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They kept on walking. Reacher kept on pressing the unlock button. No lights flashed. They were almost at the entrance to the building. Reacher figured the car must be somewhere else in the lot, so he would have to take the guy around the back of the building. Do the job in two stages. He knew for sure the car wasn’t over to the right because that was where the buses parked. So he rolled the dice one last time. Headed toward the left. Pressed the unlock button again. And saw a pair of orange lights give a long, slow blink.

The car the lights belonged to was in the final row, in front of the fence that continued along the perimeter of the site. There was an empty space on both sides. But it was a false alarm. A coincidence. It was the wrong kind of car. A Ford Crown Victoria. Reacher had seen hundreds of them during his time in the army. And hundreds more after he left. Although this one was much cleaner than most he had come across. Its paintwork was immaculate. Dark blue, almost black. Shiny, like it recently had been polished. It had strange wheels. A weird grille at the front. Dark tints on the windows. It seemed more like someone’s personal vehicle than a detective’s car or a cab. So Reacher looked at it more closely. He saw there was a Mercury logo where the blue oval should be. He didn’t understand why, but he had never been much of a car guy. And he didn’t waste time speculating. He just slid his thumb across to the lock button on the fob. He pressed it. The car’s flashers blinked again. Just as lazily. Reacher figured it was unlikely to be a coincidence a second time.

Reacher said, “This way.” He changed course and made for the rear of the car. It was almost against the fence. Its owner had backed in, ready for a quick exit if necessary. Reacher waited for the guy to catch up then took the keys out of his pocket. He hit the trunk button. The lid unlocked itself but only swung up a couple of inches.

The guy said, “Do you think I’m new? I’m not opening that.”

Reacher said, “No problem. I’ll do it. You don’t need to get any closer. Just one question first. You work for Minerva?”

“Just hit my ten-year anniversary. Where are my friends? They better not be in that trunk.”

“You were sent here to look for me?”

“We were sent to the intersection. Got moved here when the other guys spotted you. What’s in the trunk? Where are my friends?”

“You had guys here. You had some at the Greyhound station. Where else?”

“No idea. Wasn’t told, didn’t ask. Now, enough talking. Show me what’s in the trunk.”

“You’re right. Talking’s not getting us anywhere. It’s time to—”

Reacher butted the guy in the face. He didn’t pull his head back very far. He didn’t want to telegraph what was coming. That meant sacrificing some power so Reacher had to rely on his height and his neck muscles. It wasn’t the hardest blow he’d ever delivered. But it was hard enough. It sent the guy reeling back, still on his feet but already unconscious. He smashed into the fence. Teetered for a moment. Reacher stepped in close. He caught the guy before he hit the ground. Dragged him the last few feet to the car. Lifted the trunk lid the rest of the way. Bundled the guy inside. Then slammed it shut. Unlocked the doors and climbed in behind the wheel.

Chapter 28

Bruno Hix started his speech three times.

He started. But he couldn’t finish. He couldn’t get beyond the first couple of lines. He was too distracted. All he could think about was the truck stop. He couldn’t help wondering what was happening up there. He’d sent four guys to take care of one drifter. That should have been a walk in the park. But there’d been no confirmation. No status reports. No news of any kind. And the drifter had already made fools out of the men he’d sent to Colorado.

Hix jumped down from the stage. He left the room and hurried along the corridor to the far end of the building’s other wing. To Brockman’s office. The door was closed. Hix didn’t knock. He just opened it and walked in. For a moment he thought Brockman wasn’t there. The desk chair was empty. The armchair was empty. Then he saw that Brockman was stretched out on the couch by the window. An abandoned coffee mug was on the floor by his side.

Hix folded his arms. “Busy, huh?”

Brockman opened his eyes. He sat up. “Very. I’m strategizing.”

“No news?”

“Actually, yes. There is. Good news. One of my previous strategies has borne fruit, big-time. We know how Reacher got to Mississippi so fast. He took a pickup belonging to Sam Roth. The guy Angela St. Vrain was on her way to see. He’s dead, obviously, so no one reported it stolen. The guys we moved over from the intersection located it in the truck stop parking lot.”

“They found a truck?”

“Correct.”

“Who cares about a truck? Where’s Reacher?”

“He must still be there.”

“Must be? You don’t know?”

“The truck’s still there. So Reacher must be, too. What’s he going to do—walk the rest of the way? So, Bruno, chill. Our guys are there. They’re staking it out. We’ll hear the moment they have him.”