years ago. And you said it yourself, this all was triggered by
something Armstrong did in the campaign.’
Reacher nodded. ‘But I’d still like to know more about it. We
could ask Armstrong direct, I guess.’
‘Don’t need to,’ Neagley said. ‘I can find out, if you really
need me to. I can make some calls. We’ve got plenty of
contacts. People who figure on getting a job with us when they
quit are generally interested in making a good impression
beforehand.’
Reacher yawned. ‘OK, do it. First thing tomorrow.’
‘I’ll do it tonight. The military still works twenty-four hours a
day. Hasn’t changed any since we quit.’
‘You should sleep. It can wait.’,
‘I never sleep any more.’
Reacher yawned again. ‘Well, I’m going to.’
‘Bad day,’ Neagley said.
Reacher nodded. ‘As bad as they get. So make the calls if you
want to, but don’t wake me up to tell me about them. Tell me
about them tomorrow.’
The night duty officer fixed them a ride back to the Georgetown
motel and Reacher went straight to his room. It was quiet and
still and empty. It had been cleaned and tidied. The bed was
made. Joe’s box had gone. He sat in the chair for a moment
and wondered if Stuyvesant had thought to cancel Froelich’s
booking. Then the night-time silence pressed in on him and he
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was overcome by a sense of something not there. A sense of
absence. Things that should be there and weren’t. What exactly? Froelich, of course. He had an ache for her. She should be
there, and she wasn’t. She had been there the last time he was
in the room. Early that morning. Today’s the day we win or lose, she had said. Losing is not an option, he had replied.
Something not there. Maybe Joe himself. Maybe lots of
things. There were lots of things missing from his life. Things
not done, things not said. What exactly? Maybe it was just
Armstrong’s father’s service career on his mind. But maybe it
was more than that. Was something else missing? He closed his
eyes and chased it hard but all he saw was the pink spray
of Froelich’s blood arcing backward into the sunlight. So
he opened his eyes again and stripped off his clothes and
showered for the third time that day. He found himself staring
down at the tray like he was still expecting to see it run red. But
it stayed clear and white.
The bed was cold and hard and the new sheets were stiff with
starch. He slipped in alone and stared at the ceiling for an hour
and thought hard. Then he switched off abruptly and made
himself sleep. He dreamed of his brother strolling hand in hand
with Froelich all the way round the Tidal Basin in summer. The
light was soft and golden and the blood streaming from her
neck hung in the still warm air like a shimmering red ribbon
five feet above the ground. It hung there undisturbed by the
passing crowds and it made a full mile-wide circle when she and
Joe arrived back where they had started. Then she changed into
Swain and Joe changed into the Bismarck cop. The cop’s coat
flapped open as he walked and Swain said I think we miscounted to everybody he met. Then Swain changed into Armstrong.
Armstrong smiled his brilliant politician’s smile and said I’m so
sorry and the cop turned and threaded a long gun out from
under his flapping coat and slowly racked the bolt and shot
Armstrong in the head There was no sound, because the gun
was silenced. No sound, even as Armstrong hit the water and
floated away.
There was an alarm call from the desk at six o’clock and a
minute later there was a knock at the door. Reacher rolled out
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of bed and wrapped a towel round his waist and checked the
spy hole. It was Neagley, with coffee for him. She was all
dressed and ready to go. He let her in and sat on the bed and
started the coffee and she paced the narrow alley that led to the
window. She was wired. Looked like she’d been drinking coffee