No Plan B

The driver pulled into his designated slot, braked gently to a stop, and switched on the interior lights. Some passengers grunted and groaned and pulled blankets and coats over their faces. Others got to their feet and stretched. Then they stepped into the aisle and made for the door. Jed stayed where he was. If he could have wished himself invisible that’s what he would have done. Instead he had to make do with keeping his head down and peering through the gap between the seats in front of him. He focused on the front of the bus. At the top of the steps. To see if anyone got on. No one did. No new passengers. And no police. Not straightaway. But there was an hour and five minutes until his connecting bus was due to leave. That was plenty of time for a whole squad of them to show up.

“Hey, buddy.” The guy from the back of the bus dropped into the seat next to Jed. “Thanks for waiting. You hungry? Come on. Time for that breakfast you promised me.”

—

Jed paused at the entrance of the depot and peered inside. The space was a large rectangle with gray tile on the floor and a ceiling that was high in the center and low around the edges. The amenities were clustered around the sides, in the lower section. One wall was taken up by the ticket counter, which was closed at that time of the morning. There was a line of self-serve ticket machines. A group of vending machines full of snacks and drinks. Rows of red plastic seats, with people sleeping on some of them. Then there was the section Jed’s new friend was interested in. The food concessions. There were two of them. One only sold pizza. The other had a full range of fast-food options.

There were no cops in sight. Yet.

Jed was intending to just get a small snack. He wanted to spend as little time out in the open as possible. And to spend as little money as he could get away with. He still had some major expenses coming up. He knew that. But then he read the menu at the fast-food counter. He smelled the bacon. And the sausages. And the fries. And all his good intentions evaporated. He hadn’t eaten since L.A. He was so hungry his legs were trembling. He just couldn’t help himself. He ordered the Belly Buster Deluxe, which contained pretty much everything it’s possible to cook in oil, plus extra onion rings and a Coke. The guy from the back of the bus asked for the same combination. The clerk grunted some instructions to a cook who was hanging around behind her then shuffled across to the register. She hit a few keys and barked out the total. Jed had already done the math in his head. He’d already worked out how much he would have left after factoring in the tax and leaving the smallest acceptable tip.

It was less than he would have liked, but he figured he could live with it.

Jed reached into his pocket. He felt for his roll of cash. But his fingers touched nothing but lint and fraying seams. His pocket was empty. He checked his other pockets. All of them. He came up with nothing but a few coins and his toothbrush. His money was gone. All of it. He stood still for a moment, trying to make sense of what was happening. Then his knees gave way. He flopped back. His head hit the ground. The lights above him turned into fiery multi-pointed stars. They spun and danced and twirled. Then everything in his world went dark.

Chapter 22

Reacher woke himself up at a quarter past five, Thursday morning. He took a shower. Got dressed. And was outside the hotel by ten to six, as agreed. Hannah Hampton was not. And neither was Sam Roth’s truck.

Reacher considered going inside and asking the guy behind the reception counter what time Hannah had checked out. Then he thought better of it. There was no point. Whether she had left five minutes or five hours before him, he wouldn’t be able to catch up to her without a vehicle. And even if he could, he wouldn’t. This was a volunteer-only operation. If Hannah was having second thoughts, it was better she didn’t come along. It would be a mistake to take her.

There were no vehicles at the gas station on the other side of the street so Reacher started to walk. The highway was only a quarter of a mile away. He figured he could hitch a ride when he got to the intersection. There was usually plenty of truck traffic early in the morning, before the roads got too busy. He hoped there would be at least one driver who could use some company. Who was looking for a little gas money. Or a little conversation to help him stay awake after a long night at the wheel.

The sun was starting to rise but the landscape looked no more inviting than it had the evening before. It was still flat. Still parched and brown. Still featureless. Reacher figured he must have covered a couple of hundred yards but the scene was so vast and so uniform it was like he hadn’t moved at all. He pressed on, a little faster. Then he stopped. He heard a sound behind him. An engine. A diesel. Rattling and clanking like a train.