The Sentinel

TWENTY-FOUR

Reacher woke himself the next morning at half past seven. He showered and dressed, and fetched coffee and cinnamon rolls from the office while Sands got herself ready. Rutherford was in room nineteen, still hunched over his laptop, too focused on his work for conversation, so Reacher left him his breakfast and went back through the connecting door. He took a bed. Sands took the armchair. He sprawled. She perched. They ate, and Reacher filled her in on his meeting with Wallwork.

‘So this could all be over by tonight?’ she said, when he finished. ‘If you’re right about Klostermann. If he’s working for the Russians and gets the server back for them, they won’t need to come after Rusty for it.’

‘If I’m right about Klostermann,’ Reacher said.

Sands frowned. ‘I think you’re missing something. If you’re right about Klostermann, he must have killed the journalist. Or had her killed. What if he sees you and Rusty as loose ends, after getting the server? And decides to kill you both, too?’

‘The journalist’s situation was different. She wasn’t a loose end. She knew something. From her work at the archive. She found out whatever it is that can identify the Russian agent. That’s why she was killed. To keep her quiet. We, on the other hand, are just greedy fools as far as Klostermann is concerned. He thinks we bought the bullshit about researching his family history. He’ll take the fact that we’re happy to sell him the server as proof we don’t realize what’s on it. Meaning killing us would be unnecessary. And more than that. It would be dangerous. Because it would risk attracting unwanted attention. And if there’s one thing the Russians don’t take, it’s unnecessary risks.’

‘What about leaving Rusty with a copy of the server? So he could stumble across their secret at any moment, just like the journalist did? Wouldn’t Klostermann call that an unnecessary risk?’

‘He might. If he knew Rusty had a copy.’

‘He won’t suspect you’re lying if you tell him otherwise?’

‘I won’t lie. I’ll let him reach that conclusion on his own.’

‘How?’

‘Can you get his number for me?’

Sands picked up her phone and clicked and swiped for a few moments.

‘Here it is,’ she said. ‘Want me to dial it for you?’

‘No thanks,’ Reacher said. He took out the phone Rutherford had bought him. ‘Read it out to me.’

‘Why not use mine? It’s already up on the screen.’

‘Then Klostermann would know your number. Phones can be tracked.’

‘If he’s not a danger to you or Rusty, how can he be a threat to me?’

‘He probably isn’t. But the Russians aren’t the only ones who don’t take unnecessary risks.’

Klostermann’s icy housekeeper answered on the first ring. She claimed her boss was unavailable, but Reacher dangled a hint about a valuable item, recently recovered, and two minutes later Klostermann was on the line.

‘This is excellent news,’ Klostermann said. ‘You worked fast. When did you find it?’

‘About five minutes ago,’ Reacher said. ‘We started looking the moment we left your house. Followed the trail all night.’

‘Where was it?’

‘In a storage unit. Waiting to be sold.’

‘Is it in one piece?’

‘It seems to be. I’m no expert, but Mr Rutherford is and he’s confident it’s in full working order.’

‘That’s music to my ears. Where should I come to collect it?’

‘I’ll bring it to you.’

‘Oh. OK. When? How soon can you be here?’

‘How soon can you get our money?’

‘It’s already here. I have it in my safe.’

‘Then I’d say tomorrow? Or possibly Saturday. Sunday at the latest.’

‘What’s wrong with today? This morning? Right now?’

‘Can’t do today. That’s too soon. We still need to figure out how to make a copy. You need special equipment. Servers aren’t like laptops, you know. You can’t just turn them on. They’re more like giant external hard drives. You need computers and networks and software. And now that Mr Rutherford is no longer working for the town he doesn’t have access to the same facilities. He’ll have to beg a favour from a friend. There’s someone in Nashville who might be able to do it. If not we’ll have to go to Knoxville.’

‘Why do you need to make a copy?’

‘Well, I guess we don’t need to. More like want to. You said there are some of the town’s records on there. They could be interesting. And if there are any problems getting the digital archive back online after the ransomware thing is resolved, Mr Rutherford was thinking he could donate it to the town. To show there are no hard feelings.’

‘That’s very generous of him. But here’s the thing, Mr Reacher. As I told you yesterday, I’m not a patient man. I hate having to wait for anything. So how about this? Bring the server to me right away. Or let me come and collect it. I don’t mind which. And if there is any problem with the digital archive further down the line, I’ll donate the thing to the town in Mr Rutherford’s name. What do you say?’

‘I don’t know. Mr Rutherford was kind of looking forward to seeing what’s on it. Finding out more about the history of the town. Now he has time on his hands.’

‘Have you ever seen these kinds of records?’

‘No, I can’t say I have.’

‘They’re dull as ditchwater. Believe me. Unless you have a vested interest, as I do because of my father, they’re deadly boring. Blow-by-blow accounts of arguments over how many chickens people should be allowed to keep in their yards. Whether people were permitted to sell wet fish from their houses. Things like that. So Mr Rutherford really wouldn’t be missing out on anything if you brought it straight over. And I’d be very grateful.’

‘How grateful?’

‘Say, an extra thousand dollars?’

Reacher said nothing.

‘An extra two thousand?’ Klostermann said.

‘Make it an extra five thousand,’ Reacher said, ‘and it’ll be yours inside thirty minutes.’

Reacher pulled the second cloned server out of the closet, loaded it into the trunk of Marty’s car, and set out on his own towards Klostermann’s house. He felt the way he imagined a baseball player would in the bottom of the ninth. At bat, score tied, two outs, two strikes against. One chance left to win the game without going to extra innings. At which point the other side would bring out a pinch hitter. A new guy, signed from another league. Not in the stadium in time to make the starting lineup. Unknown. Untested. But with a big reputation.

Reacher arrived at the mouth of the driveway. He hit the intercom button, announced himself, waited for the gate to roll aside, then drove through and parked in the spot he’d used the day before. He climbed the steps and crossed the porch. The housekeeper was waiting for him at the front door. She was wearing the same style of black dress. The same apron. Her hair was up in the same kind of bun. She greeted him in her quiet, cold voice and led the way down the corridor, gliding effortlessly past the portraits, across the tile, to the door at the end on the right. She knocked, opened it, and stood aside to let Reacher enter. Klostermann was already inside, in his armchair. He was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and a narrow black tie. His hair was under a little more control that day. He looked like he was ready for a funeral.

Klostermann put his newspaper down and got to his feet. ‘Is that it?’ He nodded towards the black box under Reacher’s arm.

‘As promised,’ Reacher said.

‘Excellent. Put it on the table.’

Reacher set the server down next to a bowl of small white flowers. He’d seen some like them before, but not in real life. In a book he’d read. In history class. Years ago.

Klostermann retrieved a package from the side of his chair. It was made of brown paper and its top was folded over like a carry-out bag from a restaurant. He handed it to Reacher. ‘Your fee. It’s all there. Including your bonus.’

Reacher looked inside. The bag held three bundles of banknotes. Each was about an inch thick. Made up of crisp new twenties. Two hundred and fifty in each one. Making each bundle worth five thousand dollars. And weighing about the same as a decent burger. Reacher took out the cash, put each bundle in a different pocket, and handed the bag back to Klostermann.

‘Remember your promise,’ Reacher said. ‘Any problems with the digital archive getting back online, you donate the server to the town. In Rutherford’s name.’

‘You have my word,’ Klostermann said. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an important meeting to prepare for.’ He took a small grey box from his pocket. It looked like a garage door opener. He pressed its button. Waited. And nothing happened.

Klostermann looked annoyed. He pressed the button again. He waited. Nothing happened.

‘I apologize,’ Klostermann said. ‘Anya must be occupied in some way. Please. Allow me.’

Klostermann crossed to the door and led the way back along the corridor. As they approached the far end Reacher heard the housekeeper talking. He figured she was on the phone. Her voice was louder than before, and her tone was even colder.

‘No,’ she said. ‘You cannot. You’re an hour early. You are to leave and come back at the correct time. I don’t care. I’m not interested. That’s not Mr Klostermann’s problem. If you cannot follow simple instructions perhaps he doesn’t need your services at all.’

Klostermann continued, apparently oblivious of the one-sided conversation, until he arrived at the front door. He opened it, waited for Reacher to step through, and closed it again without saying another word.

Reacher knew he had to be out of the house for the plan to move forward, but he still wanted to know what Klostermann was doing. Communicating, he hoped. Sending a message up his chain of command: Server recovered. Verification in progress. Followed by an order for the team in the field: Mission Accomplished. Stand down. And a final instruction to the specialist from Moscow: Presence no longer required. Return to base.

Reacher drove up to the gate and while he waited for it to open he pulled out his phone. He dialled Wallwork’s number. Told him the server had been delivered and asked for an update on Klostermann. Wallwork had no new information. He promised to let Reacher know the moment he heard anything. Or, more importantly, received word from Fisher that her cell was being pulled out. Reacher drove on. The ball had been slow and over the plate, he thought. He had taken his swing. Made good contact. Now it was in the air and there was nothing to do but wait and see if it cleared the fence.

Or maybe there was one thing he could do. Klostermann had mentioned a meeting. He hadn’t stated that it would be at the house, but that was the implication Reacher had taken. He had said prepare for. Not go to. And someone had showed up an hour early for something. Which might be completely unconnected. Or mean a bunch of Klostermann’s contacts were about to arrive. Maybe to talk about flower arranging at the local church. Maybe to talk about something else. Not the server, though, Reacher figured. The person who had shown up early was dispensable. The housekeeper had made that clear. And the Russians would only allow members of their trusted inner circle to be involved with something so valuable. But whatever the subject, Reacher figured it would be worth an hour of his time to see if anyone showed up. And if so, who. Wallwork was struggling to come up with fresh intel on Klostermann. Maybe it was time for Reacher to gather his own.

There was nowhere Reacher could reasonably conceal himself and the car, so he pulled over to the side of the road and turned on his blinkers. He judged the location carefully. Humans have a subconscious tendency to infer associations based on physical proximity. You see a guy standing at a crosswalk, you assume he wants to cross the street. Reacher didn’t want to be so close to Klostermann’s house that it looked like he was waiting outside it. He wanted to appear unconnected, beyond the intangible boundary linking him to the place. But neither did he want to be too far away. It wouldn’t help his cause if he was unable to get a clear look at Klostermann’s guests.

If he had any.

Reacher felt under the dashboard to make sure he could locate the hood release lever. He called Sands to let her know what was happening. Then he leaned his head against the rest.

Nothing stirred for half an hour. Then a mail truck trundled past. A minute later a woman went by in a silver SUV. Neither driver paid Reacher any attention. Nothing else moved. Reacher sat tight until he figured he had five minutes until people would start arriving for Klostermann’s meeting. If it was happening at all. Then he climbed out, lifted the hood, and pretended to examine the engine. His face and head were hidden. And he had a clear view of Klostermann’s driveway along the passenger side of the car.

Nothing moved for seven minutes. Then a Mercedes rolled up. A sedan. It was long and black and shiny. Reacher made a note of the licence plate and watched it approach Klostermann’s house. It stopped at the gate. An arm in a white shirt sleeve stretched out of the driver’s window. Aiming for the intercom, Reacher thought. But the guy hit four keys, not one. He was entering a code. The gate slid aside and the car moved forward and headed for the parking area in front of the house. The next vehicle to arrive was a Dodge Ram. It was blood red, and even shinier. The driver used the intercom, waited for the gate, and drove inside. After that an F150 showed up. Then a white panel van with Gerrard’s Generators – Power 2 U painted on the side in jagged letters. Both their drivers used the intercom, too. Finally a motorcycle rattled into sight. It was some kind of customized machine with flames painted on the fuel tank, tall wide handlebars, and pegs for the rider’s feet set way out in front. The guy sitting on it had black boots. Black leather pants. A black leather vest with a picture of a giant spider stitched into the back. A pair of round, mirrored sunglasses. And a Stars and Stripes bandana in place of a helmet. He pulled up short of the gate and took a phone out of his vest pocket. This was the guy who had been early, Reacher thought. Now he was late. The guy hit a button then raised the phone to his ear. Held it there for thirty seconds. Then lowered it, jabbed a button, and jammed it back into his pocket. He pulled the bike into the tightest turn he could manage. Revved the engine a few times. Then released the clutch and screeched away. Smoke poured from his back wheel and the tyre left a long wide strip of rubber on the asphalt.

He was dispensable. The housekeeper had made that clear.

Reacher waited another five minutes to see if anyone else tried to get in, then dropped the hood into place and climbed back inside the car. He started the engine to get the air going and Wallwork called him before he could shift into Drive.

‘News?’ Reacher said.

‘Some,’ Wallwork said. ‘But nothing from Fisher. This is about Klostermann. Some background on his family. On his father. Henry senior. Or Heinrich, as he was originally called. He did immigrate from Germany. That’s confirmed. We have him getting processed through the Port of Entry in New York in 1946, then showing up in Tennessee. He got married in fifty, and little Henry was born the same year. Heinrich bought the Spy House in fifty-two, directly from the spies, and lived there until his death in 1960. Not very exciting, all told. Nothing that sounds like it could be worth ten grand.’

‘He went to fifteen in the end.’

‘What did you do? Threaten to break his legs?’

‘Told him there was a supplement if he wanted the only copy.’

‘Nice move, Reacher. If he really wanted it for family history research, why would he care if there were copies? Let alone pay through the nose to stop any getting made.’

‘Right. It only makes sense if he thinks there’s something secret hidden on it. Something he never wants to see the light of day.’

‘Meaning he’s working for the Russians. Please God.’

‘Indeed,’ Reacher said. ‘But listen. After I left Klostermann’s place a bunch of guys showed up there for a meeting. Could you run their licence plates? They could be connected.’

‘I shouldn’t,’ Wallwork said. ‘But I will. I’ll call you back when I’ve got something.’