'I get that. I know you had to act a part. But you didn't have to blink.'
'My aim was to get out of there as fast as I could. The sooner the better. By any means available. So I thought if I enlisted you I might get out quicker. You looked like a capable guy. I thought you might get the chance to stage something along the way. But you didn't. So sure enough I ended up face to face with the Kansas City boys, who put me in here, because I played my part so well they think I'm nobody.'
'So what really happened last night?'
'You saw most of it.'
'But not all of it. And I didn't understand any of it. And I'm interested in the conversation you had with McQueen after he shot King in the heart. You must have had at least half an hour alone with him, before you were picked up.'
'Closer to forty minutes. And it wasn't McQueen who shot King in the heart. He passed me his gun around the seat. I told you different because I was still playing the part back then. Also I made up all that stuff about screaming and wailing.'
'So what really happened last night?'
'You tell me.'
Reacher shrugged.
'I have no idea,' he said. 'But I don't think either King or McQueen was carrying the knife. Too big for a suit pocket. There was nothing in their hands. I suppose one of them could have had it strapped to his forearm, but that seems unlikely. I think the other guy had it. And I think he was always planning to use it. He was unzipping his coat as he walked into the bunker.'
'You spoke to the eyewitness.'
'I'm sure he'll deny it. He's following the rules. For the free beer.'
Delfuenso said, 'These things are always co-productions. King and McQueen went on behalf of Wadiah to meet with some other guy appearing on behalf of some other group. Funding, probably, or some other kind of cooperation. Or logistics. Or supply. It was supposed to be a love-in. The plan was King and McQueen should get a ride there, and then the new guy would take them onward to his HQ. Like a ritual dance. But it went to rat shit immediately. The new guy started shouting something at them and then he pulled out a knife and tried to kill them. McQueen disarmed him.'
'And broke his arm in the process.'
'Did he?'
Sorenson said, 'The medical examiner told us. At lunchtime today.'
Reacher said, 'And then what?'
Delfuenso said, 'And then McQueen killed the guy. In self defence. Almost a reflex.'
'Bullshit,' Reacher said. 'He killed him to shut him up. The guy was shouting. Who knew what he was going to say next? Too big a risk to take. Could be the guy is based in San Diego and he's seen McQueen going in and out of the FBI building there. And McQueen wouldn't want King to hear that.'
'It was a justifiable homicide.'
'Did he do it well?'
'Is that your benchmark for justifiable?'
'Style points can help. If the decision is close.'
'I don't know how well he did it.'
'I do,' Sorenson said. 'I saw the body. And he did it pretty well. Lateral slash on the forehead to blind the guy, and the knife up under the ribs, like one, two.'
'Happy now?' Delfuenso asked.
'That's a little old-school,' Reacher said. 'Don't you think? The forehead thing used to be considered cool. Flamboyant, even. But it was always completely unnecessary. Might as well make the second move first. If you've got a nine-inch blade up to the hilt in someone's gut, does it really bother you that he's still got 20-20 vision?'
'Whatever, it was justifiable.'
'I agree. No argument from me. Either way. What happened next?'
'They ran for it. They didn't like the red car. They figured either the local cops or the other group of bad guys would come looking for it. Or both. McQueen knew where I was. He always knew my whereabouts. So he drove up to Sin City, but like he didn't really know where he was going, and he kind of pretended to spot my Chevy, and right away King agreed it would be a good car to steal.'
'But they didn't just steal it.'
'They couldn't get it open. It's a late model. All kinds of security. They set the alarm off. I looked out the window in the ladies' room. They were just standing there. So I figured if I went out back like I had just finished work they could rob me at gunpoint and take the key. That was what I was expecting. McQueen too, he said. Maybe a tap on the head, at worst. But King had other ideas. He didn't want to leave a witness. So he went for the whole hijack thing. He took the cocktail waitress along for the ride. And so the act began.'
'Did McQueen know the guy in the bunker?'
'No. He told me he'd never seen him before.'
'So you don't know who he was either. And you weren't getting a real-time news feed all night and all day. Not like we were. And Kansas City won't have told you, because you're nobody.'
'Told me what?'
Sorenson said, 'As far as we know the dead guy was a CIA head of station.'
Delfuenso was quiet for a moment. Then she said, 'I need guidance on this.' She opened her bible and took out the cell phone and the charger. She got everything plugged in. She held a button down for two long seconds. The screen lit up. With a text message already on it. All in capital letters.
'Emergency,' she said. 'McQueen just dropped off the radar.'
SIXTY-ONE
DELFUENSO CALLED WHATEVER secret number was stored in her phone, and she got the latest update. To say McQueen had dropped off the radar was just a figure of speech. In reality his GPS signals had disappeared off a computer screen. He was carrying two chips, one in his phone, and one sewn in the back of his belt. For seven months they had recorded his every move. Now an hour ago they had blinked off and disappeared, never to return. Both of them. Seconds apart. The likelihood of two near-simultaneous failures was so remote it wasn't even worth considering. McQueen was in trouble.
Reacher asked, 'Where was he last recorded?'
Delfuenso said, 'At his normal location.'
'Which is where?'
'A Wadiah hideout.'
'Which is where?'
'Near Kansas City.'
Reacher asked, 'Do your people have a plan?'
Delfuenso said, 'We're not going to involve the Kansas City boys. That was decided a long time ago. They're walled off, as of this minute. Because they can't help us with a problem like this. Their track record tells us they probably caused it.'
'So what's the plan?'
'A SWAT team direct from Quantico.'
'When?'
'Rapid deployment.'
'How rapid?'
'They'll be in Kansas City in eight hours.'
'That's rapid?'
'It's a big country. There's a lot to organize.'
'Eight hours is way too long.'
'I know it is.'
'But we're right here. The three of us. We're a hundred miles from Kansas City. Which is two hours. Not eight.'
There was no discussion. Not that Reacher expected there to be. An undercover agent was down, and he figured the FBI's unwritten codes would be at least half as strong as the army's. Undercover was the toughest job in the world, and the only way to make it bearable was to make it so the guy in the field knew he was watched over by people who would react instantly if he ran into trouble.
They gave themselves three minutes to prepare. Reacher didn't need them. He hadn't unpacked. His toothbrush was still in his pocket. He was good to go. Delfuenso spent her time writing a note for Lucy. Sorenson spent her time getting out of her pant suit and into the free stuff from the piles on her bed. She said she felt it was going to be a denim kind of night.
Then in a brief before-the-storm pause Delfuenso looked straight at Reacher and said, 'Remember, Wadiah has your name and your description.'
Reacher said, 'I know.'
'And McQueen has almost certainly told them it was you who killed King. Remember that too.'
'What are you, my mother? Don't worry about me.'
At that point they had just one weapon between them, which was the Glock 19 from Delfuenso's bible. She carried it in her right hand, with her ID wallet open and ready in her left. Her phone was in her pants pocket. First port of call was Trapattoni's room. His light was still on. He answered Delfuenso's knock within seconds. He was confused by her ID. Like the ground had suddenly shifted under his feet. Not a cocktail waitress. Not an innocent victim. Not any more. And apparently her ID was better than his. Higher up the food chain. Like an ace of trumps. Maybe because it had been issued by the Hoover Building, not by a regional field office. Reacher didn't really understand the nuances. But the guy fell in line immediately. He grabbed his suit coat, no questions asked, and he hustled with them all the way over to Bale's quarters.