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An accounting thing, Angela had told Sam. Reacher had expected something complicated. Something that would require training and qualifications to unravel. But it turned out to be the simplest discrepancy in the book. One too many. One prisoner. One breakfast. One lunch. One dinner…

—

Jed jumped into the back of the VW and said, “How can you be so sure that wasn’t my dad? You’ve never met him.”

“I saw his photo from the day he was arrested.”

“People change,” Hannah said. She pulled an exaggerated, fake shiver. “If you saw a picture of me from sixteen years ago…”

Reacher said, “Part of the real Anton Begovic’s ear is missing. Ears don’t grow back. That’s why the photo in the envelope in Angela’s purse was so critical. Without it we would never have known the wrong guy just got released.”

Hannah sped up a little. “Who did get released?”

“Someone who needed a new ID. We’ll find out, if we can catch up to Hix.”

“What if Hix doesn’t go home?”

“I think he will. He wasn’t expecting us to be at the ceremony, so he wasn’t expecting to run. He’ll either hole up or grab some supplies for the road.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“I’ll call Detective Harewood. Have him bring in the FBI.”

Jed said, “Stop talking about this Hix guy. I don’t care about him. I only care about my dad.”

“We need to find Hix so we can find out what happened to your dad.”

“What happened? Nothing happened. He’s in prison. Still locked up.”

Reacher didn’t reply. Neither did Hannah.

Jed said, “Where else could he be? The wrong guy came out. My dad must still be inside.”

Reacher said, “The wrong guy came out. That’s all we know for sure.”

“The guy took my dad’s name.” Jed started to cry. “You can’t have two people with the same name. My dad’s dead. Isn’t he? That’s what you’re not saying. He’s dead and I never even got to meet him.”

—

Hannah cruised slowly past the big white house. The BMW was back in the same spot as it had been that morning.

“Thank goodness. He’s there.” Hannah pulled over to the grass verge at the side of the road. “But what can we do now? You can’t buzz the intercom and ask Hix to let you in. I bet the gates are too strong to smash through. They probably have sensors that go off if you climb them. There’s broken glass cemented on the top of the walls. And I bet there are sensors in the ground on the other side.”

“Back up, close to the wall.” Reacher took a gun from the pillowcase. The desert tan SIG P320 he’d captured from the second pair of guys at the truck stop on I-20. “Jed, look in the bottom drawer. I need five blankets. And the cushion from the couch.”

—

Reacher tied two of the blankets corner to diagonal corner to maximize their combined length. He rolled them to form a makeshift rope, coiled it, and slung it around his neck. Then he tied the other three blankets together the same way. He secured one end to the VW’s rear fender and climbed onto its roof. Hannah passed him the cushion. He set it down on the glass that was fixed into the top of the wall. He laid the blanket over the cushion and lowered it slowly to make sure it didn’t touch the ground on the far side. He stepped onto the wall and stood with his feet on the narrow strip of brick without any shards. Checked that the blankets hung down far enough to grab if he needed to climb back out. Then he looked around. There was a clear band of grass, four feet wide, at the base of the wall. That’s where the sensors would be buried. Beyond the grass, running the length of the property, there was a swathe of trees twenty feet deep. Reacher aimed for a gap between two of the thinner ones. He jumped, threw himself forward, rolled, and pushed himself up into a crouch. He listened. There were no alarms. No bells. No dogs.

Reacher straightened up and moved behind the tree line until he got to a point where he could approach the house on a diagonal, toward one corner. That way there would be no windows directly facing him. He crawled forward until he was at the limit of his cover. Then he lay for five minutes, completely still, observing.

There was a sound, behind him and to the left. A twig snapping. Reacher hustled back then got up and ran toward the source of the noise. He rounded a tree. And found a man. He was sitting at the base of the trunk, hugging his knees to his chest. He peered up at Reacher and whispered, “Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.”

Reacher kept his voice low. “I’m not going to hurt you. Who are you?”

The guy straightened a little and when Reacher could see more of him he thought he looked like a young Che Guevara. The guy said, “My name’s Maurice. You?”

“Reacher. What are you doing here?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“You work for Hix? Or anyone at Minerva?”

“Hell, no.”

“You going to call the police, or do anything stupid?”

“The police are the last people I’d call. And could I do anything more stupid than get stuck in this damn yard?”

“OK, then. Nice meeting you.” Reacher turned and started back toward the house.