fuMlitlt (filing 107
share with you. Reacher and I will do it on our own. There are issues of national and military security at stake. You’re going to have to wait out here.”
“All day?” she said.
Trent nodded again. “As long as it takes. You comfortable with that?”
It was clear she wasn’t. She looked at the floor and said nothing.
“You wouldn’t let me see confidential FBI stuff,” Trent said. “I mean, you don’t really like us any more than we like you, right?”
Harper glanced around the room. “I’m supposed to watch over him.”
“I understand that. Your Mr. Blake explained your role to me. But you’ll be right here, outside my office. There’s only one door. The sergeant will give you a desk.”
A sergeant stood up unbidden and showed her to an empty desk with a clear view of the inner office door. She sat down slowly, unsure.
“You’ll be OK there,” Trent said. “This could take us some time. It’s a complicated business. I’m sure you know how paperwork can be.”
Then he led Reacher into the inner office and closed the door. It was a large room, windows on two walls, bookcases, cabinets, a big wooden desk, comfortable leather chairs. Reacher sat down in front of the desk and leaned back.
“Give it two minutes, OK?” he said.
Trent nodded. “Read this. Look busy.”
He handed over a thick file in a faded green folder from a tall stack. Reacher opened it up and bent to examine it. There was a complicated chart inside, detailing projected aviation-fuel requirements for the coming six-month period. Trent walked back to the door. Opened it wide.
“Ms. Harper?” he called. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
Reacher glanced over his shoulder and saw her staring in at him, taking in the chairs, the desk, the stack of files.
“I’m all set, right now,” she called back.
“OK,” Trent said. “You want anything, just tell the sergeant.”
He closed the door again. Walked to the window. Reacher took off his ID tag and laid it on the desk. Stood up. Trent unlatched the window and opened it as wide as it would go.
“You didn’t give us much time,” he whispered. “But I think we’re in business.”
“They fell for it right away,” Reacher whispered back. “A lot sooner than I thought they would.”
“But how did you know you’d have the escort?”
108
1″&M
“Hope for the best, plan for the worst. You know how it is.”
Trent nodded. Stuck his head out of the window and checked both directions.
“OK, go for it,” he said. “And good luck, my friend.”
“I need a gun,” Reacher whispered.
Trent stared at him and shook his head again, firmly.
“No,” he said. “That, I can’t do.”
“You have to. I need one.”
Trent paused. He was agitated. Getting nervous.
“Christ, OK, a gun,” he said. “But no ammunition. My ass is already way out on a limb on this thing.”
He opened a drawer and took out a Beretta M9. Same weapon as Petrosian’s boys had carried, except Reacher could see this one still had its serial number intact. Trent took the clip out and thumbed the bullets back into the drawer, one by one.
“Quiet,” Reacher whispered urgently.
Trent nodded and clicked the empty clip back into the grip. Handed the gun to Reacher, butt-first. Reacher took it and put it in his coat pocket. Sat on the window ledge. Turned and swiveled his legs outside.
“Have a nice day,” he whispered.
“You too. Take care,” Trent whispered back.
Reacher braced himself with his hands and dropped to the ground. He was in a narrow alley. It was still raining. The lieutenant was waiting in the Chevy, ten yards away, motor running. Reacher sprinted for the car and it was rolling before his door was closed. The mile back to McGuire took little over a minute. The car raced out onto the tarmac and headed straight for a Marine Corps helicopter. Its belly door was standing open and the rotor blade was turning fast. The rain in the air was whipping up into spiral patterns.
“Thanks, kid,” Reacher said.