No Plan B

Chapter 29

Reacher was half expecting the truck to be gone when he got back from dumping the Mercury. He left it in the corner on the far side of the lot, tucked in at the side of a donation box for a clothing charity that didn’t look like it saw much action. Then he strolled back. He wanted Hannah to have plenty of time to think. To weigh her options. She had been through a lot in the last couple of days. Finding Sam Roth’s body. Learning that he had been murdered. Hearing that Angela St. Vrain had also been murdered. Almost getting murdered herself. Reacher wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d jumped into the driver’s seat the moment he was out of sight, headed for the highway, and put as many miles between them as humanly possible.

The truck was still there. Hannah was standing next to it. A small red suitcase was at her side. A stripey tote bag was attached to its handle and she had her purse slung over her shoulder.

She said, “We need to talk.”

Reacher said, “No need to explain. Thanks for staying to say goodbye. And thanks for all your help.”

“What are you talking about? You think those assholes scared me off? Screw them. I was already all in. That goes double now they laid hands on me. No. We need to talk about Sam’s truck. We can’t use it anymore.”

“Is it damaged?”

“Apart from the window, no. That’s not the problem. Those guys? Who jumped me? They recognized it somehow. They were walking by, in a hurry, heading for the building, and suddenly they stopped. I saw them checking the license plate. Then before I twigged what was happening the doors were open and they were inside, shoving their guns in my face. But the point is, they must have connected you to Sam. And if they knew to look out for his truck, their buddies will, too. At the next ambush. We’ll never get through. We need to get a replacement vehicle.”

“You have a point, but our options are limited here. The guys who jumped you must have come in a vehicle. We could find it. Take it. But there’s a good chance their buddies would recognize it, too. So there would be no benefit. Or we could steal a car from the parking lot but it would be reported in minutes. Then we would be worse off. We might not make it to the next ambush at all.”

“Taking people’s cars? Stealing other ones?” Hannah smiled and shook her head. “I was thinking about something less extreme. More legal. We should get a rental car. There must be a bunch of depots in Jackson. Or if we don’t want to schlep all that way we could get one dropped off here. That would be more expensive, but a lot more convenient.”

“How long would that take?”

Hannah pulled her phone out of her purse. “I’ll see who has a car available. Then we can figure out the quickest option.” The screen lit up and her phone unlocked itself. “And there’s something else. When I was waiting for you to change, before those guys showed up, I checked the map to see what the rest of the route to Winson was like. And look.” She held out the phone so that Reacher could see the screen. “See that red line? It means stationary traffic. I googled it, and it turns out that’s because of a construction zone. The road’s down to a single lane. So this is where the ambush will be. Not the hill you found on the paper map. This is a much better place. We’ll be stationary. So we’ll be a sitting duck. There’s no way they could miss us. Not in a recognizable vehicle. And there’s no other route we could take.”

Reacher thought for a moment. “Does Google say what kind of traffic management they have there? Lights? A guy with a stop/go board?”

“Google didn’t. But I also found a couple of online message boards for inmates’ families. There’s a lot of talk about the problems people have when they go visit. One woman mentioned they’re using a pilot vehicle. You know the kind of thing? Usually a pickup with a big illuminated sign in the load bed. It shuttles back and forth. Drivers have to wait until it comes and follow it to the other end. This woman said the driver was a jackass. She claimed he dawdled along extra slow and let the lines back up so much she missed half her visiting time.”

Reacher said, “Can your phone show the view from a satellite?”

“Sure.” Hannah hit a button at the corner of the screen and flipped it around for Reacher to see. “It’s not a live feed, you know. You’re not going to see the pilot vehicle moving around.”

“Don’t need to.” Reacher studied the phone for a moment. “I just need to see the terrain.” He nodded. “We can make this work for us. We could get a rental car but it would be better to use the truck. We can get a replacement vehicle delivered to the hotel, later, if you want.”

“Sticking with the truck for now is the best way? You’re sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“It’s not about the cost? Because I’m happy to pay.”

“It’s not the cost. Trust me.”

Hannah pointed to the truck’s rear door. “What about the window? We can’t drive with it in that state.”

“Duct tape will fix it.”

“Duct tape?”

“You can fix anything with duct tape.”

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. Look – the tinting film is holding on to all the glass. All we need is something to secure it around the frame. Duct tape.”

“And do you have any? In your extensive selection of luggage, maybe? Because oddly enough it’s not something I carry in my purse.”

“They sell it in the store here. I saw it earlier.”

“Oh. Good. I guess.”

“I’ll go grab some. And some emergency road flares. We’re going to need those, too.”

“We are? Why?”

“We’re going to do some traffic management of our own.”

Bruno Hix was back on his practice stage. The cameras were running. And this time he made it to the end of his speech in one take. Pretty good, he thought. But could be better.

Hix had just started his second run-through when the conference room door opened. It was Brockman.

Hix said, “What now?”

Brockman was silent for a moment. Then he shook his head and said, “You were right again.”

“About what this time?”

“The truck stop. Something is wrong up there.”

“Explain.”

“Harold just called. He arrived and there was no sign of our other guys. He looked in all the places it would be logical for them to use on a stakeout. Nada. So he cast his net wider. He checked the parking lot. He cruised up and down every aisle. In the corner, the farthest one away from the building, by some charity donation thing, he found Nick’s car. His Marauder. His pride and joy. Harold took a closer look. The doors were unlocked and the keys were on the driver’s seat. He thought it looked low at the back. So he popped the trunk. And he was right.”

“Nick was in there? Hell and damnation. Was he alone? Or with whoever he was partnered up with? Steve, wasn’t it? Were they alive? Or dead?”

“They were alive. But it wasn’t Nick and Steve. Get this. It was Pep and Tony. The guys we sent over from the intersection.”

“How did they get in Nick’s trunk?”

“No idea.”

“Where are Nick and Steve?”

“No idea. There was no sign of them anywhere.”

“What about the truck Pep found? The one Reacher was using.”

“It was gone. Harold thought he saw a red truck leaving when he arrived but he couldn’t be sure it was the same one.”

Hix was silent for a moment. “OK. No point worrying about what’s already happened. Call the guys at the construction zone. Give them the description of Reacher’s truck. Make sure they know the plates.”

Brockman said, “Already done.”

“Call them again. Make sure they know what they’re dealing with. Tell Harold to get down there. And the guys from the Greyhound station. This Reacher’s a menace. I don’t want him in my town. Not tomorrow.”

Jed Starmer could finally see the appeal of riding a bike. He had never had the chance to do it very much in the past. He’d never owned one of his own. His foster parents would never have allowed it. So one day, a few months back, he badgered a friend into teaching him how to ride one. The experience had not been much fun. Jed found that steering in a straight line was next to impossible. He wobbled all over the place. Hit every crack in the pavement. Every pothole. Bumped into a parked car. Fell off four times. Hurt his knee. And his elbow. And his chin. The other kids on the street all laughed at him. He was relieved when it was time to return the bike and limp his way back home. But that afternoon in Jackson, on the messenger’s bike, everything was different. At first he only had one thing on his mind. Getting away from the officers who were closing in on him. He didn’t worry about staying on two wheels or hurting himself or whether he looked ridiculous. He just raced down the sidewalk, bounced down off the curb, and swooped and dodged between the cars and trucks that were grinding their way through the choked city streets. He kept going for ten minutes. Fifteen. Then something dawned on him. He was free and clear.

Jed pulled over to the side of the street. He needed to find somewhere to leave the bike where it would be safe. Then, if he could just recall the name of the messenger service he had seen on the guy’s bag when they collided, he could find a phone number. He could call and tell someone where the owner would find the bike.

Jed had never intended to keep the bike for long. But he had not anticipated how useful it would be. Or how fun. And he did still have another problem. He had to get to Winson. He couldn’t take the bus. He didn’t have enough money for a cab. And he couldn’t risk standing around in plain sight, trying to hitch a ride. The bike was the obvious answer.

Jed’s notes were lost. They had been in his backpack. But he figured he had about fifty miles to go. Sixty at the most. The bike was fast. Easy to pedal. It would only take, what, a couple of hours? Maybe three? He could call the messenger service when he arrived in the town. The guy would have to travel a little farther to retrieve his bike, but that was too bad. He shouldn’t have been such an asshole. Really, he was lucky it was Jed he had encountered. Anyone else would have kept the bike. Or sold it. Jed had no doubt about that. Not after having his backpack stolen. And all his money.