good against an armoured stretch limo. The guy would need
an anti-tank missile for that. Of which there were plenty to
choose from. The AT-4 would be favourite. It was a three-foot
disposable fibreglass tube that fired a six-and-a-half-pound
projectile through eleven inches of armour. Then the BASE principle took over. Behind Armour Secondary Effect. The
entrance hole stayed small and,tight, so the explosive event
stayed confined to the interior of the vehicle. Armstrong would
be reduced to little floating carbon pieces not much bigger than
charred wedding confetti. Reacher glanced up at the windows.
He doubted that a limo would have much armour plate in the
roof, anyway. He made a mental note to ask Froelich about it.
And to ask if she often rode in the same car as her charge.
He turned a corner and came out at the top of Armstrong’s
street. Looked up at the high windows again. A mere
demonstration wouldn’t require an actual missile. A rifle would
be functionally ineffective, but it would make a point. A couple
of chips in the limo’s bulletproof glass would serve some kind
of notice. A paintball gun would do the trick. A couple of red
splatters on the rear window would be a message. But the
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upper-floor windows were quiet as far as the eye could see.
They were clean and neat and draped and closed against the
cold. The houses themselves were quiet and calm, serene and
prosperous.
There was a small crowd of onlookers watching the Secret
Service team erect an awning between Armstrong’s house and
the kerb. It was like a long narrow white tent. Heavy white
canvas, completely opaque. The house end fitted flat against the
brick around Armstrong’s front door. The kerb end had a radius
like a jetway at an airport. It would hug the profile of the limo.
The limo’s door would open right inside it. Armstrong would
pass from the safety of his house straight into the armoured car
without ever being visible to an observer.
Reacher walked a circle round the group of curious people.
They looked unthreatening. Neighbours, mostly, he guessed.
Dressed like they weren’t going far. He moved back up the
street and continued the search for open upper-storey windows.
That would be inappropriate, because of the weather. But there
weren’t any. He looked for people loitering. There were plenty
of those. There was a block where every second storefront
was a coffee shop, and there were people passing time in every
one of them. Sipping espresso, reading papers, talking on cell
phones, writing in cramped notebooks,, playing with electronic
organizers.
He picked a coffee shop that gave him a good view south
down the street and a marginal view east and west and bought a
tall regular, black, and took a table. Sat down to wait and watch.
At ten fifty-five a black Suburban came up the street and parked
tight against the kerb just north of the tent. It was followed by
a black Cadillac stretch that parked tight against the tent’s
opening. Behind that was a black Town Car. All three vehicles
looked very heavy. All three had reinforced window frames and
one-way glass. Four agents spilled out of the lead Suburban
and took up station orj the sidewalk, two of them north of the
house and two of them south. Two Metro Police cruisers
snuffled up the street and the first stopped right in the centre of
the road well ahead of the Secret Service convoy and the second
hung back well behind it. They lit up their light bars to hold the
traffic. There wasn’t much. A blue Chevy Malibu and a gold
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Lexus SUV waited to get by. Reacher had seen neither vehicle
before. Neither had been out cruising the area. He looked
at the tent and tried to guess when Armstrong was passing
through it. Impossible. He was still gazing at the house end
when he heard the faint thump of an armoured door closing
and the four agents stepped back to their Suburban and the
whole convoy took off. The lead cop car leapt forward and
the Suburban and the Cadillac and the Town Car fell in behind