The Sentinel

TWENTY-TWO

There were five words on Reacher’s mind as they headed back to town.

Need to know. And Forty hours.

Five words rather than six. Because eight hours were gone. But the same two concepts remained. Along with a single question. Which begged a one-word answer. Had the servers been wiped? Yes, or no? Either way Reacher would have two things to do. If the data was intact he would have to persuade Rutherford to duplicate it, and get a copy to the FBI. If the data was gone, he would have to break the news to Agent Fisher and persuade Rutherford to leave town. He knew which was preferable. But he had no idea which would be easier.

Reacher looked at Sands and Rutherford in the front seats. They were different people from the ones who had entered the storage unit. Their fatigue was gone. And their worry. He could feel their excitement now. Their enthusiasm. Their certainty that with the servers successfully recovered, everything else was bound to fall into place. Reacher himself was feeling less confident. He was the only one who knew what was at stake. And he was the only one who had no experience with computers. He had no idea how to extract their secrets. Or how to find out if they even held any secrets. He would rather be dealing with humans, any day of the week.

Their first port of call was the apartment building so that Rutherford and Sands could pick up some clothes and toiletries and grab their laptops and all the cables and connectors they would need to hook the servers together. Next they collected Marty’s car, which Reacher drove. Then they headed north again, in tandem, back to the truck stop. Not for fuel or supplies this time. But because of its two motels. One in particular had caught Reacher’s eye. He figured it was the oldest part of the whole complex. The design was very traditional. He had seen similar places all across the country. It had a blue and red neon sign out front depicting some kind of mythical bird. The building was a single storey high. It was clad with strips of dark wood. It started at its south-west corner with an office, which had a covered entryway and machines outside for soft drinks and ice. Then it continued around three sides of a square with a regular pattern of window and door, window and door. Thirty-six pairs altogether. Each with a parking space outside. Leaving no distance to walk from your vehicle to your room. Making it easy to carry your luggage inside. And reducing the chances of anyone seeing what you had brought. However unusual it might be. Or incongruous. Such as three mismatched suitcases and a dozen sleek black boxes.

The layout suited Reacher very well. As did the fact that of the thirty-six parking spaces only four were occupied. Three were taken by ancient sedans, their paint bleached and blistered by years of sun. The other by a bright yellow Toyota SUV with red mud sprayed right up to its roof. Two of the sedans were on the office side of the courtyard. The third sedan and the Toyota were on the opposite side. Leaving one section completely vacant.

Sands pulled up next to the vending machines, climbed out, and headed into the office. Reacher parked next to the minivan and went inside with her. The space was long and narrow. The reception counter was immediately to the right, followed by a tall freezer with double glass doors and a table with a microwave and a drip coffee machine. Three white plastic tables were lined up along the left-hand wall. Each had four white plastic chairs. And a vase with a red plastic flower.

Reacher rapped on the counter and after a moment a door opened and a guy came through. He looked about nineteen. His hair was shoulder length, he had round glasses, and he was wearing a baggy white T-shirt and a pair of faded, baggy jeans. He plonked himself down in the receptionist’s chair and peered at Reacher.

‘We need to talk about the price of your rooms,’ Reacher said.

The guy pointed to a sign on the wall behind him: Rooms $95+ / night.

‘Those are your standard rates, I guess,’ Reacher said. ‘I’m not interested in those.’

‘No discounts,’ the guy said. ‘Ninety-five plus tax. Take it or leave it.’

‘I’m not looking for a discount. I need something else. A special arrangement.’

‘No special arrangements, either. Whatever they are.’

‘Don’t be hasty. You haven’t heard what I have in mind. Do you want to miss out on a good thing?’

The guy paused. ‘Go on.’

‘Two rooms,’ Reacher said. ‘A week in advance. One at ninety-five a night, on a credit card, as normal. The other at one fifty a night, in cash, directly into your pocket.’

‘Go on,’ the guy said.

‘Three conditions. First, the rooms must be together in the centre of the vacant block facing out across the courtyard, and they must have a connecting door.’

‘Can do.’

‘Second, we register for one of the rooms as normal. The other you enter in your system as not available for occupancy.’

‘I don’t know what that is. I don’t think we have it here.’

‘Sure you do. All hotels have it. Or some version of it. For when a customer dies and you have to wait for the coroner to sign off. Or someone gets busted for drugs and you have to wait for the police to clear the scene. Or even if the plumbing breaks down and you have to wait to get it fixed. Look in your employee handbook. It’ll be there.’

‘Handbook? What century are you from?’ The guy woke his computer and called up a help screen. ‘Oh. OK. We do have it. No problem. What else?’

‘This arrangement is completely confidential. You don’t mention it to anyone. Not your boss. Not your co-workers. Not the people who clean the rooms. Not your friends. Not your mom or dad. Not even your cat or dog.’

‘I don’t have a cat or a dog. But I get your point. Can do. And just to clarify, you said a week for both rooms? As in seven nights?’

‘Seven nights. A thousand and fifty bucks, if that’s what you’re thinking about.’

‘All right then. We have a deal.’

‘Outstanding. My friend here will take care of the credit card and the forms. I’ll take care of the cash. Half now. Half when we leave. Assuming you’ve kept your mouth shut.’

Reacher and Sands walked out of the office with the keys to rooms eighteen and nineteen. Eighteen was above board. Nineteen was off the books. Invisible to anyone who might come looking for them.

Reacher parked Marty’s car outside room eighteen. Sands reversed the minivan close to the door to room nineteen. They carried the servers inside. Then the suitcases. Then the bolt cutter and the duct tape and the remains of the other supplies Reacher had bought. Four minutes’ exposure. An acceptable risk. Then Reacher took the minivan and dumped it way on the far side of the site. Sands would be able to return it to the rental office at the airport once everything was resolved. But for the time being it was too hot to use. Thomassino had seen it. Budnick had seen it. The random customer at Norm’s Self Storage had seen it. And it had most likely been recorded by half a dozen of Norm’s security cameras.

Reacher picked up three pizzas and three Cokes at the first restaurant he passed and took them back to the motel. He let himself into room eighteen and switched on the light. It was the kind of place that was probably considered luxurious at one time. Now most people would call it adequate. Or economical. There was a pair of queen beds with flowery covers and a scattering of cushions. An armchair. A TV. A fridge. A desk. A bathroom. And a closet. The floors were fake wood. The walls were painted in pale, neutral tones. Finishes selected for durability rather than comfort, Reacher figured. Even the wattage of the lightbulb was designed to save on the electric bills rather than to provide a cosy atmosphere. But none of that bothered him. There was a bed. A place to wash. And access to coffee.

Reacher opened his half of the connecting door and knocked. Sands opened the other side and he stepped through to room nineteen. It was a mirror image of eighteen. Identical, except for the modifications Sands and Rutherford had made. They’d taken the duvet from one of the beds and taped it over the window to prevent any light from spilling out. They’d taped all around the door frame, for the same reason. They’d set up one of the eight original servers on every flat surface they could find. And they’d created a rat’s nest of power cables and thick yellow wires to connect everything together. Except for Rutherford’s laptop. It was on the edge of the stripped bed, tethered to the other equipment with a thick blue wire. Rutherford was sitting in front of it, cross-legged, concentrating so hard on the screen he didn’t notice that Reacher had returned.

‘How’s it looking?’ Reacher handed a pizza and a drink to Sands, and dropped another on the bed next to Rutherford.

‘Good, I think,’ Sands said. ‘Rusty?’

‘What’s that?’ Rutherford said. ‘Oh. Thanks.’

‘How is it looking?’ Reacher said. ‘With the servers. The data. Is it still there?’

‘Oh. Yes. Seems to be. Cerberus is pretty messed up, though. Looks like the ransomware tried to rewrite parts of it. Might take a while to figure out what and how. And why. And how to build some protection into our final product. But I’ve got to say, this is better than I’d dared hope for. End of the day, Cerberus got bent, but it didn’t get broken. And that’s a result, in my book.’

‘That’s good,’ Reacher said. ‘But the records from the archive project. Are they still there? All of them?’

‘The disk is full. Nothing seems corrupted. So I guess so.’

‘Can you find out for sure?’

‘I could, but—’

‘Then do it now, please.’

‘But I need to figure out how Cerberus—’

‘Rusty, this is important. Check now. Please.’

Rutherford sighed then spent a couple of minutes tapping on his keyboard and prodding at his touchpad. ‘OK. Look. I haven’t opened every one of the thousands and thousands of scanned images – basically photographs of documents – but to the best of my belief, the archive records are all intact and undamaged.’

‘In that case I need you to make a copy,’ Reacher said. ‘No. Two copies.’

‘No way. Forget it. I already told you, I’m not letting anyone have a copy of anything. Not until Cerberus is perfected. My future depends on it. Sarah’s too.’

‘I understand. But here’s the thing. When I got back to Mitch’s apartment this morning, I told you the truth about what happened to me. But I didn’t tell you the whole truth.’