know now. He shook it out of his head and threw back the
covers and stood up and stretched. One arm up to the ceiling,
then the other. He arched his back. Pointed his toes and
stretched his legs. That was the whole of his fitness routine.
He walked to the guest bathroom and went for the full twenty
two-minute ablution sequence. Teeth, shave, hair, shower. He
dressed in another of Joe’s old suits. This one was pure black,
same brand, same tailoring details. He paired it with another
fresh shirt, same Somebody & Somebody label, same pure white
cotton. Clean boxers, clean socks. A dark. blue silk tie with tiny
silver parachutes all over it. There was a British manufacturer’s
label on it. Maybe it was from the Royal Air Force. He checked
himself in the mirror and then ruined the look by putting his
new Atlantic City coat over the suit. It was coarse and clumsy in
comparison and the colours didn’t match, but he figured to be
spending some time out in the cold today, and it didn’t seem
that Joe had left any overcoats behind. He must have skipped
out in summer.
He met Froelich at the bottom of the stairs. She was in a
feminine version of his own outfit, a black trouser suit with an
open-necked white blouse. But her coat was better. It was dark
grey wool, very formal. She was putting her earpiece in. It had a
curly wire that straightened after six inches to run down her
back.
‘Want to help?’ she said. She pulled her elbows back in the
same gesture she had used when she woke up. It pushed her
160
jacket collar off the back of her neck. He dropped the wire
down between her jacket and her blouse. The tiny plug on the
end acted like a counterweight and took it all the way to her
waist. She pulled her coat and her jacket aside and he found a
black radio unit clipped to her belt in the small of her back. The
microphone lead was already plugged in and threaded up her
back and down her left sleeve. He plugged the earpiece in.
She let her jacket and her coat fall back into place and he
saw her gun in a holster clipped to her belt near her left hip,
butt forward for easy access by her right hand. It was a big
boxy SIG-Sauer P226, which he was happy about. Altogether
a better proposition than the previous-issue Beretta in her
kitchen drawer.
‘OK,’ she said. Then she took a deep breath. Checked her
watch. Reacher did the same thing. It was nearly a quarter to
eight.
‘Sixteen hours and sixteen minutes to go,’ she said. ‘Call
Neagley and tell her we’re on our way.’
He used her mobile as they walked back to her Suburban.
The morning was damp and cold, exactly the same as the night
had been except now there was some grudging grey light in the
sky. The Suburban’s windows were all misted over with dew.
But it started on the first turn of the key and the heater worked
fast and the interior was warm and comfortable by the time
Neagley climbed on board outside the hotel.
Armstrong slipped a leather jacket over his sweater and
stepped out of his back door. The wind caught his hair and he
zipped the coat as he walked to his gate. Two paces before
he got there he was picked up in the scope. The scope was a
Hensoldt 1.5-6×42 BL originally supplied with a SIG SSG3000
sniper rifle, but it had been adapted by the Baltimore gunsmith
to fit its new home, which was on top of a Vaime Mk2. Vairne was a word registered by Oy Vaimennin Metalli Ab, which was
a Finnish weapons specialist that correctly figured it needed a
simplified name if it was going to sell its excellent products in
the West. And the Mk2 was an excellent product. It was a
silenced sniper rifle that used a low-powered version of the
standard 7.62 millimetre NATO round. Low-powered, because
161
the bullet had to fly at subsonic speeds to preserve the silence