The Sentinel

EIGHT

Speranski was in his dining room, eating his breakfast, when the secure phone rang again.

‘We have a problem,’ the voice at the other end of the line said. ‘We’ve lost Rutherford.’

‘How the hell did that happen?’ Speranski hurled his newspaper across the room. ‘Two people were supposed to be watching his building. Were my instructions not clear?’

‘They were clear. Two people were watching. One was the senior agent. She got a text from Rutherford’s doorman. Rutherford had asked him to call a cab.’

‘So how did that lead to Rutherford disappearing?’

‘The agent told the doorman to go ahead. And to order a second cab to arrive at the same time. So they could follow. The two operational vehicles were both in use at the ambush site. She figured that if the doorman didn’t get him a cab Rutherford would have just run out and hailed one on his own. Or taken his own car. Either way, just as bad. Maybe worse.’

‘So what went wrong?’

‘I don’t know. Either the doorman screwed up or the cab company did. Only one car came and Rutherford took it.’

‘Tell me we at least know its number?’

‘We do. Number, description, and photograph.’

‘Did Rutherford state his destination?’

‘He did. You’re not going to like it. Nashville airport.’

‘No.’ Speranski stood up. ‘Rutherford cannot be allowed to board a plane. That would be an absolute disaster. Where are the agents who were watching him?’

‘En route to the airport. So is the balance of the team. Given the urgency of the situation I recalled them from the ambush site.’

‘Good. Keep me posted. I want to know the moment Rutherford is intercepted.’ Speranski paused. ‘Wait. What about the drifter? What’s his status?’

‘That’s unclear. There must have been some kind of a delay after he was taken from the courthouse. He hadn’t been delivered when the team pulled out. I judged that finding Rutherford was a higher priority.’

‘So where is he?’

There was a momentary silence on the line. ‘That’s another thing we don’t know.’

Reacher stayed where he was, silent, and still. He didn’t want to reveal himself only to come face to face with another half dozen ambushers who had been lying in wait all along, so he gave it fifteen more minutes before he risked leaving. He crawled back the way he’d come until he reached the trees parallel to the road. Then he stood and started moving faster. He’d covered a quarter of a mile when he felt something vibrating in his pocket. He took out Marty’s phones. The burner was buzzing. Reacher opened the phone and held it to his ear.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Where the hell are you?’ It was a man’s voice, broken up and distorted.

The signal must be weak, Reacher guessed. Probably due to the remote location. Probably not great for clarity. But just in case he pulled up his shirt, doubled over the material, and used it to cover the little microphone.

‘Two minutes out,’ Reacher said.

‘What’s taking so long?’ The other man’s words were almost drowned out by the pops and howls on the line.

‘That guy you sent me to deliver? He’s a piece of work. I had to knock him out.’

‘He’s unconscious?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘That’s good. There’s been a change of plan. The team that was sent to meet you has been reassigned, temporarily. Another situation. More urgent. But that’s my concern. Have you got any rope with you? Or plasticuffs?’

‘I have a pair of real cuffs. Police department issue.’

‘They’ll work. Now, do this. When you get to the gas station take the guy inside the building and cuff him to something. Make sure it’s secure, and when you leave make sure there’s no sign you’ve been there. And make sure to keep your phone switched on. I may have another job for you later.’

Marty was sitting bolt upright when Reacher got back to the car. He was stiff, proprietorial. Attempting to reclaim a little dignity. Reacher climbed in on the passenger side and gave him his keys and phones and gun.

‘Did you find the place?’ Marty unlocked the handcuffs.

‘I did,’ Reacher said. ‘Now drive.’

‘Where?’ Marty fired up the engine. ‘Please say the highway.’

‘To the gas station. Half a mile, like you said.’

Marty tensed up. ‘Is that safe?’

‘Completely. There’s no one there.’

‘Then why are we going?’

‘Because I’ve decided to cut you a break.’

‘How? What are you going to do?’

‘Cuff you to something solid then borrow your car. I’ll leave the keys at the courthouse.’

‘You’re going to send the police to get me?’

‘No. The guy on the phone is sending someone. He thinks they’ll be collecting me.’

‘I’m not following.’

‘The guy called on your burner phone a minute ago. There’s some snafu at his end, causing a delay. Tell his guys you tried to cuff me like he told you to, but I must not have been as unconscious as you thought. I got the jump on you, and cuffed you instead.’

‘They’ll never believe me.’

‘I could knock you out if that would help?’

Marty paused like he was seriously considering it.

‘How about this?’ Reacher said. ‘I’ll cuff you with your arms so high up behind your back there’s no way you could have done it yourself. It’ll be uncomfortable, but it should save your ass.’

Marty didn’t answer. He just pulled the car on to the old gas station’s forecourt and trudged to the kiosk in silence. Reacher followed him inside.

‘Why are you helping me?’ Marty winced as Reacher tightened the cuffs. ‘I tried helping someone once. Look at the trouble it got me in.’

‘I’ve been in trouble before,’ Reacher said. ‘I survived. And right now I have bigger fish to fry.’

Reacher’s general approach to driving was to find someone else to do it. He was capable of operating a vehicle, in a technical sense. The army had provided thorough training. He’d never killed anyone with a car. At least, not by accident. He’d never had any collisions. Not unintentional ones. His problem was mainly one of temperament. Good driving called for a balance of action and reaction, speed and restraint, measurement and control. A middle ground, stable and sustained. Reacher, on the other hand, was built for extremes. His default was to move extremely slowly or extremely fast. One moment he could appear languid, lazy, almost comatose. The next he could erupt into a frenzy of action, furious, relentless, for as long as necessary, then relapse into serene stillness until the next threat presented itself. But that morning, having shackled the only other person in the vicinity to a water pipe, he was out of alternatives. There were no buses passing by. No cars to hitch a ride in. And even if there had been, there was the issue of speed.

Another situation, the guy on the burner phone had said. More urgent.

The same guy who had ordered his lackeys to report any sightings of Rutherford.

The same guy whose victims showed up dismembered in suitcases.

Reacher ran back to the car, opened the door, and squeezed in behind the wheel. He hit the button to start the engine, nudged the lever into Drive, and leaned on the gas. He fastened his seat belt with one hand and pulled hard on the wheel with the other. The car slewed around in a tight loop and rejoined the road in a flurry of gravel. He was heading north. Back to town. Moving as fast as he dared. Smooth enough on the straight sections. A little ragged through the curves. Fields and plants and dark green foliage a blur on either side until the road narrowed and the houses began. He jinked right and left through the residential streets. Passed the courthouse. Played chicken with a blood-red Camaro at the intersection with the broken signals. Won. And pulled up outside the coffee shop. His tyres squealed. People stared. He was parked in an illegal spot but Reacher wasn’t worried. One way or another he wouldn’t be there long.

Reacher yanked open the door and surveyed the inside of the café. The barista was taking her time serving a couple of men in suits. Four more people were waiting in line. Two men. Two women. A pair of teenagers were in the sole booth at the back, pressed together, whispering. Three of the other tables were occupied. One by a man with grey hair, wrinkled and stooped over his cup. One by a woman in her twenties, tapping away at the keys of a slim silver computer. The other by a guy with long straight hair, staring at the wall and moving his hands like he was playing an imaginary set of drums.

No sign of Rutherford.

Reacher took a step into the room. ‘Excuse me,’ he said.

Silence descended and everyone turned to look at him. Everyone apart from the drummer.

‘I’m looking for Rusty Rutherford,’ Reacher said. ‘Everyone know who that is?’

Heads nodded. Voices muttered and mumbled, all in the affirmative.

‘Has he been in today? Or has anyone seen him anywhere else?’

Heads shook. Voices muttered and mumbled, all in the negative.

‘Anyone know where he lives?’

Heads shook.

‘OK,’ Reacher said. ‘If you do see Rutherford, I need you to give him a message. Tell him Jack Reacher says to go home. Or to the police station. Whichever is closer. Without delay. And wait for me to make contact. Can you do that?’

Heads nodded. But not with much enthusiasm.

Reacher drove three blocks and dumped Marty’s car outside the diner. Inside, only one booth was occupied. It was beneath a picture of a pink Cadillac. A retired couple, old enough to have owned the real thing, were sitting side by side. They were having a relaxed breakfast. Steak and eggs for him. A short stack with some kind of fruit topping for her. And coffee for both of them. Plenty of it. The waitress had left the whole pot.

There was no one at the centre tables. No one using the pay phone on the wall at the rear of the room. No one visible in the kitchen.

No sign of Rutherford.

Reacher took a step closer to the old couple’s booth.

‘Sorry to interrupt your morning, folks,’ he said. ‘Do either of you know Rusty Rutherford?’

‘We know him,’ the man said, after a moment.

The woman jabbed her elbow into her husband’s ribs.

‘Well, we know who he is,’ the man added. ‘It’s not like he’s a friend or anything. Can’t say we’ve ever even exchanged words, thinking about it.’

‘He’s an idiot, is what he is,’ the woman said. ‘Why are you asking about him?’

‘I need to find him,’ Reacher said.

‘To kick his ass?’

‘That’s not top of my list, no.’

‘It should be.’ The woman dropped her fork on to her plate. ‘You should definitely kick his ass. Kick it good. He deserves it. He’s an imbecile.’

‘Maybe he deserves it,’ Reacher said. ‘Maybe he doesn’t. Either way I need to find him. And fast. If you see him, will you give him a message from me?’

The man eventually nodded so Reacher told him what he wanted passed on to Rutherford, then turned when he caught movement from the corner of the room. It was a waitress emerging from the kitchen. The first one he’d met the night before.

‘You’re not here to cause trouble again, are you?’ she said.

‘Again?’ Reacher said. ‘I didn’t cause trouble before.’

The waitress gave him a hard stare, then collected the coffee pot from the old couple’s table. ‘All right, then. Table for one? Sit where you like. I’ll get you a mug.’

‘I’m not staying,’ Reacher said. ‘I’m looking for Rutherford. The guy I was with last night.’

‘I know who Rutherford is. Everyone in town does.’

‘Has he been in today?’

‘No. Haven’t seen him. He never comes in the morning. He’s strictly a dinner guy.’

‘Do you know where he lives?’

‘Not exactly. Somewhere in town, I guess. Not too far away because he always walks. Never seen him get out of a car.’

‘Thanks,’ Reacher said, and started towards the back of the room.

‘Where are you going?’ the waitress said.

‘To the pay phone.’

‘It’s not hooked up. Who do you want to call?’

‘No one. I want to check the directory. See if Rutherford’s address is listed.’

‘There’s no directory, either. That thing’s just a prop. The decorator put it there. Said it added authenticity.’

‘Really?’ Reacher said. ‘OK, then. Guess I’ll try something else.’ He nodded and turned for the door.

‘Why not look it up on your phone?’ the waitress said. ‘Who uses paper directories these days, anyway?’

Reacher paused. He used them. The same way he’d used military radio and the regular phone network and the United States Postal Service. Things he understood. He’d sent and received telexes and faxes back in the day, too. But he’d never involved himself with cell phones. Not to any major extent. He’d never needed to. Not even when all they did was make and receive calls.

‘Could you do that for me?’ Reacher pulled out his bundle of cash. ‘Look Rutherford’s address up on your phone? How much does that sort of thing cost?’

The waitress waved the money away and pulled her phone out of her apron pocket. ‘I have unlimited data. I’m grandfathered in to my ex-husband’s contract, through his work. Don’t knock it. It’s the only good thing to come out of our marriage.’ She prodded at the front of the phone for a few seconds, then shook her head. ‘Sorry. No record. Although that’s probably a good thing if you think about it, given how unpopular he is right now.’

Reacher squeezed back into Marty’s car, fired it up, and pulled a tight U-turn. He blasted through the intersection. Narrowly missed an ancient Chevy pickup. Took the next two lefts. Parked in a hatched-off area at the end of the courthouse lot. And hurried around to the main entrance.

Officer Rule was on desk duty when Reacher approached the reception area in the basement. He used the public stairs, which she didn’t object to. And she didn’t seem surprised to see him, which made Reacher happy.

‘What can I help you with, Mr Reacher?’

‘I need some information.’

‘Regarding?’

‘Rusty Rutherford. Have any reports been made about him? Since last night? About him going missing, or being dragged into any other vehicles?’

‘Mr Reacher, behave yourself. I heard you were an MP. Which means you know that even if we had received any reports …’ Officer Rule paused for a moment, ‘I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything about them.’

‘Thank you. How about his address, then? Do you know where he lives?’

‘I do. But you know I can’t share that kind of information.’

‘Please. This is important. I’m worried about him.’

‘Why are you worried?’

‘He’s disappeared. I need to find him.’

‘I’m sure there’s nothing to be concerned about. If Rutherford’s not around he probably just left town. He was probably scared after yesterday. He’s not exactly the physical type, and almost getting into two fights in one day was probably too much. I bet he went to visit relatives somewhere. That would be the smart move for him to make.’

‘I tried to convince him to leave town. He refused. He was adamant about staying.’

‘In that case he’s probably just holed up again. He went home after he got fired and didn’t come out for a week.’

‘That’s why I need his address. To check he’s OK.’

‘Why wouldn’t he be? Is there something you’re not telling me?’

‘The guy I spoke to this morning before getting a ride with Detective Goodyear’s friend. Is he still around?’

‘No. He left right after you did. Why?’

‘Did he leave any instructions about watching out for Rutherford?’

‘Not that I know of. Should he have?’

‘I need that address.’ Reacher paused. ‘What if I’d received an anonymous tip?’

‘Specifically threatening violence? Against Rutherford?’

‘Not specifically. Call it an old investigator’s hunch.’

‘I’d need more than that. And I’d have to go myself. Make it official. Would he want that, given all the unwelcome attention he’s been getting?’

‘At least point me in the right direction. You know I’m not trying to hurt him. I’m the one who saved his ass yesterday.’

‘You seemed to. That’s true. But maybe two groups are after Rutherford and you were just keeping your rivals at bay until reinforcements arrive.’

‘Say I did want to snatch a guy like Rutherford. Do I look like I’d need reinforcements?’

‘Well, no. But you could be following orders.’

‘I used to follow orders. Most of the time. Do I look like someone who does now?’

Officer Rule didn’t reply.

‘OK,’ Reacher said. ‘I get it. Don’t give me Rutherford’s address. Just tell me this. If I was an old friend wanting to pay him a surprise visit, what kind of place should I look for? A cottage in the countryside? A converted loft in the centre of town? A single family home near the place where he worked?’

‘You’re not credible. Rusty Rutherford’s hardly the kind of guy who has truckloads of friends showing up unannounced.’

‘Even so. Humour me.’

Officer Rule was silent for a moment. ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand. Why are you going to all this trouble? Why do you care so much about Rusty Rutherford? No one else does. What’s he to you?’

Reacher shrugged. ‘It seems like he was trying his best to do the right thing and got screwed by the people above him. Something similar happened to me once. It doesn’t feel good. And now he’s got a bunch of assholes on his tail for some reason he doesn’t understand and you people are in no hurry to help him. Someone’s got to.’

‘And that someone’s you?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Why is that?’

Reacher shrugged again. ‘I’m the one who’s here.’

‘All right. Listen. I can’t speak in any kind of official capacity, but personally I would peg Rutherford as the kind of guy who lives in an apartment. And if an old friend happened to eat at the diner you went to yesterday and looked directly across the street, he wouldn’t be completely in the wrong part of town.’