No Plan B

Emerson took a breath and hit Send. His laptop made a whoosh sound. His message disappeared from its screen. He pictured it as a stream of ones and zeros, bouncing around the internet. Pinging from one untraceable server to another, all around the world. Maybe reaching its destination. Maybe not. Maybe being read. Maybe not. Maybe convincing the front man. Appealing to his greed. Bypassing any hint of suspicion about why such a recent customer should be getting back in the market.

Or maybe not.

—

Jack Reacher had lost count of the number of people who had pointed guns at him over the years. Often the person with their finger on the trigger was angry. Sometimes they were scared. Or determined. Or elated. Or relieved. Occasionally they were calm and professional. But Hannah Hampton had an expression on her face that Reacher had never seen in that kind of situation before. She looked embarrassed.

She said, “I’m sorry. Ninety-nine percent of me thinks I’m wrong. That I’m crazy. But I have to know for sure.”

Reacher said, “Know what?”

“Why you showed up at Sam’s door.”

“I told you why.”

“You told me a story. How do I know it’s true?”

“You talked to Detective Harewood. He confirmed it.”

Hannah shook her head. “He confirmed what you were doing. Looking into Angela’s murder. Not why.”

“I’m helping him out.”

“Why?”

“Angela was murdered. So was Sam. Someone should do something about that.”

“Yes. The detective should. It’s his job. And he has the whole police department to back him up. Why does he need your help?”

“He’s facing some…institutional obstacles.”

“Such as?”

“That doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is whether you want Sam’s killer to go free. If you don’t, you need to put the gun down.”

“What if it’s not that simple?”

“It is that simple.”

Hannah paused, but she didn’t lower the gun. “Here’s my problem. There’s a little voice at the back of my head and it won’t shut up. It keeps saying, you were the only one who knew Angela was murdered. You were the only one who knew Sam didn’t have a heart attack. You were the only one who suggested Angela sent Sam some secret evidence. You were the only one who went looking for it.”

“That’s why Harewood needs my help.”

“Unless there’s another explanation.”

“There isn’t.”

“If you had found the evidence at Sam’s apartment, or in his mailbox, what would you have done?”

“Given it to Harewood.”

“But would you, though? That’s the real question.”

“You think I was trying to get it for myself?”

“That’s a possibility. You have to admit it. You have no legal standing here. No official role.”

“So you also think I killed Angela? And Sam? That’s the bottom line, right?”

Reacher kept his eyes on Hannah’s trigger finger. Her knuckle gleamed white. But it didn’t flex. Not yet.

Hannah said, “You know an awful lot about how Angela and Sam died. And why.”

“I don’t know nearly enough about that. But what I have learned, I’ve told Harewood. Because I am helping him. Call him. Ask if that’s true.”

“If you’re helping, why are you leaving town? Did you find the evidence?” Hannah looked at Reacher. It dawned on her that he had no bag. No case. No bulging pockets. “Did you destroy it?”

“No.”

“So why are you leaving?”

“Because I didn’t find it. I need to look somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Winson, Mississippi.”

“Where Angela lived?”

“Where she worked. Where she found the problem that led to all this.”

Hannah was silent for a moment. “You’re going to find out who killed Sam?”

“I’m going to try.”

“You promise?”

“You have my word.”

“Does that mean anything?”

Reacher nodded.

Hannah said, “If you find the guy who killed Sam? What will you do?”

“Give him the chance to surrender.”

“And if he doesn’t take it?”

“That’ll be his problem.”

Hannah lowered the gun. “OK. I believe you. I think. And I do want Sam’s killer caught. So, how can I help?”

“You can give me a ride to Denver. There’s a Greyhound station there.”

—

Lev Emerson’s message did make its way to the front man. It reached him almost immediately. And it found him in a trusting frame of mind. Or a greedy one. Emerson wasn’t sure which. And he didn’t care either way. Because the guy replied. No hesitation. No delay. It was nothing fancy. Just a time. A location. And a date.

Emerson sent his confirmation. The meeting was locked in. For the following day. At 10:00 a.m.

Emerson looked across the table at Graeber. He said, “Fetch a barrel. A big one. We have some mixing to do.”

Chapter 20