‘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.’