Читаем No Plan B полностью

A noise came from the back of the truck. A piercing electronic shriek. It lasted two seconds. Then there was a whirring sound. Then a clunk. The truck’s tailgate had opened. The guys raised their guns. They started moving toward it, slowly, trying to stay silent. They made it halfway along the side of the load bed. Three-quarters. Then all the way to the back. They paused. They glanced at each other. The guy on the driver’s side held up three fingers. He folded one down. He folded the second. Then the third. Both guys took another step. A big one, on the diagonal. Their guns were raised. They were pointing directly into the load bed.

The truck started moving. It accelerated hard. The pedal must have been all the way to the floor. Its rear wheels spun and skittered and kicked up handfuls of grit. The sharp fragments flew through the air like shrapnel. The guys turned and bent and covered their faces. It was an instinctive reaction. But it only lasted for a second. They straightened up and raised their guns and started firing at the truck. Its tailgate was closing again. The guy on the passenger side hit it with one round. The guy on the driver’s side was going for the tires. He did some damage to the blacktop, but nothing else. They each squeezed off another couple of shots, then the guy on the passenger side started running toward the Explorer.

“Come on,” the guy yelled. “He can’t get far.”

The other guy followed him. They jumped inside. The guy behind the wheel pulled out his keys. He jammed one into the ignition. But he didn’t fire up the engine.

Reacher was sitting in the center of the rear seat. Both his arms were stretched out. He had the captured SIG in his left hand. The Beretta in his right. He pressed the muzzles against the back of both guys’ heads and said, “Open the windows.”

The driver turned his key one notch clockwise and buzzed both front windows all the way down.

Reacher said, “Throw out your guns.”

The guys did as they were told.

Reacher said, “Do you know who I am?”

Both guys nodded.

“Then you know you need to cooperate. I want some information. Give it to me, then you can go.”

The driver said, “We can’t. We don’t know anything.”

“You work for Minerva?”

The driver nodded.

“Is anyone else looking for me between here and Winson?”

Neither of the guys answered.

Reacher pulled the guns back. He slid the SIG between his knees. Then he leaned through the gap between the front seats and punched the passenger just next to his ear. The guy’s head snapped sideways. It smashed into the window, bounced back a few inches, then the guy slumped face-first into the dashboard.

Reacher raised the Beretta again. “Hands on the wheel. Move, and I’ll blow your head off. Do you understand?”

The driver grabbed the wheel. His hands were in the ten and two position and his knuckles were white like a nervous teenager’s before his first lesson.

Reacher said, “Do you know what I just did?”

“You knocked out Wade.”

“I gave you plausible deniability.”

The driver didn’t react.

“Plausible deniability,” Reacher said. “It means you can do something, then say you didn’t and no one can prove otherwise. Like, you can answer my questions.”

The guy didn’t respond.

“You can tell me what I need to know. No one will ever find out. Then you can drive away. Lie low for a couple of days. Claim you escaped. Or I could break your arms and legs and throw you in the nearest dumpster. Your choice.”

The guy glanced to his right but he didn’t speak.

Reacher said, “The cavalry isn’t coming. Think about it. How many lanes are open?”

“One.”

“What just drove that way?”

“The truck you stole.”

“Correct. So it’s going to meet the pilot vehicle, head-on. The person driving it is stubborn like you wouldn’t believe. No way is she going to back up again. It’s going to take hours to sort that mess out.”

The guy glanced to his left.

“No one can get through that way, either. We covered all the bases. It’s just you and me. And you have a decision to make.”

The guy was silent for another moment, then he said, “What do you want to know?”

“Has Brockman got anyone else looking for me between here and Winson?”

“How would I know? Brockman doesn’t share his plans with me.”

“Brockman’s a smart man, I guess. Relatively speaking. So what did he share?”

“A picture of you. An old one. A description of the truck you stole. And its license plate.”

“What were your orders?”

“To stop you from getting to Winson.”

“Why doesn’t Brockman want me to get to Winson?”

“He didn’t say.”

“What’s happening there in the next couple of days?”

“Nothing special. Some con’s getting released tomorrow. There’ll be speeches. Some celebrating. It happens a few times every year. The shine’s wearing off, to be honest. People are getting used to it now.”

“What else?”

The guy shrugged. “Nothing.”

“OK. You did the right thing. Start it up. You can go now.”

The guy paused for a moment, frozen. Then his hand shot out. He grabbed the key. Turned it, and the heavy old motor spluttered into life.