to erode his privileged position in the organization so he stuck to the basics. Just enough to keep the others from asking too many questions. Or getting nervous and walking out.

Emerson’s wife had been crazier than he’d expected when he got home. She had screamed at him the moment he walked through the door. She had wailed and pounded on his chest. She had flung things. She had blamed him for what had happened to Kyle. For the fact that the treatment had failed. Which didn’t seem fair to Emerson. Not fair at all. He hadn’t poured the booze down Kyle’s throat. He hadn’t rolled his joints or filled his syringes with who knew what. All he had done was try to get the kid better. At huge expense. And not a little personal risk.

It had taken all Emerson’s strength to stay patient while his wife raged. To try to understand what was going on. And to wait for her Xanax to finally kick in.

Emerson sat at the head of the battered old table and took a moment to compose himself. Then he said, “Guys, thank you for being here. First up, you should know that this is not business as usual. It’s not professional. It’s personal. To me. So if anyone wants to sit this one out, you can leave. No hard feelings. No repercussions. I guarantee.”

No one moved.

“Excellent.” Emerson nodded his head. “So here’s the plan, such as it is. We have two known points of contact with these assholes. First, we know who their front man is. Graeber and I will pay him a visit. See if we can’t loosen his tongue. Persuade him to share more details of their operation. Second, there’s their ship, twelve miles and an inch off the Jersey coast. It’s not going anywhere. It can’t. Their top guys will probably stay on board. They’ll think they’re safe there, and it’s where they keep all their equipment and supplies. Which suits us fine, for now. As long as none of them sneaks away. So the rest of you, I want you to head over there. A friend is providing a plane. Take a basic dry kit. There’s no need for finesse with this job. Then start by setting up surveillance from the shore. There’s only one little boat that goes back and forth. If anyone tries to leave, intercept them. If they’re customers, let them go. Maybe shake them up a little first. Make sure they know to never come back. If they’re anything other than customers, put them on ice. And there’s no need to be gentle. Just make sure they’re still alive when I get there.”

Wiles Park was badly named, Reacher thought. It should have been called Wiles Square. Because that’s what it was. A square. It was a nice one. An effort had been made to turn it into a place that people would want to visit. That was clear. It was surrounded by cute stores and cafés and restaurants with fancy outdoor seating. There was a fountain in the middle, probably modeled on something from a French chateau, running at a quarter capacity, probably due to a problem with the water supply. There were all kinds of brightly colored flowers planted between tiny hedges that were cut into intricate geometric shapes. And there were benches. They were made of polished concrete and set out in a wide circle, like the numbers on a clock face. There were twelve of them. But only one was near a tree, as specified by the note in Roth’s mailbox.

Reacher picked up a coffee in a to-go cup from the least pretentious-looking café on the perimeter and strolled across to the bench by the tree. He got there at ten to one. He sat down, right in the middle, and waited.

At five to one a guy stepped out from behind the fountain. He was broad, about six-two, and he was wearing jeans and a white Rolling Stones T-shirt. His hair was buzzed short and he had on a pair of black, sporty sunglasses. He halved the distance to Reacher’s bench, paused, scowled, then came right up close.

The guy said, “Move.”

Reacher held up his left hand and wiggled his fingers. “Like this?”

The guy’s frown deepened. “Get off the bench, jackass.”

“Why? Is it yours?”

“I need it. Now.”

“There are eleven other benches. Use one of those.”

“I need this one. I won’t tell you again. Move.”

Reacher stayed still. He said nothing.

The guy leaned in closer. “Did you not hear me?”

“I heard you just fine. You said you weren’t going to ask me to move again. I figured you changed your mind. If you have one.”

“You better watch your words. You’re starting to make me mad.”

“And if I don’t? What are you going to do about it?”

The guy turned away. His hands bunched into fists, then relaxed again. He took a deep breath. Then he turned back to face Reacher. “Look. I’m meeting someone here, at this particular bench. In about a minute’s time. It’s very important. So I’d appreciate it if you would just move to another one.”

Reacher said, “You’re meeting Sam Roth.”

The guy’s scowl returned. “How did you know?”

“Because you’re not meeting Roth. Not anymore. You’re meeting me.”

“The hell? What’s going on here?”

“Change of negotiating stance.” Reacher patted the smooth concrete by his side. “Sit down. Let’s talk. See if we can find a solution everyone can live with.”

“You got the printout?”

“It’s nearby. I can get it. If we can agree on terms.”

The guy hesitated for a moment, then slowly turned and lowered himself down onto the bench. He perched right on the very edge of the slab, as far away from Reacher as he could get. He said, “We need to see it. Make sure Roth changed the rota the way we told him to.”

Reacher caught movement over by the fountain. Another guy emerged from behind it. He was about the same height as the guy who was now sitting. He looked a little heavier. He had the same sunglasses and similar clothes, except his shirt was plain and it had sleeves. He took one step forward then stopped and mimed an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. The first guy shrugged, too, then beckoned for him to come closer.

The new guy marched across and stopped in front of the bench. His face was red and a vein was bulging on his forehead. He glared at his buddy and said, “What are you doing with this bozo? We have business to attend to.”

The first guy said, “Relax. Sit down. He’s here in Roth’s place.”

The new guy stayed on his feet. “The hell he is. That wasn’t the deal.”

Reacher said, “The deal’s changed. You want the rota rewritten?”

“You know we do.”

“Mr. Roth is no longer convinced that altering the rota is necessary. It’s up to you to change my mind.”

“Are you nuts?” the new guy said.

“I wouldn’t say so. Mildly eccentric, maybe. But who am I to judge?” Reacher patted the concrete on his other side. “Sit.”

“If you’re not nuts then Roth must be.” The new guy sat. “If what we have gets out, he’s finished. His career’s over. He knows that.”

“What you have is bogus.”

“So what? It’s credible. There’s no way he doesn’t get investigated off the back of it. And it doesn’t matter what they find. Something. Nothing. Whatever. Shit sticks. His career will be down the toilet.”

“Maybe he doesn’t care about that. Maybe he’s ready for a new challenge.”

“He cares.”

“Does he?”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?”

“Anyway,” the first guy joined in. “We have insurance. In case he’s too stupid to cooperate.”

Reacher said, “The threat you made against his ex-wife?”

The first guy nodded. “Accidents happen. Houses catch on fire. So do electric cars. With their owners inside sometimes.”

Reacher said, “I’m not a fan of assholes who threaten innocent people. I should break your legs for that.”

The guy puffed himself up. “Or we could break yours.”

Reacher said, “Could you?”

A witness would have said the guy fell off the bench. Just flopped sideways, hit the ground, and lay there motionless, legs bent, arms by his sides. Like when he was sitting, only rotated through ninety degrees. They would have said Reacher didn’t move. Or that if he did it was only due to some kind of twitch. Nothing deliberate. Just a momentary spasm in his left arm.

Reacher turned to the new guy. “The negotiating phase is over. You’re not getting the rota changed. You’re not going to release the dirt you made up on Roth. And you’re not going to lay a finger on Hannah Hampton. Are you clear about that?”

The vein on the guy’s forehead started throbbing again. “I don’t know what your plans are, buddy, but you better cancel them. You better leave town. And fast.”

“I was already planning to leave town. But I know someone who lives here. Who works in the police department. We were both in the service. If any lies come out about Roth, he’ll tell me. If anything happens to Ms. Hampton, he’ll tell me. I’ll come back. I’ll find you. And you will have the worst day of your life.”

A witness would have said a very strange thing happened next. The new guy fell off the bench as well. He also flopped sideways and wound up inert on the ground, like a mirror image of his buddy. And again they would have said Reacher didn’t move. Not deliberately. Although he did seem to have another spasm.

In his right arm this time.