No Plan B

Reacher was driving. He wasn’t thrilled about that. He certainly hadn’t volunteered. Being driven suited his temperament much better. Anyone else on the road who looked into Sam Roth’s truck during the first four hundred miles they covered that day would have said Hannah’s companion was pretty much comatose. He was lying back in his seat, not moving. Except for his eyes, which just flickered open every now and again. And that was only so he could get a fix on their current position. At first their surroundings were flat and featureless with nothing to see apart from an occasional water tower or utilitarian metal shed at the edge of the arrow-straight road. Then a few trees and bushes appeared between the scrubby fields. The land began to gently rise in a few places and fall away in others. After they passed Dallas the sky became a little bluer. The grass, a little greener. The stands of roadside trees thickened up after they crossed into Louisiana. The farmland grew more lush and fertile. Reacher was enjoying the slow motion, magic lantern impression of the landscape as it steadily unspooled outside his window. He would have been happy to file the snapshots away in his memory and save his energy for whatever was waiting for him in Winson. When he would no longer be a passenger. But when Hannah handed him the keys after they stopped at a rest area he figured it would be rude to refuse. And unsafe. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her shoulders were sagging. She struggled to heave the truck’s massive door open against a sudden gust of wind, and she was fast asleep before they made it back onto the highway.

Another bridge spanned the river a stone’s throw away to the north. An older one. It was all solid piles and cantilevered girders with giant rivets and flags flying from the highest points. Reacher recognized it. He had been shown pictures of it, and the river flowing beneath it, when he was a kid in a classroom on a military base on the other side of the world. Before the bridge they were crossing that day was even built. But not in a lesson about engineering, or geography. The idea was that the children were supposed to chant one Mississippi, two Mississippi to help them measure out the seconds. Reacher couldn’t understand why. Even at that young age he was able to keep track of time in his head. So he ignored the official topic and focused on the bridge. It looked solid. Purposeful. Dependable. The way a properly designed structure should be. It only carried trains now. And it was a little worse for wear. Its paint was peeling. Its iron skeleton was streaked with rust. But it was still standing. Still functional. It had once been revered. Now it was surplus to requirements. That was a story Reacher knew well.

A hundred yards beyond the end of the bridge Reacher saw a sign for a truck stop. It claimed to be the largest in Mississippi. Reacher hoped that was true. And he hoped it reflected the scope of the facilities, not just the size of the parking lot. It was time for him to get a change of clothes and none of the previous places they visited had any in his size.

Hannah woke up when Reacher switched off the engine. The sleep had left her feeling brighter so they walked across the parking lot together, toward the main building. It was shaped like a bow tie. The entrance led into a square, central section that contained the restrooms, and showers for the truck drivers. The triangular area on the left was set up as a food court, with chairs and tables clustered in the center and three different outlets spread out around the edges. There was a pizza restaurant on one of the angled sides. A place selling fried chicken on the other. And a burger joint that took up the whole of the base. The store filled the entire area to the right, with shelves and racks and display cases scattered about in no discernible order.

Hannah went through the doors first and started toward the bathrooms but Reacher took her elbow and steered her into the store.

Hannah said, “What, you can’t pick out a pair of pants on your own?”

Reacher checked over his shoulder and said, “You have a phone?”

“Of course. You want to call someone?”

“Does it take pictures?”

“Of course. All phones do these days.”

“Do you hold it up to your eye, like a camera?”

Hannah laughed. “You hold it out in front. You see the image on the whole screen. Much better than a tiny viewfinder. Why?”

“There’s a guy by the counter of the chicken place. He’s lurking around like he’s waiting for an order to come out. But he was actually watching the entrance. And he did something with his phone. He held it out in front and moved it, like he was tracking me with it when we came in.”

“Move your arm to the side, just an inch?” Hannah peered through the gap between Reacher’s biceps and his torso. “White guy, buzzed hair, T-shirt, jeans?”

Reacher nodded.