thirteenth.
‘How sure are you?’ Stuyvesant asked.
Nothing on the twelfth sheet.
‘I’m sure,’ Reacher said. ¢I’hat was the guy, and the guy was a
cop. He had a badge and he looked like a cop. He looked as
much like a cop as Bannon.’
Nothing on the eleventh sheet. Or the tenth.
‘I don’t look like a cop,’ Bannon said.
Nothing on the ninth sheet.
‘You look exactly like a cop,’ Reacher said. ‘You’ve got a cop
coat, cop pants, cop shoes. You’ve got a cop face.’
Nothing on the eighth sheet.
‘He acted like a cop,’ Reacher said.
Nothing on the seventh sheet.
‘He smelled like a cop,’ Reacher said.
Nothing on the sixth sheet. Nothing on the fifth sheet.
‘What did he say to you?’ Stuyvesant asked.
Nothing on the fourth sheet.
‘He asked me if the church was secure,’ Reacher said. ‘I
294
asked him what was going on. He said some kind of big
commotion. Then he yelled at me for leaving the church door
open. Just like a cop would talk.’
Nothing on the third sheet. Or the second. He picked up the
first sheet and knew instantly that the guy wasn’t on it. He
dropped the paper and shook his head.
‘OK, now for the bad news,’ Bannon said. ‘Bismarck PD had
nobody there in plain clothes. Nobody at all. It was considered a
ceremonial occasion. They were all in full uniform. All forty-two
of them. Especially the brass. The captain and the lieutenant
were in full dress uniform. White gloves and all.’
i’he guy was a Bismarck cop,’ Reacher said.
‘No,’ Bannon said. ‘he guy was not a Bismarck cop. At best
he was a guy impersonating a Bismarck cop.’
Reacher said nothing.
‘But he was obviously making a pretty good stab at it,’
Bannon said. ‘He convinced you, for instance. Clearly he had
the look, and the mannerisms.’
Nobody spoke.
‘So nothing’s changed, I’m afraid,’ Bannon said. ‘We’re still
looking at recent Secret Service ex-employees. Because who
better to impersonate a provincial cop than some other law
enforcement veteran who just worked his whole career alongside
provincial cops at events exactly like that one?’
295
FIFTEEN
T
HE STAFFER FROM THE OFFICE OF PROTECTION RESEARCH WAS waiting when Reacher and Neagley and Stuyvesant got
back to the Treasury Building. He was standing in the
reception area wearing a knitted sweater and blue pants, like he
had run straight in from the family dinner table. He was about
Reacher’s age and looked like a university professor except for
his eyes. They were wise and wary, like he had seen a few
things, and heard about plenty more. His name was Swain.
Stuyvesant introduced him all round and disappeared. Swain
led Reacher and Neagley through corridors they hadn’t used
before to an area that clearly doubled as a library and a lecture
room. It had a dozen chairs set facing a podium and was lined
on three walls with bookshelves. The fourth wall had a row
of hutches with computers on desks. A printer next to each
computer.
‘I heard what the FBI’s saying,’ Swain said.
‘You believe it?’ Reacher asked.
Swain just shrugged.
‘Yes or no?’ Reacher asked.
‘I guess it’s not impossible,’ Swain said. ‘But there’s no reason
to believe it’s likely. Just as likely that it’s ex-FBI agents. Or
296
current FBI agents. As an agency we’re better than they are.
Maybe they’re trying to bring us down.’
q’hink we should look in that direction?’
‘You’re Joe Reacher’s brother, aren’t you?’
Reacher nodded.
‘I worked with him,’ Swain said. ‘Way back.’
‘And?’
‘He used to encourage random observations.’
‘So do I,’ Reacher said. ‘You got any?’
‘My job is strictly academic,’ Swain said. ‘You understand?
I’m purely a researcher. A scholar, really. I’m here to analyse.’
‘And?’
qhis situation feels different from anything else I’ve seen. The hatred is very visible. Assassinations fall into two groups,
ideological or functional. A functional assassination is where
you need to get rid of a guy for some specific political or
economic reason. An ideological assassination is where you
murder a guy because you hate him, basically. There have been
plenty of attempts along those lines, over the years. I can’t tell