Читаем No Plan B полностью

Reacher stayed behind the tree line until he was level with the spot where the road got cut down to one lane. He found a shallow depression, maybe left by a dried-up stream, maybe by an abandoned irrigation system. He lay down in it, pressed himself into the ground, and settled in to watch. Twelve cars were waiting behind a line that had been painted on the blacktop near a sign warning drivers not to proceed unless they were escorted by the pilot vehicle. A guy was making his way along the shoulder, heading toward the end of the row. He was wearing jeans, a gray T-shirt, and black boots. He was carrying a clipboard and he had a yellow safety helmet on his head. He leaned down and looked into each vehicle he passed, checking any passengers. Another guy, of similar height but with a white helmet, was keeping pace on the other side of the vehicles, checking their drivers. The props weren’t fooling anyone, Reacher thought. These guys were obviously the next Minerva crew. The only question was whether they were just being thorough or if they hadn’t been told about Roth’s truck. Reacher smiled to himself. Maybe they did know about it. But if they didn’t, they soon would.

The area between Reacher and the road had been flattened and a square section of grass had been replaced with gravel. It was covered with tire tracks. There were multiple sets. They partially overlapped and all of them entered the space at almost the same spot. The top right-hand corner, from Reacher’s perspective. They followed the same loop around, near the edge, and led back out onto the pavement to Reacher’s left, still all together. An SUV was parked in the center of the rough circle the tracks formed, perpendicular to the road, with its rear facing Reacher. A Ford Explorer. It was burgundy with gold pinstripes and chunky tires with white letters on the sidewalls. It looked old, but shiny and well cared for.

At the far side of the road, on the shoulder, there was a port-a-potty with faded blue and white plastic walls. Next to it there was a gray metal box the size of a shipping container. Reacher figured it would be an equipment store. Next to that there was a dump trailer. It was loaded pretty full with tree branches and a net was strung over the top to stop its contents from falling or getting blown out. The name, number, and web address of the hire company were stenciled on the side.

There was only one thing missing from the scene. Construction workers. There was no sign of any activity at all behind the long line of traffic cones.

—

Reacher heard the drone of engines approaching from his right and thirty seconds later the pilot vehicle appeared. A line of cars was following in its wake like ducklings trailing their mother. The pilot turned onto the gravel square. It looped around the Explorer, adding another set of tire tracks, and came to a stop at the side of the road. The cars it had been escorting swung back into their own lane and continued heading east. The pilot pulled out. It was facing west now. It paused, then set off and the waiting cars began to follow.

The guys with the jeans and T-shirts walked back and stopped by the line on the pavement. They waited, but no more cars appeared from the east. Reacher saw them exchange glances, shrug, and cross to the Explorer. They tossed their helmets and clipboards onto the backseat and climbed in the front. They had been at the site for a long time. They felt they deserved a break.

They weren’t going to get one.

Reacher heard another engine approaching. A big diesel, coming from his left. The guys in the Explorer picked it up twenty seconds later. They climbed out. Opened the back doors. Started to reach for their props. Then they saw what kind of vehicle was making the sound. A red pickup truck. It had black glass and lots of chrome. It slowed, then stopped in front of the warning sign. The guys checked its license plate. Then they started moving toward it. They fanned out, one on each side, and paused when they were ten feet away. Each of them had pulled a gun from his waistband.

Reacher got to his feet and started to creep forward.

The guy on the driver’s side of the truck yelled, “All right. Good job getting this far. But your luck’s run out. This is the end of the line. Get out, slowly, hands where I can see them.”

There was no response from inside the truck.

Reacher moved a little farther.

The guy yelled, “Do as I tell you and no one will get hurt. We just want to talk. So come on. Get out.”

The truck’s doors stayed closed.

Reacher kept moving.

The guy yelled, “Last chance. Get out or get shot.”