The Sentinel (Jack Reacher)

TWENTY-ONE

The GPS directed them back to the same side of town as the waste company depot. It took another twenty-four minutes. And brought them to another compound at the end of another long straight road with another line of fenced-in lots on either side. Only Norm’s Self Storage wasn’t like the other units. It didn’t have a regular fence. The whole exterior was designed to look like an old-time fort. It had wooden palisades. Watch towers. A line of cannons. A pole flying Old Glory. Another with the Volunteer State flag. And a third with some weird garish banner covered with images of muskets and sabres and shields. Maybe something of Norm’s own design, Reacher thought. Maybe Norm was a history buff. Or maybe he thought the whole military vibe would give his place a sense of safety and security. Some kind of subliminal reassurance for his clients. Could be a valuable thing in his line of work.

Sands stopped in front of the gate. There was a rustic wooden post next to the driveway, but no sign of an intercom or a keypad or a card reader. The only thing attached to it was a reproduction Pony Express mailbox. Sands glanced at the others then rolled down her window and prodded it. The front swung open. Inside was a digital screen. It was blank. Sands touched it and a grid of letters and numbers appeared. She took a deep breath and entered the code Budnick had given them.

Nothing happened.

‘Am I cursed?’ she said. ‘Or do all entry systems just hate me?’

She tried the code again.

Nothing happened.

‘Maybe they changed the system?’ Rutherford said.

‘Or Budnick bullshitted us,’ Reacher said.

‘Maybe he just misspoke,’ Sands said. ‘Let’s check, before we go jumping to conclusions.’ She reached for her purse, rummaged around inside for a moment, and pulled out Budnick’s phone. ‘He said the digits were the last seven of his cell number. Let’s get that from the horse’s mouth.’

Sands touched the screen four times and the phone came to life.

‘Wait a minute,’ Rutherford said. ‘How did you do that? Do you have some kind of FBI master code? I thought that was a myth.’

‘Of course the Bureau has a code. They can get into any phone, any time. Remotely, too. Via satellites. You didn’t know?’

‘Really?’

‘Of course not. I was looking over Budnick’s shoulder when he tried to call his protection guy. I saw what he keyed in. Now let’s take a look. Here’s his number. Damn. It matches what he told us.’

‘I bet they changed the system,’ Rutherford said.

‘I bet Budnick was bullshitting,’ Reacher said.

‘Hold on,’ Sands said. ‘The phone number is only part of it. Maybe he got the unit number wrong. He was under a lot of stress.’

‘How can we check that?’ Rutherford said. ‘We’ll have to go back and ask him.’

‘There’s one other thing we could try,’ Reacher said. He pointed to a 24-hour helpline number posted above the screen. ‘Pass me Budnick’s phone.’

Sands entered the digits, hit call, then speaker, then handed the phone to Reacher.

A man answered after seven rings. He said his name was Steve. He sounded sleepy.

‘Steve, this is Bill Budnick,’ Reacher said. ‘Listen, this is a little embarrassing, but I’m at the gate of the storage place and I can’t get it to open. I haven’t been by for a while and I’m thinking maybe I’m misremembering my unit number. Could you confirm it for me?’

‘Sorry, Mr Budnick. Can’t do that. It’s against the rules.’

‘Oh, come on. Help me out here. I’m not much of a numbers guy. And I’m too busy down at Fat Freddie’s to come by very often, which is why it’s slipped my mind. I’m the owner there.’

‘I know. Your picture was in the paper.’

‘When I bought the place. Right. Anyway, I tell you what. How about this? You confirm my unit number, just this once, and I’ll make a note. I’ll write it down, right now, so this will never happen again. And then, any time you want, you can come down to the diner and have anything on the menu, on the house. What do you say?’

‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t.’

‘OK. Dinner for two. Bring your significant other. Or come twice on your own. You won’t regret it.’

‘I shouldn’t.’

‘We have the best milkshakes in town, Steve. The best everything, if you ask me. I might be biased, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.’

‘I don’t know. Can you at least tell me which block you’re in?’

Budnick had said A6. Hope for the best. ‘Sure. Block A.’

‘OK. Wait one.’

Reacher heard the sound of papers rustling, then Steve came back on the line. ‘Anything I want on the menu, right? And I can come twice?’

‘You got it.’

‘You’re in A4, Mr Budnick. Just don’t let anyone know I told you.’

Sands turned back to her window. She hit the A and the 4 on the screen, then the last seven digits of Budnick’s phone number.

Nothing happened. For a long moment. Then the gate swung open.

Once inside the fake stockade they saw there was no further pretence of antiquity. Just six solid, utilitarian structures. The smallest was the office, tucked immediately inside the gate. Its neon sign was switched off, and there were no lights showing inside. The other five buildings were set further back, lined up side by side. They were finished with corrugated metal, painted battleship grey. Each was forty feet wide. A hundred feet long. The shorter sides faced the gate. Each one had a heavy-duty air-conditioning unit sitting next to it. And each had a red letter stencilled on the end wall high up in the angle of the roof. A was level with the office. E was all the way to the left. For a moment the order bothered Reacher. He would have preferred A to E. Not E to A. Then he figured they must have started out with one unit, at the right-hand side of the lot to correspond with the access to the road, then worked their way left as they expanded.

Reacher asked Sands to head for Budnick’s unit first. He figured that the guy on the phone, Steve, might be monitoring the site from some remote position. It would be suspicious if they immediately turned the wrong way. And he wanted to get a sense of the security measures they were up against. He had been worried about guards being present. Roving patrols. Dogs. People brought in by the protection guy to keep an eye on his interests.

It quickly became obvious that the site was unmanned. There were only two kinds of precaution in play. Locks. And cameras. The locks varied from unit to unit so Reacher figured it must be down to the individual clients to provide their own. The cameras were a different story. There were identical ones mounted at the corners of each block. Fifteen feet from the ground, where they couldn’t be accidentally knocked. Or easily sabotaged. They were aimed along the front of the buildings, meaning that the door to every unit in the outer rows was covered by two separate cameras. And all the others by at least two. Possibly four, depending on their field of focus.

There were ten units on each side of each building. The odd numbers were on the right. The even numbers on the left. The protection guy’s unit was E4. So it was on the left. In an outer row. Only covered by two cameras. Sands pulled away from Budnick’s unit and drove to the near side of the E block. She turned and reversed, parallel to the wall, staying as close to the building as she could. She continued until the back of the minivan was just under the outer camera. Reacher cut an eight-inch length of duct tape from the roll. He scrambled on to the roof of the van. Took a step towards the rear. The paint was slippery. The van pitched and yawed on its suspension. Reacher braced himself with one hand against the wall. Crept further back. Stretched up. And covered the lens with the tape.

Sands looped around the perimeter of the site and they repeated the procedure with the camera at the far end of the E block. That meant they could have been recorded approaching Budnick’s unit. And leaving it. And passing the odd-numbered A units. Not ideal. Not disastrous. But more importantly it meant that no one would be able to see them on the even side of the E block. And if no one could see them, no one could report them. To the police. Or to anyone else.

Sands made straight for the protection guy’s unit. She reversed up to it and stayed in the van with the engine running. Reacher got out, carrying the bolt cutter. Rutherford joined him. They checked the number stencilled on both sides of the door frame, then Reacher closed the cutter’s jaws around the stem of the lock. It was surprisingly slim. Reacher broke it open with barely any effort. He removed it. Took hold of the handle low down at the centre of the door. Pulled it up. And saw – furniture. A dining table. Eight matching dining chairs. A couch. Two armchairs. A sideboard. A drinks cabinet. A bureau. And a floor lamp. Nothing electronic. Nothing that had been made in the last fifty years. Maybe seventy-five. Reacher guessed that someone’s relative had died. A parent or a grandparent. Leaving a house to be cleared. Everything else sold or given away or taken into service. The remnants too unfashionable to be used. But too valuable or too sentimental to be disposed of. So they were banished here. A practical solution for someone. But absolutely no help to them.

Sands read their body language and climbed out to join them.

‘Budnick’s an asshole,’ Rutherford said. ‘Reacher was right. He was lying.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Sands said. ‘He got his own unit number wrong. Maybe he got this one wrong too. We should start trying the others.’

‘Is there time?’ Rutherford said. ‘There are a hundred units. Someone might come and see what we’re doing. And what about the cameras? We can’t disable all of them. Even with two down we could have a problem. If someone’s monitoring them. They’re bound to investigate if they notice a whole row’s gone dark.’

‘We wouldn’t have to check all the units,’ Reacher said. ‘Budnick’s story might be bullshit. But if it’s not and the protection guy does keep his contraband here, he will use one of the end rows. They’re the only ones with units you can’t see into from the opposite side. And it’s more likely to be this one than the A block because it’s further from the entrance. Fewer people to see his trucks coming and going.’

‘So nine more to try,’ Sands said. ‘Nineteen, worst case.’

‘Maybe only one more,’ Reacher said. ‘Budnick told us his unit was A6 and the protection guy’s was E4. His was actually A4. So maybe he transposed the digits. Maybe the protection guy’s is E6.’

Reacher moved one unit to the left. Its lock was also slender and unobtrusive but it must have been made with some kind of specially hardened steel. Reacher had to put some serious effort into breaking it. He wrestled with the cutter for maybe half a minute before the stem finally gave way. Then he flipped the body aside. Pulled it clear. Dropped it into his pocket with the other two defeated locks. Took hold of the door handle. And froze. A sound reached him. They were too far from the gate to have heard it open but there was no mistaking the purr of a large motor. The thrum of tyres on concrete. It was a vehicle. Coming their way.

Reacher nodded towards the minivan. Sands and Rutherford jumped inside. Reacher heaved the door to the furniture unit back into place and followed them. A pickup appeared from around the corner of the building. A Toyota. Some kind of metallic bronze colour. Very shiny. No light bar on the roof. No security company logo. No wannabe gangsters with guns. Just the driver. He looked to be in his fifties. And he was in no hurry. He trundled by, gave a friendly wave, and continued towards the far end of the block. Stopped at the last but one door. E18. Climbed out, unlocked the unit, took a box from his load bed, and carried it inside. He was back in his truck within a minute. He waved again. Then fired up the engine and continued around the far corner.

‘Come on,’ Sands said. ‘I have a bad feeling about this. Let’s get it over with before anyone else shows up.’

They climbed out together and Reacher hauled up the door to E6. Only it didn’t open on to a space the size they’d seen before. This time four units had been knocked together. Two on the even side. Two on the odd side.

Rutherford hit a switch on the wall which caused a dozen fluorescent tubes to flicker into life. ‘Holy mother of God.’

Shelves had been installed throughout in rows about two yards apart. They held pretty much every kind of electronic gadget Reacher had ever heard of. Domestic. Commercial. Industrial. Even some low-grade military. But whether the servers were part of the cache, he had no idea.

‘I could live here for the rest of my life.’ Rutherford stepped inside and made his way slowly along the first shelf, scanning each item and muttering quietly to himself. Then something caught his eye a little further ahead. He raced forward six feet, dropped to his knees, and threw his arms around a stack of black boxes on the lowest level. ‘I don’t believe it. They’re here. We’ve found them.’

‘Do they work?’ Reacher said. ‘Have they been wiped? Can we test them?’

‘Not here,’ Rutherford said. ‘They’re not like laptops. You can’t just turn them on and see. You have to connect them to a network. Then you can use a computer to check what’s on them. Think of them as giant external hard drives.’

‘We’ll show you how, later,’ Sands said. ‘Networking them’s easy. Right now we need to get them in the van. Take them somewhere safe. Work on them there.’

Rutherford and Sands carried two servers each. Reacher carried four. They loaded them into the narrow cargo area behind the rear bench seat. Sands took another minute to make sure they were secure. Then she made for the driver’s seat.

‘Hold on,’ Reacher said. ‘If you want to copy what’s on a server, what do you need? Another server?’

Rutherford nodded. ‘And a network and some software. But basically, yes.’

‘Are there any other servers here? That would be the right kind?’

‘Sure. There’s a whole bunch.’

‘You used eight servers altogether. But only one from the archive project?’

‘Correct. The rest I scrounged from other places.’

‘OK. Let’s grab a couple we could copy on to. No. Let’s make it four.’

‘Why? What are we going to copy?’

‘Maybe nothing. I’ll explain once we’re out of here.’