No Plan B

“I don’t know.” Those were good questions, Jed thought. Although only two things really mattered. Where he was going to sleep that night after he got off the bus. And how he was going to finish his journey the next morning. The same two problems he’d faced all along. They were a little more difficult now that he had no money. But he would figure something out. There were people sleeping on the seats near him. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea, but he could do the same at the depot in Jackson. It wouldn’t kill him for one night. Then he remembered the sign he had seen outside. For the prison shuttle. If they had those in Texas, surely there would be something similar in Mississippi. That could be his salvation. If he could somehow persuade the driver to let him get on board. He looked up and tried to smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be OK.”

“Well, good luck. You’re a brave kid.” The guy looked at Jed for a moment then pulled two ten-dollar bills out of his pocket and slid them across the table. “Here. This is all I can spare. Take it. Just don’t let anyone steal it from you this time.”

—

Hannah Hampton’s phone guided them due south until they passed Amarillo, then the highway shifted a little to the east. They would head diagonally across the state until they got to Dallas, Reacher figured. Then it would be a straight shot all the way to Mississippi. A few more stops for diesel and coffee. A few more hours to play music in his head. Unless Hannah decided she wanted to talk again. Either way was fine with him. He tipped his seat back a little farther, closed his eyes, and settled in for the ride. There wasn’t much he could do while they were on the road. But when they got to their destination, he was pretty sure that was going to change. And that was also fine with him.

—

Lev Emerson’s contact had picked a coffee shop in St. Louis, Missouri, for their meeting. The same city as their first rendezvous. A different venue. But the same line of thinking. Somewhere public. Noisy. Hard for anyone to eavesdrop or to record their conversation. And hard for Emerson to do the guy any physical harm without being seen by dozens of witnesses. The guy was cautious. That was clear. But he had overlooked one detail. Last time they met, Emerson didn’t know what the guy looked like. He had no option but to wait for him inside, as agreed. But recognizing him was no longer a problem. Which is why Emerson decided to ambush him outside.

When you work with the range of chemicals involved in Emerson’s line of business, getting your hands on a little chloroform is child’s play. Before he left Chicago Emerson soaked a rag with the stuff and stowed it in a Ziploc bag. He timed the drive so that he and Graeber arrived at the strip mall where the coffee shop was located an hour early. He parked right by the entrance to the parking lot. Watched every car that pulled in. Spotted his contact roll up in a silver Mercedes. Backed out and followed the guy to the other side of the lot. Reversed into the space next to his, passenger side facing him. Graeber jumped out. He was holding a dog-eared road atlas. He stopped the guy and asked him for directions to an industrial park on the outskirts of the city. Emerson slipped out on the other side. He was holding the rag. He looped around the back of the van. Opened one of the doors. Stepped up behind the guy. Clamped the rag over his nose and mouth. And took the guy’s weight as he sagged so that he didn’t hit the ground. Graeber squeezed between them. He climbed into the van’s cargo space. Emerson humped the guy’s unconscious body around to the doorway. Graeber grabbed it by the shoulders. Emerson took its ankles. Together they dragged the guy inside. Then Emerson slammed the door and took a quick glance around the parking lot. The whole operation had taken nine seconds. No one had seen a thing.

—

Damon Brockman walked into Bruno Hix’s office and sat down on one of the visitors’ chairs that were lined up in front of the big wooden desk.

He said, “I just took a very interesting call. Remember Lawrence Osborn?”

Hix put down his pen. “Pepper Spray Larry? Sure. Good guy. Came with us from Kansas City, then had to retire early. Asthma, right?”

“Right. Well, guess who just knocked on Larry’s door?”

“Tell me.”

“That kid. The journalist who had a bee in his bonnet about drug deaths.”

“Why’s he bothering Larry?”

“Seems he’s going after everyone we fired when we took this place over. Figures some of them might have loyalty deficits. Might be willing to spill some beans.”

“None of those guys know anything.”

“Right.”

“And we didn’t fire Larry.”

“The kid doesn’t know that.”

Hix drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment. “I don’t like this. If the kid’s hunting down our ex-employees, who knows what other kinds of digging he’s doing. I don’t want him here tomorrow. He’s too inquisitive. Too much of a pain in the ass. It’s time to get rid of him.”

Brockman smiled. “Agreed. And I know an easy way to do it.”

“How?”