"I understand you need to talk to me," the guy said.
"I'm General Garber. I was Jack Reacher's CO for a number of years."
Webster nodded.
"I'm going to Montana," he said. "You can talk to me there."
"We anticipated that," Garber said. "If the Bureau can fly us out to Kalispell, the Air Force will take us on the rest of the way by helicopter."
Webster nodded again. Buzzed through to his secretary. She was off duty.
"Shit," Webster said.
"My driver is waiting," Garber said. "He'll take us out to Andrews."
Webster called ahead from the car and the Bureau Lear was waiting ready. Twenty minutes after leaving the White House, Webster was in the air heading west over the center of the city. He wondered if the President could hear the scream of his engines through his thick bulletproof glass.
THE AIR FORCE technicians arrived with the satellite trucks an hour after the command post had been installed. There were two vehicles in their convoy. The first was similar to the command post itself, big, high, boxy, hydraulic jacks at each corner, a short aluminum ladder for access. The second was a long flatbed truck with a big satellite dish mounted high on an articulated mechanism. As soon as it was parked and level, the mechanism kicked in and swung the dish up to find the planes, seven miles up in the darkening sky. It locked on and the delicate electronics settled down to tracking the moving signals. There was a continuous motor sound as the dish moved through a subtle arc, too slowly for the eye to detect. The techs hauled out a cable the thickness of a sapling's trunk from the flatbed and locked it into a port on the side of the closed truck. Then they swarmed up inside and fired up the monitors and the recorders.
McGrath hitched a ride with the soldiers in the armored carrier. They rumbled a mile south and met a waiting Montana State Police cruiser on the road. The state guy conferred with McGrath and opened his trunk. Pulled out a box of red danger flares and an array of temporary road signs. The soldiers jogged south and put a pair of flares either side of a sign reading: Danger, Road Out. They came back north and set up a trio of flares in the center of the blacktop with a sign reading: Bridge Out Ahead. Fifty yards farther north, they blocked the whole width of the road with more flares. They strung Road Closed signs across behind them. When the state guy had slalomed his way back south and disappeared, the soldiers took axes from their vehicle and started felling trees. The armored carrier nudged them over and pushed them across the road, engine roaring, tires squealing. It lined them up in a rough zigzag. A vehicle could get through, but only if it slowed to a dead crawl and threaded its way past. Two soldiers were posted as sentries on the shoulders. The other six rode back north with McGrath.
Johnson was in the command vehicle. He was in radio contact with Peterson. The news was bad. The missile unit had been out of radio contact for more than eight hours. Johnson had a rule of thumb. He had learned it by bitter experience in the jungles of Vietnam. The rule of thumb said: when you've lost radio contact with a unit for more than eight hours, you mark that unit down as a total loss.
WEBSTER AND GARBER did not talk during the plane ride. That was Webster's choice. He was experienced enough as a bureaucrat to know that whatever he heard from Garber, he'd only have to hear all over again when the full team was finally assembled. So he sat quietly in the noisy jet whine and read the Borken profile from Quantico. Garber was looking questions at him, but he ignored them. Explain it to Garber now, and he'd only have to do it all over again for McGrath and Johnson.
The evening air at Kalispell was cold and gray for the short noisy walk across the apron to the Air Force Bell. Garber identified himself to the copilot who dropped a short ladder to the tarmac. Garber and Webster scrambled up inside and sat where they were told. The copilot signaled with both hands that they should fasten their harnesses and that the ride would take about twenty-five minutes. Webster nodded and listened to the beat of the rotor as it lifted them all into the air.
GENERAL JOHNSON HAD just finished another long call to the White House when he heard the Bell clattering in. He stood framed in the command post doorway and watched it put down on the same gravel turnout, two hundred yards south. He saw two figures spill out and crouch away. He saw the chopper lift and yaw and turn south.
He walked down and met them halfway. Nodded to Garber and pulled Webster to one side.
"Anything?" he asked.
Webster shook his head.
"No change," he said. "White House is playing safe. You?"
"Nothing," Johnson said.
Webster nodded. Nothing more to say.
"What we got here?" he asked.
"Far as the White House knows, nothing," Johnson said. "We've got two camera planes in the air. Officially, they're on exercises. We've got eight Marines and an armored car. They're on exercises, too. Their COs know where they are, but they don't know exactly why, and they're not asking."
"You sealed the road?" Webster asked.
Johnson nodded.
"We're all on our own up here," he said.
Chapter Thirty-Four
REACHER AND HOLLY sat alone in the forest, backs to two adjacent pines, staring at the mound above Jackson 's grave. They sat like that until the afternoon light faded and died. They didn't speak. The forest grew cold. The time for the decision arrived.
"We're going back," Holly said.
It was a statement, not a question. A lot of resignation in her voice. He made no reply. He was breathing low, staring into space, lost in thought. Reliving in his mind her taste and smell. Her hair and her eyes. Her lips. The feel of her, strong and lithe and urgent underneath him.
"Nightfall," she said.
"Not just yet," he said.
"We have to," she said. "They'll send the dogs after us."
He didn't speak again. Just sat there, eyes locked into the distance.
"There's nowhere else to go," she said.
He nodded slowly and stood up. Stretched and caught his breath as his tired muscles cramped. Helped Holly up and took his jacket down off the tree and shrugged it on. Left the crowbar lying in the dirt next to the shovel.
"We leave tonight," he said. "Shit's going to hit the fan tomorrow. Independence Day."
"Sure, but how?" she asked.
"I don't know yet," he said.
"Don't take risks on my account," she said.
"You'd be worth it," he said.
"Because of who I am?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Because of who you are," he said. "Not because of who your father is. Or your damn godfather. And no, I didn't vote for him."
She stretched up and kissed him on the mouth.
"Take care, Reacher," she said.
"Just be ready," he said. "Maybe midnight."
She nodded. They walked the hundred yards south to the rocky outcrop. Turned and walked the hundred yards east to the clearing. Came out of the woods straight into a semicircle of five guards waiting for them. Four rifles. Center man was Joseph Ray. He was in charge of the detail, with a Glock 17 in his hand.
"She goes back to her room," Ray said. "You go in the punishment hut."
The guards formed up. Two of them stepped either side of Holly. Her eyes were blazing and they didn't try to take her elbows. Just walked slowly beside her. She turned and glanced back at Reacher.
"See you later, Holly," Reacher called.
"Don't you bet on that, Ms. Johnson," Joseph Ray said, and laughed.