The sound of the mothership not answering.
Danilo said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Reacher said.
“Things I did.”
“But you did them. Can’t change that.”
Danilo didn’t answer.
Abby said, “Yes.”
Hogan said, “Yes.”
Reacher shot Danilo in the forehead with the H&K P7 Hogan had taken from him. German police issue. Identical to all the others. Maybe even sequential serial numbers. A bulk order, from some bent German copper. Danilo went down, with what was left of his head in his own office, and the rest of him in Gregory’s. Reacher looked left and right. We’ll be taking them out from the top to the bottom. Much more efficient. Job done. They were laid out like a corporate chart. Gregory, Danilo, the heap of senior deputies. Cell phones ringing everywhere.
—
They left the same way they arrived, through the emergency exit corridor. They walked through the vacant store. Twist, pull, go, back to the street. The guys from the corners were still where they had fallen. No one would dream of calling the cops about dead bodies near a black Town Car on a back street on the west side of the city. Such a thing was obviously someone else’s private business.
“Where next?” Abby asked.
“You OK?” Reacher asked back.
“Doing well. Where next?”
Reacher glanced at the downtown skyline. Six towers. Three office buildings, three hotels.
He said, “I should go say goodbye to the Shevicks. I might not get another chance.”
“Why not?”
“The lumber yard won’t burn forever. Sooner or later the cops will be back west of Center. No more grand a week. They’ll be mad at somebody. Questions will be asked. Always better not to be around for a thing like that.”
“You’re going to leave?”
“Come with me.”
She didn’t answer.
He said, “Call Vantresca and tell him to meet us.”
They left the Lincoln where it was. Insurance, of sorts. Like a road sign. Not Don’t Walk, but Don’t Ask. The sun was out. No clouds in the sky. Middle of the afternoon. They strolled back the way they had driven. They rode up to the Shevicks’ room. Maria looked at them through the peephole, and let them in. Barton and Vantresca were already there.
Vantresca pointed out the window. At the left-hand of two office towers west of Center. It was a plain rectangular structure about twenty stories tall, faced with glass that reflected the sky. Above the top floor’s windows was a bland and anodyne name. Could have been an insurance company. Could have been a laxative medicine.
“You sure?” Reacher asked.
“The only new lease in the right time frame. The top three floors. A corporation no one ever heard of. All kinds of weird shit going up in the elevator.”
“Good work.”
“Thank Barton. He knows a saxophone player with a day job in the department of buildings.”
Apparently Vantresca had called room service on arrival, because a waiter showed up with a cart full of things to eat and drink. Finger sandwiches, cupcakes, a plate of cookies still warm from the microwave oven. Plus water, and soda, and iced tea, and hot tea, and best of all hot coffee, in a tall chromium flask that flashed in the sun. They ate and drank together. Vantresca said he had already sent a biohazard clean-up crew to the Shevicks’ house, and a drywall guy, and a painter. He said they could go home in the morning. If they wanted. They said they did, very much. They said thank you for fixing the holes.
Then they looked at Reacher, a question in their eyes.
“Close of business today,” he said. “Watch out for a wire transfer.”
Aaron hesitated a second, politely, and asked, “How big?”
“I’m pretty much a round-figures type of guy. If it’s too much, give the rest away. To people in the same situation. Maybe some to those lawyers. Julian Harvey Wood, Gino Vettoretto, and Isaac Mehay-Byford. They’re doing good work, for guys with so many names.”
Then he got out the envelope from the pawn shop. The wedding bands, the small solitaires, the watch with the broken crystal. He gave it to Maria. He said, “They went out of business.”
Then they left, Reacher, Abby, Barton, Hogan, Vantresca, riding down in the elevator together, stepping out to the street.
—
Half a block short of the office tower’s street-level lobby was a single-wide coffee shop with tables in back. They went in and crowded knee to knee, five people at a four-top. Vantresca and Barton ran through what they knew. The building had been completed three years previously. It had twenty floors. It had a total of forty suites. So far it was a commercial failure. The local economy was uncertain. The unknown corporation had gotten a great deal on eighteen, nineteen, and twenty. The only other tenants were a dentist, down on three, and a commercial real estate broker, on two. The rest was empty.
Reacher asked Hogan, “What would the Marine Corps do?”
“Most likely evacuate the broker and the dentist and then set the building on fire. Either the high-floor targets would make it down the emergency stairs, or they would get burned up where they were. Either way a win-win, for not much effort.”
Reacher asked Vantresca, “What would the armored divisions do?”
“Standard urban doctrine is shoot out the ground-floor walls, so the building falls directly in on itself. You need to keep the streets clear of rubble if you can. Anything still moving a minute later, you hit it with the machine gun.”
“OK,” Reacher said.
Vantresca asked, “What would the MPs do?”
“No doubt something subtle and ingenious. Given our comparative lack of resources.”
“Like what?”
Reacher thought hard for a minute, and then he told them.
Chapter 47
Five minutes later Barton left the coffee shop for an imaginary dental appointment. Reacher and the others stayed where they were. It was a convenient base. Close by. No doubt the counterman was a west side informant, but there was no one left to inform. Reacher saw him make a couple of calls. Apparently they weren’t answered. The guy stared at his phone, puzzled.
Then Hogan and Vantresca left for an imaginary discussion about commercial real estate. Reacher and Abby stayed at the table. Theirs were the only faces on Ukrainian phones. They figured they better not start the party too early.
The counterman tried a third call.
It wasn’t answered.
Abby said, “I guess this means we can go back to my place tonight.”
“No reason why not,” Reacher said.
“Unless you leave before tonight.”
“Depends what happens. All five of us might be running.”
“Suppose we aren’t.”
“Then we’ll go back to your place tonight.”
“For how long?”
He said, “What would be your answer to that question?”
She said, “I guess not forever.”
“That’s my answer, too. Except my forever horizon is closer than most. Full disclosure.”
“How close?”
He looked out the window, at the street, at the brick, at the afternoon shadows. He said, “I already feel like I’ve been here forever.”
“So you’ll leave anyway.”
“Come with me.”
“What’s wrong with sticking around?”
“What’s wrong with not?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m not complaining. I just want to know.”
“Know what?”
“How long we’ve got. So I can make the most of it.”
“You don’t want to come with me?”
“Seems to me I have a choice of two things. Either a good memory with a beginning and an end, or a long slow fizzle, where I get tired of motels and hitchhiking and walking. I choose the memory. Of a successful experiment. Much rarer than you think. We did good, Reacher.”