"Spivey on duty?" I asked him.
"You want him?" the guard said.
"Tell him Mr. Reacher's here," I said.
The guy ducked under a Perspex hood and made a call. Ducked back out again and shouted over to me.
"He doesn't know any Mr. Reacher," he said.
"Tell him Chief Morrison sent me," I said. "Over from Margrave."
The guy went under the Perspex thing again and started talking. After a minute he was back out.
"OK, drive on through," he said. "Spivey will meet you at reception."
"Tell him he's got to come out here," I said. "Meet me on the road."
I walked away and stood in the dust on the edge of the blacktop. It was a battle of nerves. I was betting Spivey would come on out. I'd know in five minutes. I waited. I could smell rain coming out of the west. In an hour, it was going to roll right over us. I stood and waited.
Spivey came out. I heard the grilles on the vehicle cage grinding across. I turned and saw a dirty Ford driving through. It came out and stopped next to the Bentley. Spivey heaved himself out. He walked over. Big guy, sweating, red face and hands. His uniform was dirty.
"Remember me?" I asked him.
His small snake eyes flicked around. He was adrift and worried.
"You're Reacher," he said. "So what?"
"Right," I said. "I'm Reacher. From Friday. What was the deal?"
He shifted from foot to foot. He was going to play hard to get. But he'd already showed his hand. He'd come out to meet me. He'd already lost the game. But he didn't speak.
"What was the deal on Friday?" I said again.
"Morrison is dead," he said. Then he shrugged and clamped his thin lips. Wouldn't say any more.
I stepped casually to my left. Just a foot or so, to put Spivey's bulk between me and the gate guard. So the gate guard couldn't see. Morrison's switchblade appeared in my hand. I held it up at Spivey's eye level for a second. Just long enough for him to read the gold-filled engraving in the ebony. Then the blade popped out with a loud click. Spivey's small eyes were fixed on it.
"You think I used this on Morrison?" I said.
He was staring at the blade. It shone blue in the stormy sun.
"It wasn't you," he said. "But maybe you had good reason."
I smiled at him. He knew it wasn't me who killed Morrison. Therefore he knew who had. Therefore he knew who Morrison's bosses were. Simple as that. Three little words, and I was getting somewhere. I moved the blade a fraction closer to his big red face.
"Want me to use this on you?" I said.
Spivey looked around wildly. Saw the gate guard thirty yards away.
"He's not going to help you," I said. "He hates your useless fat guts. He's just a guard. You sucked ass and got promotion. He wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire. Why should he?"
"So what do you want?" Spivey said.
"Friday," I said. "What was the deal?"
"And if I tell you?" he said.
I shrugged at him.
"Depends what you tell me," I said. "You tell me the truth, I'll let you go back inside. Want to tell me the truth?"
He didn't reply. We were just standing there by the road. A battle of nerves. His nerves were shot to hell. So he was losing. His little eyes were darting about. They always came back to the blade.
"OK, I'll tell you," he said. "Time to time, I helped Morrison out. He called me Friday. Said he was sending two guys over. Names meant nothing to me. Never heard of you or the other guy. I was supposed to get the Hubble guy killed. That's all. Nothing was supposed to happen to you, I swear it."
"So what went wrong?" I asked him.
"My guys screwed up," he said. "That's all, I swear it. It was the other guy we were after. Nothing was supposed to happen to you. You got out of there, right? No damage done, right? So why give me a hard time?"
I flashed the blade up real quick and nicked his chin. He froze in shock. A moment later a fat worm of dark blood welled out of the cut.
"What was the reason?" I asked him.
"There's never a reason," he said. "I just do what I'm told."
"You do what you're told?" I said.
"I do what I'm told," he said again. "I don't want to know any reasons."
"So who told you what to do?" I said.
"Morrison," he said. "Morrison told me what to do."
"And who told Morrison what to do?" I asked him.
I held the blade an inch from his cheek. He was just about whimpering with fear. I stared into his small snake eyes. He knew the answer. I could see that, far back in those eyes. He knew who told Morrison what to do.
"Who told him what to do?" I asked him again.
"I don't know," he said. "I swear it, grave of my mother."
I stared at him for a long moment. Shook my head.
"Wrong, Spivey," I said. "You do know. You're going to tell me."
Now Spivey shook his head. His big red face jerked from side to side. The blood was running down his chin onto his slabby jowls.
"They'll kill me if I do," he said.
I flicked the knife at his belly. Slit his greasy shirt.
"I'll kill you if you don't," I said.
Guy like Spivey, he thinks short term. If he told me, he'd die tomorrow. If he didn't tell me, he'd die today. That's how he thought. Short term. So he set about telling me. His throat started working up and down, like it was too dry to speak. I stared into his eyes. He couldn't get any words out. He was like a guy in a movie who crawls up a desert dune and tries to call for water. But he was going to tell me.