horizon, and then a band of charcoal, and then the blackness of
night. They checked their weapons. Laced their shoes, zipped
their coats, swung their shoulders to check freedom of action.
Reacher put his hat on, and his left glove. Neagley put her Steyr
in her inside pocket and slung the Heckler & Koch over her
back.
‘See you later,’ she whispered.
She walked west into the graveyard. He saw her step over the
low fence and turn a little south and then she disappeared in
the darkness. He walked to the base of the tower and stood
flat against the middle of the west wall and recalculated the
Tahoe’s position. Pointed his arm out straight towards it and
walked back, moving his arm to compensate for his changes of
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position, keeping the target locked in. He laid the M16 on the
ground with the muzzle pointing a little south of west. He
stepped behind the Yukon and leaned on the tailgate and waited
for the dawn.
It came slowly and gradually and magnificently. The purple
colour grew lighter and reddened at its base and spread upward
and outward until half the sky was streaked with light. Then an
orange halo appeared two hundred miles away in South Dakota
and the earth tumbled towards it and the first slim arc of the
sun burst up over the horizon. The sky blazed pink. Long high
clouds burned red. Reacher watched the sun and waited until it
climbed high enough to hurt his eyes and then he unlocked the
Yukon and started the engine. He blipped it loud and turned
the radio on full blast. He ran the tuning arrows up and down
until he found some rock and roll and left the driver’s door open
so the music beat against the dawn silence. Then he picked up
the M16 and knocked the safety off and put it to his shoulder
and fired a single burst of three, aiming a little south of west
directly over the hidden Tahoe. He heard Neagley answer
immediately with a triple of her own. The MP5 had a faster
cyclic rate and a distinctive chattering sound. She was
triangulated in the grass a hundred yards due south of the
Tahoe, firing directly north over it. He. fired again, three more
from the east. She fired again, three more from the south. The
four bursts of fire crashed and rolled and echoed over the
landscape. They said: we… know.., you’re.., there.
He waited thirty seconds, as planned. There was no response
from the Tahoe’s position. No lights, no movement, no return
fire. He raised the rifle again. Aimed high. Squeezed the
trigger. We. The Heckler & Koch chattered far away to his left. Know. He fired again. You’re. She fired again. There.
No response. He wondered for a second whether they’d
already slipped away in the last hour. Or gotten really smart and
moved through the town to the east. They were dumb to attack
into the sun. He spun round and saw nothing behind him
except lights snapping on in windows. Heard nothing anywhere
except the ringing in his ears and the deafening rock and roll
music from the car. He turned back ready to fire again and saw
the Tahoe burst up out of the grass a hundred and fifty yards in
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front of him. The dawn sun flashed gold and chrome against its tailgate. It bucked over a rise with all four wheels off the
ground and crashed back to earth and accelerated away from
him into the west.
He threw the rifle into the Yukon’s back seat and slammed
the door and killed the radio and accelerated straight across the
graveyard. Smashed through the wooden fence and plunged
into the grassland. Hung a fast curve south. The terrain was
murderous. The car was crashing and bouncing over ruts and
pitching wildly over long swells. He steered one-handed
and clipped his belt with the other. Pulled it tight against the
locking mechanism to keep him clamped to the seat. He saw
Neagley racing towards him through the grass on his left. He
jammed on the brakes and she wrenched the nearside rear
door open and threw herself inside behind him. He took off