The Sentinel

FOUR

Goodyear escorted Reacher back to the booking area, set his cash and toothbrush down on the table, and went to his office. He needed privacy to make a call. The other cop added Reacher’s passport and ATM card like a poker player calling a bet, then followed up with a form and a pen. Reacher signed, stowed his possessions in his pockets, and shook his head when the cop tried to steer him towards the rear exit. He took the public stairs instead and hurried past the bank of framed portraits hanging in the echoey marble foyer. He pushed through the central door in a row of three, skirted a roughly boxed-in temporary structure where an access ramp was being constructed, and turned to head back to the main street. He wasn’t about to hit the road without his coffee. Priorities were priorities. He started across the lawn and as he drew level with the parking lot he heard a voice calling to him. It was Rutherford. He had been waiting by the metal door but now he was scampering forward with one arm raised.

‘Excuse me, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. Please wait.’

Reacher slowed and allowed Rutherford to catch up.

‘My name’s Rusty Rutherford.’ He held out his hand.

‘Jack Reacher.’

‘Mr Reacher, would it be OK if we talk for a moment?’

‘If we talk while we walk. There’s somewhere I need to be.’

‘Please.’ Rutherford was out of breath and he was becoming flustered. ‘Stop. Just for a moment. I can make this quick.’

Reacher stopped.

‘Two things. First, thank you. I guess you saved my ass back there.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘And second, I need to ask you something. Am I in danger? The detective kept talking about a carjacking, but that’s not what happened. I had some time to think in the cell before they questioned me. What happened wasn’t random. It was planned. Those guys were waiting. At first I thought they must have been there for you. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. But then I remembered, one of the men tried to grab me before you intervened. He tried to push me into the car. The detective said I was confused. That I was wrong. But I’m not, am I? I just want to know what’s going on.’

‘I have no idea what’s going on,’ Reacher said. ‘This isn’t my town. I don’t know you. I don’t what you may have done to upset people. I don’t know what you have that’s valuable. But something strange is happening here. That’s for sure.’

‘So what should I do?’

‘That’s your call. My philosophy is hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. So given the circumstances I’d say the smart thing would be to leave town. Let whatever’s going on blow over on its own. Come back when things have settled down.’

‘Leave town?’ Rutherford’s eyes stretched wide. ‘No. I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘It would make me look guilty.’

‘Of what?’

‘That’s a long story.’

Reacher thought for a moment. It was already late afternoon. He was hungry. He needed to eat, whether there or somewhere else. It would be harder to hitch a ride in the dark. There’d be less to see from the road. And he was intrigued to find out why a mousy little guy in a coffee-stained shirt thought not looking guilty was more important than his own safety. ‘Anywhere around here sell good burgers? We could grab a bite and you could tell me about it.’

‘You said you had somewhere to be?’

‘I do. But I can wait a while to get there. No need to be inflexible. I hear it’s bad for your health.’

The same time Reacher was talking to Rutherford, two people were trying to call Speranski. One on a burner cell. One on the secure phone he’d used earlier. Neither call got through. Not right away. The signal was blocked. Because Speranski had gone down to the generator room. Just for a couple of minutes. He wanted to see the place one last time before his housekeeper cleaned it up. That couldn’t wait much longer, he knew. Some of the blood was already more than two weeks old. The subject had held out a long time. She had yielded some critical information. She’d told them about Rutherford. What was in his possession. Which was gold, professionally. And personally, she’d made him feel young again. He didn’t get to do much wet work these days. He missed it. He looked at the dark pools on the floor. The droplets sprayed up the walls. The manacles. The tools lined up on the stainless steel trolley. The cleaner patches where the suitcases had been. He relived his favourite moments. And smiled. Normally he didn’t know when his next opportunity would arise. Or who it would be with. But this time he knew both.

It would be very soon.

And it would be with the traitor. As soon as she was no longer useful.

The first phone to ring when he got back to ground level was the burner. It was a short call. From a guy a short distance away. A report. First, facts. Then opinions. Brief and concise. The way Speranski liked it. Which meant that when the secure phone rang a few moments later, Speranski already knew what the guy at the end of the line was going to say: ‘Rutherford got away.’

‘OK,’ Speranski replied. ‘So we try again.’

‘We may not. The Center is concerned. The failed attempt caused a spectacle. And Rutherford had help. We don’t know who from, or what size of force is involved. Trying again might draw more attention. It could be counter-productive.’

‘So the Center is proposing we do what? Nothing?’

‘The final decision has not yet been made. Watch and wait is the current stance. See if the item surfaces on its own. And if it does, see if it’s actually dangerous.’

Speranski took the phone away from his ear and fought the urge to smash it into a million pieces. This was the worst part of working in the field. Having to deal with spineless cretins who hid behind their desks all day. Who never put their own necks on the line and then gambled with the lives of the people who did. And then were too timid to take a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to turn the tables on the enemy even when it was handed to them on a plate.

He lifted the phone to his ear again. ‘You need to get back to them. Right now. Convince them that watching and waiting is not an option. The item may never surface. That’s true. And if it does, it may not be dangerous. That’s also true. But neither of those things matters. If the FBI doesn’t find it here, what will they do? Give up? No. They’ll keep on hunting. At the source. Until they’re successful. Which could be before the mission is complete. Which would be a disaster. And even if it was afterwards, it would be the end of … the agent concerned. Which, obviously, I will never allow to happen.’

‘I understand. And I agree. But the Center is worried about exposure. About attracting attention. Tipping our hand.’

‘Tell them there’s no danger of that happening. The interference was a one-off. A fluke. A drifter, some kind of ex-military cop read the situation and stepped in. He won’t do it again. He’s been told to leave town.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I’ve operated in this town for more than fifty years. I have contacts.’

‘Are they reliable?’

‘This is coming direct from the police department.’

‘OK. That’s good. But what if the drifter doesn’t leave town?’

‘Then I’ll take local action.’

‘Like you did with the journalist?’

‘Exactly like that.’

‘All right. I’ll talk to them. Try to get them to start surveillance up again, at least.’

‘That’s not enough. We have to take Rutherford, and fast. They don’t understand what it takes to whip up the hysteria. I’ve used everything. Local press. Whisper campaigns. A whole army of bots on social media. It’s holding for now, but it can’t last. The bubble will burst. Something else will happen and take the spotlight. Rutherford needs to disappear while everyone in town still hates him.’

Rutherford led the way to his favourite diner. It was on the ground floor of an office building on the main street, three blocks from the coffee shop. Reacher wasn’t encouraged by the exterior but he had to admit that the designer had done a credible job with the inside. The colour scheme was pure fifties with plenty of chrome, and the booths along both sides of the room all had their own mini jukebox. There was an old-fashioned pay phone on the back wall, and a line of Formica-covered four-tops down the centre. The side walls were covered with giant paintings of cars. They were all convertibles. Cadillacs and Chevys. Turquoise and pink. Speeding down scenic highways or parked by snow-topped mountains and sparkling lakes with happy nuclear families spilling out with picnic sets and footballs.

There were no other customers in the place so they helped themselves to a booth midway along the right-hand wall. It was below a turquoise Chevrolet, where Reacher could keep an eye on the doors to the street and the kitchen. A moment later a waitress emerged. She smiled at Reacher as she approached but her expression cooled when she saw who his dining companion was. Reacher ordered two cheeseburgers and coffee. Rutherford ordered one, then they sat in silence until the waitress delivered their mugs.

‘Did you see the way she looked at me?’ Rutherford pushed his mug away.

‘I’ve made myself unpopular in certain circles from time to time,’ Reacher said. ‘But to have a whole town mad at you? That’s quite an achievement. What did you do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘OK.’ Reacher took a swig of coffee. ‘What didn’t you do?’

‘I guess my big sin is that I didn’t do enough to avoid catching the blame for the mess the town’s in.’

Reacher’s mind jumped to the traffic signals and the police computers. ‘Are you the town treasurer? Some kind of municipal accountant?’

‘No.’ Rutherford rocked back on his bench. ‘Why would you think I was?’

‘Nothing in the town is working. Usually that’s because bills haven’t been paid.’

Rutherford smiled for the first time since Reacher had met him. ‘If only that was the problem. That could easily be fixed. The town’s situation is much worse. It is kind of connected to money, though. We’ve been hit by a ransomware attack.’

‘I have no idea what that is.’

‘Ransomware? It’s a malicious program that locks up a computer network. The computers themselves and the data they use. All the records and information from all the different departments. And all the phones and laptops and tablets, if they’re connected.’

‘OK. So how do you get it all unlocked and working again?’

‘You have to buy a key.’

‘From where?’

‘From whoever attacked you.’

‘For real?’

‘Oh, yes. More and more towns are getting hit. Sometimes several at once if they share services.’

‘What does this town share?’

‘Nothing. We do everything for ourselves.’

‘So you were targeted specifically? Why?’

‘No special reason. We just made it too easy. Our infrastructure is a hacker’s wet dream. A hotchpotch of old, out-of-date systems. Vulnerabilities all over the place. No viable defence. And you have to understand, this is a growing phenomenon. Cities are getting hit. Hospitals. Police departments. Corporations, too. But they usually try to hide it and pay up quietly.’

‘Corporations pay?’

‘Sometimes. Most times? I don’t really know.’

‘Doesn’t paying up encourage more attacks?’

‘Probably.’ Rutherford shrugged. ‘But what choice do they have?’

‘The town’s not going to pay, is it?’

Rutherford didn’t answer.

‘Seems to me that this kind of thing needs to be stamped out,’ Reacher said. ‘Not encouraged. It’s one thing to make them think you’re going to pay. Set up an exchange: the cash for the key. But the assholes who attacked you shouldn’t walk away with a cent. They shouldn’t walk away at all. You should check that the key works. Then find their base and burn it down. Identify everyone involved and burn down their houses. Send them a message not to try it again.’

‘I kind of wish we could,’ Rutherford said. ‘But that’s not how it works.’

‘Why not?’

‘We’re not talking about cases stuffed full of banknotes. No physical cash is involved. It’s always virtual currency that these people want. Bitcoin, usually. There’s not a physical key, either. Just more computer code. It’s delivered remotely via the internet from an address that’s so scrambled it’s impossible to find out who sent it. Sometimes it’s from somewhere in the US. Usually it’s Russia or Iran or someplace like that.’

‘Could you break the code?’

‘In theory. There are specialist companies you can hire. I have a friend who founded one, actually. She was an FBI agent. A cyber crimes expert. But all those companies are expensive. And there’s no guarantee they’ll succeed. Even if they do there’s the issue of time. How long can you afford to be without your critical infrastructure? And some ransomware has a built-in time limit. If you don’t pay up within x days or weeks or whatever, your data gets permanently wiped.’

A waitress appeared with a coffee pot and topped up Reacher’s mug. She was a different woman. Younger, a little taller, and much friendlier. She smiled at Rutherford rather than scowling at him then turned to Reacher and tipped her head to the side.

‘Do I know you from somewhere?’

‘Unlikely. I just arrived in town today.’

‘Of course. I knew I recognized you. That’s why. I saw you getting out of a car, just across the street. An Impala, right? Silver? Smart-looking man driving it. A banker, maybe?’

‘Insurance.’

‘See? I wasn’t far off. Is that interesting work, insurance?’

‘Why are you asking me?’

‘Isn’t that man your boss?’

‘I don’t have a boss.’

‘So you’re independent?’

‘That’s the general idea.’

‘That must be nice. Anyway, your burgers will be out soon. Holler if you need anything in the meantime.’

Rutherford waited until the waitress was back in the kitchen. ‘But anyway. Ransomware. If you don’t pay to get the key, you have two choices. Start again from scratch, which is slow and super expensive.’ Rutherford hesitated. ‘Or wipe everything off all your computers and load a clean copy from your backup.’

‘Option B sounds good. Why doesn’t the town do that?’

‘They’d need two things. A backup with a clean copy of all the data. And an IT manager to re-install it.’

‘The town doesn’t have an IT manager?’

‘Not any more. I was it. They fired me.’

‘Because you didn’t make a clean backup?’

‘Kind of. Only it’s a bit more complicated than that. I told my bosses time after time that we needed a system to protect us against an attack, and a backup, just in case. The town was such a soft target. But fixing it was expensive. They wouldn’t do it. I should have walked. Many times over. But I like the town. I liked it, anyway.’

‘So you let the defence and the backup slide, and that came back and bit you on the ass?’

‘No.’ Rutherford closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I did something even more stupid.’

Twenty-five minutes had passed, and Natasha’s phone did not ring.

The motel was a single structure, long and low, clad with brown wood. It was divided into nineteen sections. An office at the east end, with a covered entrance and an alcove for ice and soft drinks. Then eighteen guest rooms, each with a door and a window, starting with room one next to the office and stretching away to the west. Natasha’s team had taken rooms fifteen through eighteen. They left fifteen vacant, as a buffer, in case of adjacent occupants and thin walls. Vasili and Anatole, from the Suburban, slept in sixteen. Ilya and Petya in seventeen. And Natasha and Sonya in eighteen. When they got back from swapping cars the two women had carried Ilya to their own room and laid him, unconscious, on the couch. Petya had followed them in, nursing his arm. A moment later the other two men had joined them.

To wait.

Thirty minutes passed. Natasha’s phone did not ring.

She checked its signal three times. Three times she found it was at full strength. Some kind of proverb probably applied, she thought. Watched pots. Something like that. Or maybe something more up to date. She pushed the thought aside and tried to focus on practical matters. Like Petya’s shoulder. At first he was reluctant to let her examine it but he eventually relented. She found it was dislocated and eased it back into place. Then she checked on Ilya and found his breathing and pulse were returning to normal.

Thirty-five minutes passed. Her phone didn’t ring.

‘Should we do something?’ Vasili asked.

‘Yes,’ Natasha said. ‘Wait.’

‘For how long?’

‘For as long as it takes.’

‘But why’s it taking so long? Something must be wrong.’

‘Nothing’s wrong.’

‘How can you be so certain? What other explanation is there?’ Vasili lowered his voice. ‘We screwed up. We all know what happens when you screw up. We’ve all heard the rumours.’

‘Cut that kind of talk out right now. You shouldn’t listen to rumours.’

‘Then why is it taking so long for them to decide what they want us to do?’

‘What if they have decided?’ Sonya looked up from the table. ‘Decided, but not told us?’

‘Why wouldn’t they tell us?’ Vasili said. ‘How can we act on our orders if they’re not given to us?’

‘What if it’s not us they’re giving orders to?’ Sonya said. ‘What if they’ve brought in another team? And don’t want any loose ends?’

‘Stop it,’ Natasha said. ‘You’re being paranoid.’

‘Are we?’ Sonya said. ‘Think about it. They know where we are. They know we’re all together. We’re making it easy for them.’

Ilya grunted from the couch and opened his eyes.

Vasili crossed to the window. ‘All clear. For now.’

Forty minutes passed. Natasha’s phone finally rang.

Reacher bit into his first burger. ‘So what did you do that was so stupid?’

Rutherford shook his head. ‘I tried to fix it myself. I was working on a system to detect and neutralize cyber attacks. I called it the guard dog. That friend I mentioned? The FBI agent? She was helping me. She wanted to call it Cerberus. If it worked we were going into business together. We were going to industrialize it. And make our fortunes.’

‘I’m guessing your system didn’t work.’

‘Nope. And neither did the backup I tried to build. And yet I get the blame. Which is so unfair. None of these bozos who are on my back have any idea what I was up against. A lot of these attacks are state sponsored. They have giant warehouses full of people. It’s their only job. They have endless resources. Then there’s me, on my own, cobbling together repurposed parts salvaged from wherever I can find them.’

‘Like David and Goliath. Only Goliath won.’

‘Right. Which was always the more likely outcome, if you think about it.’

‘But however likely or unlikely it was, you still have no job. And everyone hates you. The town is nice, sure, but there’s a whole world out there. Why not hit the road for a while?’

‘I might do that. Eventually. But first I need to clear my name.’

‘How?’

‘There are documents on my old laptop that prove I’m innocent. I’ve hired a lawyer and she’s subpoenaed the town to get it. I can show how I warned and warned my boss, and how he ignored me. And there’s something else. The asshole is spreading a rumour that it was me who infected the network. He’s saying I missed a virus guard update when I was travelling and then opened a contaminated email.’ Rutherford rolled his eyes. ‘Can you believe it? It was me who introduced the update policy in the first place. I bet it was him who missed one. When I get my laptop back I’ll prove it.’

‘Rusty, I admire your spirit, but are you sure this is the best path to take? It would be a hollow victory if you can’t enjoy it because you’ve been bundled into the back of some other thug’s car.’

‘That detective was clear he didn’t think it was a serious kidnap attempt. How could it be, really? What would be the point? I’m not rich. I have no famous relatives. I don’t know any secrets. I haven’t slept with anyone’s wife.’

‘Well, someone sent those guys after you. And it wasn’t someone wanting to invite you over for milk and cookies.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that. I didn’t recognize any of them. So they wouldn’t recognize me. It could have been a case of mistaken identity.’

‘There are these new things. They’re called photographs. I’ve been told that even cell phones can take them now.’

‘Point taken. But hiring a bunch of thugs to drag me somewhere and kick my ass? Why do that? It’s a lot of trouble. A lot of expense, probably. And even if everyone in town believes the attack is my fault, who really got hurt? It’s all hysteria. The papers, social media, people are talking nonsense. Saying the town’s schools are going to close. There’ll be no new swings in the park. Half the police department’s cars will have to be scrapped. Gas prices will double. House prices will crash. It’s all a load of crap. Some of the town’s employees are having to work longer hours, sure. And use their own phones. But who doesn’t have unlimited minutes these days? The online historical archive is delayed, so the town will lose a little face, but we’re not alone. Lots of towns have been disrupted recently. It’s not worth committing crimes over. As long as the systems are back up and running by the end of the month for payroll, it’s no biggie. Despite the hype.’

‘How long have the computers been down?’

‘Two weeks.’

‘There’s a week left to the end of the month. The town has no backup. You said it takes time to start from scratch, and there’s no IT manager. Sounds like a biggie to me.’

‘But the town’s not starting from scratch. We’re paying. Didn’t I tell you that? The deal must be almost done.’

‘If someone’s paying, someone’s going to be left with a hole in their bank account. They might not be happy about that.’

Rutherford shook his head. ‘The insurance company is paying. They’ve got a guy negotiating, trying to get the price down. Maybe the guy you rode in with. Even if he can’t get them to budge and they have to pay full sticker, I don’t see a major corporation going after a pound of my flesh.’

The friendly waitress collected their plates.

Reacher took a sip of coffee. ‘You said you were working on some kind of new system. To detect these attacks and stop them. It was defeated, I get that. But is there any way it could still help? Think about someone wearing body armour. It’s supposed to be impermeable but he gets shot by some new kind of round that is able to penetrate. It sucks for him because he’s dead but the forensic guys can still learn a lot. The calibre of the bullet. Was it jacketed? What kind of material? And so on. Then some deductions can be made.’

‘I was thinking the same way. That was exactly what I was hoping for. I checked. Multiple times. No luck. And I sent a copy to my ex-FBI friend. She’s working on it too. She has more resources but it doesn’t look hopeful.’

Reacher put some money down and slid out of the booth. The friendly waitress slipped her phone into her apron pocket and approached. She asked to talk to Rutherford for a moment. There was something she needed help with. Her voice said it had to do with a computer. Her body language said it had to do with something else. Reacher smiled. He found people respond to crises in two ways. Some get to work fixing the problem. Others, proving the problem wasn’t their fault. Reacher liked the first kind. Rutherford seemed like the first kind. It was nice to see someone not dumping on him for a change.

Reacher stepped outside. He moved to the side of the window to give Rutherford some privacy. A man stepped out of the shadows. He was around six feet even. He had sunken eyes set into a pale, unshaven face. Shabby work boots with torn leather exposing their steel toecaps. Grubby jeans. A tight black T-shirt under an olive jacket. Army surplus, Reacher thought. Probably Italian, by the shade of green.

The man’s hand slid into his jacket pocket and directed something hard and cylindrical towards Reacher’s chest. ‘Move it,’ he said. ‘Into the alley.’