Child, Lee – Without Fail

reasonable shape. A handsome face, tired eyes. He was wearing

a suit and a tie, on a Sunday. Froelich was looking at him,

worried. But he in turn was staring straight at Neagley.

‘You’re the woman on the video,’ he said. ‘In the ballroom,

Thursday night.’

He was clearly thinking hard. Running conclusions through

his head and then nodding imperceptibly to himself whenever

they made sense. After a moment he moved his gaze from

Neagley to Reacher and stepped right into the room.

‘And you’re Joe Reacher’s brother,’ he said. ‘You look just like

him.’

Reacher nodded. ‘Jack Reacher,’ he said, and offered his

hand.

Stuyvesant took it. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said. ‘Five

years late, I know, but the Treasury Department still remembers

your brother with affection.’

Reacher nodded again, q’his is Frances Neagley,’ he said.

‘Reacher brought her in to help with the audit,’ Froelich said.

86

Stuyvesant smiled a brief smile. ‘I gathered that,’ he said.

‘Smart move. What were the results?’

The office went quiet.

‘I apologize if I offended you, sir,’ Froelich said. ‘You know,

before. Talking about the tape like that. I was just explaining

the situation.’

‘What were the audit results?’ Stuyvesant asked again.

She said nothing back.

q?hat bad?’ Stuyvesant said to her. ‘Well, I certainly hope so. I

knew Joe Reacher, too. Not as well as you did, but we came into

contact, time to time. He was impressive. I’m assuming his

brother is at least half as smart. Ms Neagley, probably smarter

still. In which case they must have found ways through. Am I

right?’

ff’hree definites,’ Froelich said.

Stuyvesant nodded. ‘The ballroom, obviously,’ he said.

‘Probably the family house and that damn outdoors event in

Bismarck, too. Am I right?’

‘Yes,’ Froelich said.

‘Extreme levels of performance,’ Neagley said. ‘Unlikely to be

duplicated.’

Stu}wesant held up his hand and cut her off. ‘Let’s go to the

conference room,’ he said. ‘I want to talk about baseball.’

He led them through narrow winding corridors to a relatively

spacious room in the heart of the, complex. It had a long table in

it with ten chairs, five to a side. No windows. The same grey

synthetic carpet underfoot and the same white acoustic tile

overhead. The same bright halogen light. There was a low

cabinet against one wall. It had closed doors and three telephones

on it. Two were white and one was red. Stuyvesant sat

down and waved to the chairs on the other side of the table.

Reacher glanced at a huge notice board full of memos labelled confidential.

‘I’m going to be uncharacteristically frank,’ Stuyvesant said.

‘Just temporarily, you understand, because I think we owe you

an explanation, and because Froelich involved you with my

initial approval, and because Joe Reacher’s brother is family, so

to speak, and therefore his colleague is too.’

87

‘We worked together in the military,’ Neagley said.

Stuyvesant nodded, like that was an inference he had drawn

long ago. ‘Let’s talk about baseball,’ he said. ‘You follow the

game?’

They all waited.

q’he Washington Senators had already gone when I hit town,’

he said. ‘So I’ve had to make do with the Baltimore Orioles,

which has been a mixed bag in terms of fun. But do you

understand what’s unique about the game?’

‘The length of the season,’ Reacher said. q’he win percentages.’

Stuyvesant smiled, like he was conferring praise.

‘Maybe you’re better than half as smart,’ he said. qhe thing

about baseball is that the regular season is one hundred and

sixty-two games long. Way, way longer than any other sport.

Any other sport has fifteen or twenty or thirty-some games.

Basketball, hockey, football, soccer, anything. Any other sport,

the players can start out thinking they can win every single

game all season long. It’s just about a realistic motivational goal.

It’s even been achieved, here and there, now and then. But

it’s impossible in baseball. The very best teams, the greatest

champions, they all lose around a third of their games. They

lose fifty or sixty times a year, at least. Imagine what that feels like, from a psychological perspective. You’re a superb athlete,

you’re fanatically competitive, but you know for sure you’re

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