No Plan B

Chapter 43

The watchtowers were no longer regularly used, but they were still connected to the meshed-in walkways that crisscrossed the prison site. Reacher climbed down the ladder and started toward the building that housed the control center. He knew where it was because he had made Hix draw a diagram.

Reacher passed through five doors along the way. They were all secured. Hix’s ID card opened all of them. The final one was the control center itself. Beyond that point the doors were designated operational, not administrative. That meant they could only be operated remotely. Which was the whole point of Reacher’s visit.

There were two people on duty when Reacher entered the control room. Both men. Both in their late fifties. Both with enough miles on the clock to make sound decisions in times of stress. That was the theory. A hypothesis based more on the likelihood of escape attempts and riots than a one-man incursion. Even an incursion by one man who could do as much damage on his own as a medium-sized riot. But either way the theory held water. Reacher gave the guys instructions. They followed to the letter without argument. They didn’t even balk when Reacher locked them in the storage cupboard and broke the key in the outside of the lock.

Reacher checked the display on the access control panel. It was rudimentary, but easy to interpret. The symbols representing all the doors between the control center and the segregation unit S1 were green. The other doors were all red. That was what he wanted to see so Reacher took the hammer from the pillowcase and smashed the controls. Then he smashed all the CCTV monitors. There was no way he would be able to disable all the cameras on his route. Not easily. And not quickly. But there was no sense in leaving any potential relief crew with the ability to use any of them.

There were five more doors to pass through before Reacher would get to Begovic’s cell. The first two were in sections of the mesh walkway. Reacher was completely exposed while he was in there. He was in the heart of enemy territory. Massively outnumbered. Completely outgunned. If either of the doors didn’t open he would have a serious problem. Or if there was some anti-infiltration system he was unaware of, ready to kick in and trap him. Or a backup control panel. Or an automatic reset procedure. He knew there were all kinds of ways he might not leave the place alive.

Reacher approached the first door slowly. Calmly. He stretched out a hand. Pushed. The door swung open. So did the second. The third led from the mesh walkway to a covered corridor. A smaller space. Completely enclosed. He would be like a rat caught in a drainpipe if the doors froze. The third opened. So did the fourth, which led into the segregation unit itself. Reacher was at the center of the cross, on the first floor. Above him were the three rooms that formed the unit’s command hub. In the middle of each wall a door led to one of the cell wings. Reacher needed the west wing. He identified the door. The fifth. He pushed. It opened.

Reacher paused and looked at each cell door in turn. There were sixteen. Fifteen of these were always unlocked because the wing was not officially in commission. It was only being used for under-the-table projects. Hix had sworn that Begovic would be the only person locked up in there. But if he had tucked a couple of tame psychopaths away in the place, Hix might have thought it was a lie he could get away with.

Reacher listened. He picked up the sound of someone moving. Two people. In the first cell on his right. W1. Hix had described it as a transport preparation area. The door was standing open an inch. Reacher pushed it the rest of the way. Inside, there was an operating table. A metal trolley covered with surgical tools. A cabinet full of drugs. Two drip stands. A heart monitor. A person-sized metal box with a 12V car-style battery at one end to power the system that controlled its internal temperature, like a futuristic travel coffin. A defibrillator mounted on the wall. And two men wearing scrubs.

One of the men grabbed a scalpel from the trolley and lunged at Reacher. Straight forward. Going for Reacher’s gut. But with no power. No venom. The guy was no knife fighter. That was for sure. Reacher knocked his arm aside, continued to spin, building momentum, and punched the guy just below his ear. The force hurled him across the operating table and into the narrow gap next to the wall.

Reacher turned to the other guy. He was standing with his hands up. He said, “Don’t hurt me. I won’t cause you any trouble. I’ll do anything you want.”

“You’re getting ready to prepare Begovic?”

“I guess. They don’t tell us names.”

“You’re going to chop him up?”

“God, no. The buyer does that. We send the bodies out whole.”

“Who’s the buyer?”

“I don’t know.”

Reacher stepped closer.

The guy said, “I swear. It’s way above my pay grade. But there’s a rumor. This one’s going to our biggest customer. They work out of a ship. Off the Jersey coast. In international waters. Where there are no regulations.”

“So the guys on the ship cut him up. And do what? Store his body parts until they’re needed?”

“Eventually. He’ll stay alive while only nonessential organs are harvested. You know. Corneas. One kidney. Skin. Some kinds of bone. The big joints. And blood. Blood replenishes itself, so it makes sense to keep him alive as long as possible.”

“How much are all those things worth?”

“They use everything, once he’s dead. It comes to $800,000, maybe.”

“You send people to this place. People who are alive when they leave here.”

“It’s my job. I just do what I’m told.”

Reacher felt the bile rising from his stomach so he stepped forward, butted the guy in the face, and went back out into the corridor.

Cells W2, W4, and W6 were empty. So was W3. W5 showed signs of recent use. There was a regular twin bed with a pale blue comforter and a TV perched on a footlocker by the far wall. The room smelled vaguely of pizza and Chinese food. It was where Carpenter had been hiding out before taking Begovic’s place at the release ceremony. W7 was empty. And Begovic himself was in W8. He was on the bed when Reacher opened the door, lying absolutely still. For a moment Reacher thought he was dead. That the whole enterprise had been a trap. Then Begovic blinked.

“Anton?” Reacher kept his voice quiet. “My name’s Reacher. I’m here to help you. To get you out. We have to get moving now. Can you stand up?”

Begovic didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

So not dead, Reacher thought. Just catatonic. Which was understandable. The guy had been wrongly locked up for years. Promised his freedom. Then bundled back into solitary. Reacher felt some sympathy. But he could also feel the seconds ticking away. “Begovic!” he said. “On your feet. Face front. Forward, march.”

Begovic stood and moved to the door. Reacher scanned the room for sentimental possessions but he couldn’t see any likely candidates so he eased Begovic out into the corridor. Then toward the door at the center of the unit. They were halfway there when the lights went out. There was total darkness for six long seconds. Reacher heard two metallic bangs. One behind him. One in front. Begovic’s breathing grew louder. Quicker. Shallower. Then there was a deep clunk and the light returned, only at about half the brightness.

“What happened?” Begovic’s voice was soft and low.

“Main power went out,” Reacher said. “It switched to the backup generators.”

“OK.” Begovic started moving again.

Not OK, Reacher thought. Not in the same hemisphere as OK. But he didn’t say anything until he got to the door. There was no point raising the alarm if he was mistaken. Which he wasn’t. It was just as he feared.

The door was now locked.