Gone Tomorrow

The outfit would be easy.

The weapons, not so much. New York City is not the best place on the planet to get hold of a private arsenal at the drop of a hat. There were probably places in the outer boroughs selling overpriced junk under the counter, but there were places in the outer boroughs selling used cars, too, and fastidious drivers were well advised to stay away from them.

Problem.

I looked at Sansom and said, ‘You can’t actively help me, right?’

He said, ‘No.’

I looked at Springfield and said, ‘I’m heading out to a clothing store now. I figure on getting black pants and a black T-shirt and black shoes. With a black windbreaker, maybe triple XL, kind of baggy. What do you think?’

Springfield said, ‘We don’t care. We’ll be gone when you get back.’

I went to the store on Broadway where I bought the khaki shirt prior to the Sansoms’ fundraiser lunch. It was doing a little business and had plenty of items in stock. I found everything I needed there apart from socks and shoes. Black jeans, plain black I-shirt, and a black cotton zip-up windbreaker made for a guy with a much bigger gut than mine. I tried it on and as expected it fit OK in the arms and the shoulders and ballooned way out in front like a maternity smock.

Perfect, if Springfield had taken the hint.

I dressed in the changing cubicle and trashed my old stuff and paid the clerk fifty-nine dollars. Then I took her recommendation and moved on three blocks to a shoe store. I bought a pair of sturdy black lace-ups and a pair of black socks. Close to a hundred bucks. I heard my mother’s voice in my head, from long ago: At a price like that, you better make them last. Don’t scuff them up. I stepped out of the store and stamped down on the sidewalk a couple of times to settle the fit. I stopped in at a drugstore and bought a pair of generic white boxers. I figured that since everything else was new I should complete the ensemble.

Then I started back to the hotel.

Three paces later the phone in my pocket started to vibrate.

SEVENTY

I BACKED UP AGAINST A BUILDING ON THE CORNER OF 55TH Street and pulled the phone out of my pocket. Restricted Call. I opened the phone and raised it to my ear.

Lila Hoth said, ‘Reacher?’

I said, ‘Yes?’

‘I’m still standing out in the road. I’m still waiting for the truck to hit me.’

‘It’s coming.’

‘But when will it arrive?’

‘You can sweat a spell. I’ll be with you inside a couple of days.’

‘I can’t wait.’

‘I know where you are.’

‘Good. That will simplify things.’

‘And I know where the memory stick is, too.’

‘Again, good. We’ll keep you alive long enough for you to tell us. And then maybe a few more hours, just for the fun of it.’

‘You’re a babe in the woods, Lila. You should have stayed home and tended your goats. You’re going to die and that photograph is going all around the world.’

‘We have a fresh blank DVD,’ she said. ‘The camera is charged up and ready for your starring role.

‘You talk too much, Lila.’

She didn’t answer.

I closed the phone and headed back through the gathering evening darkness to the hotel. I went up in the elevator and unlocked my room and sat down on the bed to wait. I waited for a long time. Close to four hours. I thought I was waiting for Springfield. But in the end it was Theresa Lee who showed up.

She knocked on the door eight minutes before midnight. I did the thing with the chain and the mirror again and let her in. She was dressed in a version of the first outfit I had ever seen her in. Pants, and a silk short-sleeved shirt. Untucked. Dark grey, not mid-grey. Less silvery. More serious.

She was carrying a black gymnasium bag. Ballistic nylon. The way it hung from her hand I guessed it held heavy items. The way the heavy items moved and clinked I guessed they were made of metal. She put the bag on the floor near the bathroom and asked, ‘Are you OK?’

‘Are you?’

She nodded. ‘It’s like nothing ever happened. We’re all back on the job.’

‘What’s in the hag?’

‘I have no idea. A man I never saw before delivered it to the precinct.’

‘Springfield?’

‘No, the name he gave was Browning. He gave me the bag and said in the interests of crime prevention I should make sure you never got your hands on it.’

‘But you brought it anyway?’

‘I’m guarding it personally. Safer than leaving it around.’

‘OK.’

‘You would have to overpower me. And assaulting police officers is against the law.’

‘True.’

She sat down on the bed. A yard from me. Maybe less.

She said, ‘We raided those three old buildings on 58th Street.’

‘Springfield told you about them?’

‘He said his name was Browning. Our counterterrorism people went in two hours ago. The Hoths aren’t there.’

‘I know.’

‘They were, but they aren’t any more.’

‘I know.’

‘How do you know?’

‘They turned in Leonid and his buddy. Therefore they’ve moved somewhere Leonid and his buddy don’t know. Layers upon layers.’

‘Why did they turn in Leonid and his buddy?’

‘To encourage the other thirteen. And to feed the machine. We’ll rough them up a little, the Arab media will call it torture, they’ll get ten new recruits. Net gain of eight. And Leonid and his pal are no big loss, anyway. They were hopeless.’

‘Will the other thirteen be better?’

‘Law of averages says yes.’

‘Thirteen is an insane number.’

‘Fifteen, including the Hoths themselves.’

‘You shouldn’t do it.’

‘Especially unarmed.’

She glanced at the bag. Then she looked back at me. ‘Can you find them?’

‘What are they doing for money?

‘We can’t trace them that way. They stopped using credit cards and ATMs six days ago.’

‘Which makes sense.’

‘Which makes them hard to find.’

I asked, ‘Is Jacob Mark safely back in Jersey?’

‘You think he shouldn’t be involved?’

‘But I should?’

‘You are,’ I said. ‘You brought me the bag.’

‘I’m guarding ii.’

‘What else are your counterterrorism people doing?’

‘Searching,’ she said. ‘With the FBI and the Department of Defense. There are six hundred people on the street right now.’

‘Where are they looking?’

‘Anywhere bought or rented inside the last three months. The city is cooperating. Plus they’re inspecting hotel registers and business apartment leases and warehouse operations, across all five boroughs.’

‘OK.’

‘Word on the street is it’s all about a Pentagon file on a USB memory stick.’

‘Close enough.’

‘Do you know where it is?’

‘Close enough.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Nowhere between Ninth Avenue and Park and 30th Street and 45th.’

‘I suppose I deserve that.’

‘You’ll figure it out.’

‘Do you really know? Docherty figures you don’t. He figures you’re trying to bluff your way out of trouble.’

‘Docherty is clearly a very cynical man.’

‘Cynical or right?’

‘I know where it is.’

‘So go get it. Leave the Hoths for someone else.’

I didn’t answer that. Instead I said, ‘Do you spend time in the gym?’

‘Not much,’ she said. ‘Why?’

‘I’m wondering how hard it would be to overpower you.’

‘Not very,’ she said. I didn’t answer.

She asked, ‘When are you pla

‘Two hours,’ I said. ‘Then another two hours to find them, and attack at four in the morning. My favourite time. Something we learned from the Soviets. They had doctors working on it. People hit a low at four in the morning. It’s a universal truth.’

‘You’re making that up.’

‘I’m not.’

‘You won’t find them in two hours.’

‘I think I will.’

‘The missing file is about Sansom, right?’