Make Me

“From around there. Georgia, or Ukraine. One of those new countries.”

“Verbal, with only nine words?”

“I told him I wasn’t Hackett, and he said, I see. Measured, and calm. Or said in order to appear measured and calm. This is a guy who understands how words can mean all kinds of different things.”

“Do we really know his name and where he lives?”

“I might have been glamorizing our situation a little. Or exaggerating for effect. As in, we fake it till we make it. Because we will know, sooner or later. Somehow. Maybe your phone guy could list his calls by location. There’s only a week’s worth, on that number. He can’t have strayed far from home. We could zero in.”

“Would the information lead to physical harm or serious injury?”

“That would be its sole purpose.”

“Then my phone guy won’t do it. That’s his deal.”

“Do you have to tell him?”

“He would put two and two together after the fact. Then he would go work for someone else. I can’t let that happen.”

“Even for Keever?”

“Keever would understand. So should you. You had a code. A deal is a deal.”

“Works for me,” Reacher said. “I guess. I expect we can figure it out some other way. After we talk to the sister. Who might figure it out for us. Depending on how much she knows. And whether it means anything to us.”

“Nothing else does. This is not a small thing in a wheat field anymore. Hackett is from California, and he has armorers in Illinois, and his boss is in Arizona. This is a nationwide organization. They’ll be watching the airport. You told them we’re coming.”

“That’s why I told them. We won’t find them otherwise.”

“It’s a risk.”

“Everything is a risk. Getting on the plane is a risk. All the other passengers have phones. Think of the songs and the pictures. Think of the extra mass.”

In the event the jet engines coped perfectly with the challenge the on-board phones presented. Their plane took off smoothly and climbed away, just like every other plane that day at America’s busiest airport. Reacher was confident they had not been followed, certainly airside. But their real names were in an airline’s computer, and their ETA was widely advertised. Hope for the best, plan for the worst.

They had seats together over the leading edge of the wing. Window and middle. Not the exit row. That was two behind them. Reacher was at the window. Chang had taken the middle, voluntarily. Next to her on the aisle was a woman with ear buds.

Reacher said, “I was thinking about the Moynahan cousins. Or brothers, or whatever they were.”

Chang said, “And?”

“There were two of them, and they were a hundred times less trouble than Hackett on his own.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit three times. Which is my point. As opposed to zero times before. I agree with you about Hackett in California and the gun guys in Illinois and the boss in Arizona. It’s a national organization. But I don’t see how Mother’s Rest can be a part of it. Those folks are a far lower standard. They can’t be a local division. They would be the weak link in the chain. They’d stick out like a sore thumb.”

“So what are they?”

“Clients, possibly,” Reacher said. “McCann hired Keever. Maybe Mother’s Rest hired someone too. Maybe that’s what happens now. Maybe bad guys outsource their muscle to national organizations. Maybe they outsource everything. Why not? It’s a service economy.”

Chang said, “Then the sister could be in danger. Theoretically. Because organizations behave like organizations. They ask for a detailed brief. Did Mother’s Rest know McCann talked to his sister? If so, she’s in the brief. She’s a loose end. Because we are, too. We could meet. And organizations don’t like loose ends to meet. Cover-your-ass is way too important.”

Reacher said nothing.

Chang said, “What?”

“I wanted to say I’m sure the sister is OK. She has to be, logically. I mean, Keever was there just a couple of days, and now we’re asking if someone knows his client’s sister’s address? The odds against would be enormous, surely. Big numbers.”

“But?”

“Being on a plane is a helpless feeling. Things can prey on your mind.”

The Phoenix airport was properly titled Sky Harbor International, and it was a safe harbor, at least airside. Because of the metal detectors. Landside was a different ball game. So Reacher and Chang got off the plane and walked away from the exit, toward more distant gates. Where they stopped in at a coffee shop and sat on high stools and waited. For the last Chicago passenger to be in a hotel bus. For anyone waiting out there for Chicago passengers to have long ago given up and gone home.