I came out onto another corridor. It was bright. There were triple fluorescent tubes hanging from the ceiling at close intervals. But only one pair of doors. They were labeled Morgue. As I approached I could hear a voice. A man’s. At first I thought he must have company. I couldn’t make out all the words but when I picked up on the stylized way of speaking I realized it was just one person. He was dictating. Probably medical notes. Probably into a machine. I raised my hand to knock. But I stopped myself. It was time to face facts.
Nothing I could say to the doctor was going to make a difference.
I turned around and went back up the stairs and out into the street.
Chapter 12
I found my way to the Red Roan and walked past it. Just out of curiosity. It had a racing theme. It seemed incongruous, given its neighboring buildings. And unappealing, so I continued to a diner farther down the street. It was smaller. More down to earth. I ordered two black coffees to go and carried them back to the hotel. Fenton snatched the door open the instant I knocked.
“Well?” She let the door swing shut. “Tell me.”
I handed her one of the cups. The bags of fake blood and miniature detonators and material to make imitation wounds were laid out on the bed. Her gun was there, too. There was a glass full of bullets on the nightstand.
“You switched to blanks?”
She nodded. “Yes. But the ME? How did it go?”
Blanks were better than live rounds in a situation like that. But they were still dangerous, close up. Pull the trigger when the muzzle is in contact with your head and the jet of gas it emits can be fatal. I know. I investigated two cases in the army. One turned out to be a jackass playing the fool one time too many. The other was something else altogether.
I put my coffee down on the desk. “Michaela, there’s something we need to talk about. This plan. It’s not going to work. It’s time we thought about a plan B.”
“The ME wouldn’t cooperate?” Fenton slammed her cup down on the nightstand so hard it sent coffee spurting out of the slot in the lid. “Why not? What was the problem? How hard did you lean on him?”
“I’m not going to lie. I didn’t speak to the guy. There was no point. There are too many other holes in the plan. It’s DOA. We need to find an alternative.”
“You said yourself, there are three hurdles. The threat, the death, and the ME. I took care of one and two. I can’t believe you chickened out of three. I knew I should have gone myself. Never send a man to do a woman’s job. I’ll go now. I’ll take care of it.”
Fenton reached for her gun. I stepped in her way.
I said, “It doesn’t matter which of us talks to him. Or if neither of us does. The outcome will be the same. The guy’s either on Dendoncker’s payroll or he’s not. He’s well disposed to us, or he’s not. We may need to persuade him, or threaten him, or bribe him. In any case there’s no guarantee of a result. Even if he agrees to help, can we trust him? What if he changes his mind later? What if he gets cold feet? And say he does stay away, how will Dendoncker behave? Will he poke the body? My body. Prod it? Stab it? Chop part of it off? Shoot it?”
Fenton didn’t reply.
“And Dendoncker’s unlikely to come alone. How many guys will he bring? What weapons will they have? Who else will be in the building?”
Fenton shrugged.
“And if we do snatch him, what about afterward? We’ll need time to encourage him to confess. Where would we go? How long would it take? Where’s the nearest police station, when we’re done?”
“I get the point.” Fenton crossed her arms. “But it could still work.”
“It could. Nothing’s impossible. I’d give it a fifty-fifty chance of success. No more. With a high risk of collateral damage.”
“I’ll take those odds.”
“I won’t. Not when there are alternatives.”
“There’s no alternative. We must go ahead. OK. We’ll swap roles. I’ll tell them I’m sick. I’ll play the part of Mickey at the rendezvous. I’ll pretend to get shot. Let them take me to the morgue. I’ll deal with Dendoncker myself when he shows up.”
“That won’t work. If you’re sick they’ll send others in your place. Who will kill you, for real, unless you kill them first. Neither of which would help.”
“OK. So you go to the rendezvous, too. Lurk around in the dark until everyone shows up. Then shoot me with a blank before anyone else has the chance. They won’t care who fired as long as I’m dead. Or they think I am.”
“What happens when they check your pulse?”
Fenton was silent.
“Or if they give you a tap to the head, to make sure you’re dead?”
Fenton opened her mouth, then closed it again without speaking.
I said, “Why not get Dendoncker thrown in jail? There’s a federal agent I know. You can trust him. You could work with him. Stay undercover. Provide intel. Isn’t that what you trained for?”
“That would take too long. We have to do it tonight. I’ll find a way. With or without you.”
“Why is this so urgent? The best way to honor Michael is to take the time to do it right. What about the vetting guys, for example. Who cleared Dendoncker for entry to the States? They must have plenty of muscle. And if they made a mistake, they’ll want to put it right. To avoid embarrassment, if nothing else.”
“This isn’t just about Michael. It never was.”
“No? Then who else is it about?”
“I don’t know names. Innocent people.”
“The vets in Dendoncker’s crew?”
“No. Random strangers.”
“Who? What kind of strangers?”
Fenton took a breath. “Reacher, there’s something I didn’t tell you. I know what Dendoncker’s doing with those planes. What he’s going to transport in them. Bombs.”
“How do you know?”
“I know because Michael was making them.”
Chapter 13
Fenton pushed the bags of fake blood aside and sat on the bed. She put her head in her hands. She rested her elbows on her knees. She was completely still for over a minute. Then she straightened up.
“I didn’t lie to you, Reacher. I just didn’t tell the whole truth.”
“You better tell it now. If you want me to reconsider.”
“OK. Rewind to when I left the army. I went into law enforcement. I joined the FBI. Became a Special Agent. Evidence processing was my specialty. I worked out of a couple of field offices, did well, and got assigned to TEDAC as a result. Do you know anything about it?”
“Not much.”
“It’s the Terrorist Explosive Device Analytical Center. Think of it as bringing forensics to the battlefield. It began during the second Gulf War. Our troops were taking a hammering. Someone got the idea of collecting evidence and sending it to Quantico. A team was put together to analyze everything that came in. They came up with ways to spot IEDs. To defend against them. Defuse them. Eventually they were able to identify the bomb makers. Sometimes right down to an individual. Sometimes to a factory. The recovered components tell a story. So do the techniques that are used. Even the way a wire is twisted can be significant. The team was so successful it expanded and moved to a new base in Alabama. Its scope expanded, too. Now it has a whole world mission, with no constraints on time. Information is shared with partners. Arrests have been made all over the globe with TEDAC’s help. London. Berlin. Addis Ababa. All in the last few weeks. Evidence is being brought in from more places, and from further back in time. Material from Lockerbie, Scotland, is on its way, I heard. And Yemen. And some already arrived from Beirut, that big barracks bomb, all the way back in the eighties.”