The Enemy

I dropped my bag and used both hands and shoved Summer out of the way. Stopped dead and jerked my right elbow backward and smashed the right-hand W3 hard in the face. Kept my feet planted and twisted the other way like a violent calisthenic exercise and smacked the left-hand W3 with my left elbow. Then I stepped forward and met the W4 as he spun toward the noise and came in for me. I hit him with a straight left to the chest. His weight was moving and my weight was moving and the blow messed him up pretty good. I followed it with a right hook to his chin and put him on the ground. Turned back to the W3s to check how they were doing. They were both down on their backs. There was some blood on their faces. Broken noses, loosened teeth. A lot of shock and surprise. An excellent stun factor. I was pleased. They were good, and I was better. I checked the W4. He wasn’t doing much. I squatted down next to the W3s and took their Berettas out of their holsters. Then I twisted away and took the W4’s out of his. Threaded all three guns on my forefinger. Then I used my other hand to find the car keys. The right-hand W3 had them in his pocket. I took them out and tossed them to Summer. She was back on her feet. She was looking a little dismayed.

I gave her the three Berettas and I dragged the W4 by his collar to the nearest bus shelter. Then I went back for the W3s and dragged them over, one in each hand. I got them all lined up facedown on the floor. They were conscious, but they were groggy. Heavy blows to the head are a lot more consequential in real life than they are in the movies. And I was breathing hard myself. Almost panting. The adrenaline was kicking in. Some kind of a delayed reaction. Fighting has an effect on both parties to the deal.

I crouched down next to the W4.

“I apologize, Chief,” I said. “But you got in the way.”

He said nothing. Just stared up at me. Anger, shock, wounded pride, confusion.

“Now listen,” I said. “Listen carefully. You never saw us. We weren’t here. We never came. You waited for hours, but we didn’t show. You came back out and some thief had boosted your car in the night. That’s what happened, OK?”

He tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out right.

“Yes, I know,” I said. “It’s pretty weak and it makes you look real stupid. But how good does it make you look that you let us escape? That you didn’t handcuff us like you were ordered to?”

He said nothing.

“That’s your story,” I said. “We didn’t show, and your car was stolen. Stick to it or I’ll put it about that it was the lieutenant who took you down. A ninety-pound girl. One against three. People will love that. They’ll go nuts for it. And you know how rumors can follow you around forever.”

He said nothing.

“Your choice,” I said.

He shrugged. Said nothing.

“I apologize,” I said. “Sincerely.”

We left them there and grabbed our bags and ran to their car. Summer unlocked it and we slid in and she fired it up. Put it in gear and moved away from the curb.

“Go slow,” I said.

I waited until we were alongside the bus shelter and then wound the window down and tossed the Berettas out on the sidewalk. Their cover story wouldn’t hold up if they lost their weapons as well as their car. The three guns landed near the three guys and they all got up on their hands and knees and started to crawl toward them.

“Now go,” I said.

Summer hit the gas hard and the tires lit up and about a second later we were well outside handgun range. She kept her foot down and we left the airport doing about ninety miles an hour.

“You OK?” I said.

“So far,” she said.

“I’m sorry I had to shove you.”

“We should have just run,” she said. “We could have lost them in the terminal.”

“We needed a car,” I said. “I’m sick of taking the bus.”

“But now we’re way out of line.”

“That’s for sure,” I said.

I checked my watch. It was close to three in the morning. We were heading south from Dulles. Going nowhere, fast. In the dark. We needed a destination.

“You know my phone number at Bird?” I said.

“Sure,” Summer said.

“OK, pull over at the next place with a phone.”

She spotted an all-night gas station about five miles later. It was all lit up on the horizon. We pulled in and checked it out. There was a miniature grocery store behind the pumps but it was closed. At night you had to pay for your gas through a bulletproof window. There was a pay phone outside next to the air hose. It was in an aluminum box mounted on the wall. The box had phone shapes drilled into the sides. Summer dialed my Fort Bird office number and handed me the receiver. I heard one cycle of ring tone and then my sergeant answered. The night-duty woman. The one with the baby son.

“This is Reacher,” I said.

“You’re in deep shit,” she said.

“And that’s the good news,” I said.

“What’s the bad news?”

“You’re going to join me right there in it. What kind of babysitting arrangements have you got?”

“My neighbor’s girl stays. From the trailer next door.”

“Can she stay an hour longer?”

“Why?”

“I want you to meet me. I want you to bring me some stuff.”

“It’ll cost you.”

“How much?”

“Two dollars an hour. For the babysitter.”

“I haven’t got two dollars. That’s something I want you to bring. Money.”

“You want me to give you money?”

“A loan,” I said. “Couple of days.”

“How much?”

“Whatever you’ve got.”

“When and where?”

“When you get off. At six. At the diner near the strip club.”

“What do you need me to bring?”

“Phone records,” I said. “All calls made out of Fort Bird starting from midnight on New Year’s Eve until maybe the third of January. And an army phone book. I need to speak to Sanchez and Franz and all kinds of other people. And I need Major Marshall’s personal file. The XII Corps guy. I need you to get a copy faxed in from somewhere.”

“Anything else?”

“I want to know where Vassell and Coomer parked their car when they came down for di

“OK,” she said. “Is that it?”

“No,” I said. “I want to know where Major Marshall was on the second and the third. Scare up some travel clerk somewhere and see if any vouchers were issued. And I want a phone number for the Jefferson Hotel in D.C.”

“That’s an awful lot to do in three hours.”

“That’s why I’m asking you instead of the day guy. You’re better than he is.”

“Stick it,” she said. “Flattery doesn’t work on me.”

“Hope springs eternal,” I said.

We got back into the car and got back on the road. Headed east for I-95. I told Summer to go slow. If I didn’t, then the way she was likely to drive on empty roads at night would get us to the diner well before my sergeant, and I didn’t want that to happen. My sergeant would get there around six-thirty. I wanted to get there after her, maybe six-forty. I wanted to check she hadn’t done her duty and dropped a dime on me and set up an ambush. It was unlikely, but not impossible. I wanted to be able to drive by and check. I didn’t want to be already in a booth drinking coffee when Willard showed up.

“Why do you want all that stuff?” Summer asked.

“I know what happened to Mrs. Kramer,” I said.

“How?”

“I figured it out,” I said. “Like I should have at the begi

“It’s not enough to imagine things.”

“It is,” I said. “Sometimes that’s what it’s all about. Sometimes that’s all an investigator has got. You have to imagine what people must have done. The way they must have thought and acted. You have to think yourself into being them.”

“Being who?”

“Vassell and Coomer,” I said. “We know who they are. We know what they’re like. Therefore we can predict what they did.”