picture. Adjusted the joystick to put the spreadeagled man in the
center of the screen. Zoomed right in until the image blurred.
“Hard to tell,” he said again. “It’s one of them, that’s for sure.”
“I think it was Brogan,” Webster said.
Johnson looked hard. Used his finger and thumb against the screen to
estimate the guy’s height, head to toes.
“How tall is he?” he asked.
“How tall is he?” Reacher asked suddenly.
“What?” McGrath said.
Reacher was behind McGrath in the trees, staring out at the punishment
hut. He was staring at the front wall. The wall was maybe twelve feet
long, eight feet high. Right to left there was a two-foot panel, then
the door, thirty inches wide, hinged on the right, handle on the left.
Then a panel probably seven and a half feet wide running down to the
end of the building.
“How tall is he?” Reacher asked again.
“Christ, does it matter?” McGrath said.
“I think it does,” Reacher said.
McGrath turned and stared at him.
“Five nine, maybe five ten,” he said. “Not an especially big guy.”
The cladding was made up of horizontal eight-by-fours nailed over the
frame. There was a seam halfway up. The floor was probably
three-quarters board laid over two-by-fours. Therefore the floor
started nearly five inches above the bottom of the outside cladding.
About an inch and a half below the bottom of the doorway.
“Skinny, right?” Reacher said.
McGrath was still staring at him.
Thirty-eight regular, best guess,” he said.
Reacher nodded. The walls would be two-by-fours clad inside and out
with the plywood. Total thickness five and a half inches, maybe less
if the inside cladding was thinner. Call it the inside face of the end
wall was five inches in from the corner, and the floor was five inches
up from the bottom.
“Right-handed or left-handed?” Reacher asked.
“Speak to me,” McGrath hissed.
“Which?” Reacher said.
“Right-handed,” McGrath said. “I’m pretty sure.”
The two-by-fours would be on sixteen-inch centers. That was the
standard dimension. But from the corner of the hut to the right-hand
edge of the door, the distance was only two feet. Two feet less five
inches, for the thickness of the end wall, was nineteen inches. There
was probably a two-by-four set right in the middle of that span. Unless
they skimped it, which was no problem. The wall would be stuffed with
fiberglass wadding, for insulation.
“Stand back,” Reacher whispered.
“Why?” McGrath said.
“Just do it,” Reacher replied.
McGrath moved out of the way. Reacher put his eyes on a spot ten
inches in from the end of the hut and just shy of five feet up from the
bottom. Swayed left and rested his shoulder on a tree. Raised his
M-16 and sighted it in.
“Hell are you doing?” McGrath hissed.
Reacher made no reply. Just waited for his heart to beat and fired.
The rifle cracked and the bullet punched through the siding a hundred
yards away. Ten inches from the corner, five feet from the ground.
“Hell are you doing?” McGrath hissed again.
Reacher just grabbed his arm and pulled him into the woods. Dragged
him north and waited. Two things happened. The six men burst back
into the clearing. And the door of the punishment hut opened. Brogan
was framed in the doorway. His right arm was
QVA
hanging limp. His right shoulder was shattered and pumping blood. In
his right hand, he was holding his Bureau .38. The hammer was back.
His ringer was tight on the trigger.
Readier snicked the M-16 to burst fire. Stitched five bursts of three
shells into the ground, halfway across the clearing. The six men
skidded away, like they were suddenly facing an invisible barrier or a
drop off a tall cliff. They ran for the woods. Brogan stepped out of
the hut. Stood in a bar of sunshine and tried to lift his revolver.
His arm wouldn’t work. It hung uselessly.
“Decoy,” Reacher said. “They thought I’d go in after him. He was
waiting behind the door with his gun. I knew he was the bad guy. But
they had me fooled for a moment.”
McGrath nodded slowly. Stared at the government-issue .38 in Brogan’s