They’re going to the punishment hut,” Reacher whispered.
They lost sight of them as the trees closed around the path to the next
clearing. But they could still hear the screaming. Sounded like
Brogan knew exactly what was going to happen to him. McGrath
remembered recounting Borken’s end of the conversation on the radio.
Reacher remembered burying Jackson’s mangled body.
They risked getting a little closer to the next clearing. Saw the six
men head for the windowless hut and stop at the door. The point men
turned and covered the area with their rifles. The guy gripping
Brogan’s right wrist fumbled the key out of his pocket with his spare
hand. Brogan yelled for help. He yelled for mercy. The guy unlocked
the door. Swung it open. Stopped in surprise on the threshold and
shouted.
Joseph Ray came out. Still naked, his clothes balled in his arms.
Dried blood all over the bottom of his face like a mask. He danced and
stumbled over the shale in his bare feet. The six men watched him
go.
“Who the hell’s that?” McGrath whispered.
“Just some asshole,” Reacher whispered back.
Brogan was dropped onto the ground. Then he was hauled upright by the
collar. He was staring wildly around and screaming. Reacher saw his
face, white and terrified, mouth open. The six men threw him into the
hut. They stepped in after him. The door slammed. McGrath and
Reacher moved closer. They heard screams and the thump of a body
hitting the walls. Those sounds went on for several minutes. Then it
went quiet. The door opened. The six men filed out, smiling and
dusting their hands. The last man darted back for a final kick.
Reacher heard the blow land and Brogan scream. Then the guy locked the
door and hustled after the others. They crunched over the stones and
were gone. The clearing fell silent.
Holly limped across the raised floor to the door. Pressed her ear onto
it and listened. All quiet. No sound. She limped back to her
mattress and picked up the spare pair of fatigue trousers. Used her
teeth to pick the seams. Tore the material apart until she had
separated the front panel of one of the legs. It gave her a piece of
canvas cloth maybe thirty inches long and six wide. She took it into
the bathroom and ran the sink full of hot water. Soaked the strip of
cloth in it. Then she took off her trousers. Squeezed the soaking
canvas out and bound it as tight as she could around her knee. Tied it
off and put her trousers back on. Her idea was the hot wet cloth might
shrink slightly as it dried. It might tighten more. It was as near as
she was going to get to solving her problem. Keeping the joint rigid
was the only way to kill the pain.
Then she did what she’d been rehearsing. She pulled the rubber foot
off the bottom of her crutch. Smashed the metal end into the tile in
the shower. The tile shattered. She reversed the crutch and used the
end of the curved elbow clip to prise the shards off the wall. She
selected two. Each was a rough triangle, narrow at the
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base and pointed. She used the edge of the elbow clip to scrape away
the clay at the leading point. Left the vitrified white surface layer
intact, like the blade of a knife.
She put her weapons in two separate pockets. Pulled the shower curtain
to conceal the damage. Put the rubber foot back on the crutch. Limped
back to her mattress and sat down to wait.
The problem with using just one camera was that it had to be set to a
fairly wide shot. That was the only way to cover the whole area. So
any particular thing was small on the screen. The group of men
carrying something had shown up like a large insect crawling across the
glass.
“Was that Brogan?” Webster asked out loud.
The aide ran the video back and watched again.
“He’s face down,” he said. “Hard to tell.”
He froze the action and used the digital manipulator to enlarge the