Child, Lee – Without Fail

‘But did you vote for that ticket?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I did. Would you have?’

‘I guess so,’ he said. ‘You ever hear anything about

Armstrong before?’

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I mean, I’m interested in politics,

but I’m not one of those people who can name all hundred

senators.’

‘Would you run for office?’

‘Not in a million years. I like a low profile, Reacher. I was a

sergeant, and I always will be, inside. Never wanted to be an

officer.’

‘You had the potential.’

She shrugged and smiled, all at the same time. ‘Maybe I did.

But what I didn’t have was the desire. And you know what?

Sergeants have plenty of power. More than you guys ever

realized.’

‘Hey, I realized,’ he said. ‘Believe me, I realized.’

‘She’s not coming back, you know. We’re sitting here talking

and wasting time and I’m missing all kinds of flights home, and

she’s not coming back.’

‘She’s coming back.’

Froelich parked in the garage and headed upstairs. Presidential

protection was a non-stop operation, but Sundays still felt

different. People dressed differently, the air was quieter, phone

traffic was down. Some people spent the day at home. Like

Stuyvesant, for instance. She closed her office door and sat at

her desk and opened a drawer. Took out the things she needed

and slipped them into a large brown envelope. Then she opened

Reacher’s expenses file and copied the figure on the bottom line

onto the top sheet of her yellow pad and switched her shredder

on. Fed the whole file into it, sheet by sheet, and then followed

it with the file of recomm endations and all the six-by-four photographs,

one by one. She fed the file folders themselves in and

stirred the long curling shreds around in the output bin until

they were hopelessly tangled. Then she switched the machine

off again and picked up the envelope and headed back down to

the garage.

68

Reacher saw her car from the hotel room window. It came

round the corner and slowed. There was no traffic on the

street. Late in the afternoon, on a November Sunday in D.C.

The tourists were in their hotels, showering, getting ready

for dinner. The natives were home, reading their newspapers,

watching the NFL on television, paying bills, doing chores. The

air was fogging with evening. Streetlights were sputtering to

life. The black Suburban had its headlights on. It pulled a wide

U across both lanes and slid into an area reserved for waiting

taxis.

‘She’s back,’ Reacher said.

Neagley joined him at the window. ‘We can’t help her.’

‘Maybe she isn’t looking for help.’

q?hen why would she come back?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘A second opinion? Validation? Maybe

she just wants to talk. You know, a problem shared is a problem

halved.’

‘Why talk to us?’

‘Because we didn’t hire her and we can’t fire her. And we

weren’t rivals for her position. You know how these organizations

work.’

‘Is she allowed to talk to us?’

‘Didn’t you ever talk to somebody you shouldn’t have?’

Neagley made a face. ‘Occasionally. Like, I talked to you.’

‘And I talked to you, which was worse, because you weren’t

an officer.’

‘But I had the potential.’

qhat’s for damn sure,’ he said, looking down. ‘Now she’s just

sitting there.’

‘She’s on the phone. She’s calling somebody.’

The room phone rang.

‘Us, evidently,’ Reacher said.

He picked up the phone.

‘We’re still here,’ he said.

Then he listened for a moment.

‘OK,’ he said, and put the phone down.

‘She coming up?’ Neagley asked. He nodded and went back

to the window in time to see Froelich climbing out of the car.

69

She was holding an envelope. She skipped across the sidewalk

and disappeared from sight. Two minutes later they heard the

distant chime of the elevator arriving on their floor. Twenty

seconds after that, a knock on the door. Reacher stepped over

and opened up and Froelich walked in and stopped in the

middle of the room. Glanced first at Neagley, and then at

Reacher.

‘Can we have a minute in private?’ she asked him.

‘Don’t need one,’ he said. he answer is yes.’

‘You don’t know the question yet.’