children, silent and confused. Reacher was led in front of the crowd,
over to a table in the well of the court. Fowler was waiting there.
Stevie next to him. He nodded to a chair. Reacher sat. The guards
stood behind him. A minute later, the double doors opened and Beau
Borken walked over to the judge’s bench. The old floor creaked beneath
his bulk. Every person in the room except Reacher stood up. Stood to
attention and saluted, as if they were hearing an inaudible cue. Borken
was still in his black uniform, with belt and boots. He had added a
large holster to hold his Sig-Sauer. He held a slim leather-bound
book. He came in with six armed men in a loose formation. They took
up station in front of the bench and stood at rigid attention, gazing
forward, looking blank.
The people sat down again. Reacher glanced up at the ceiling and
quartered it with his eyes. Worked out which was the southeast corner.
The doors opened again and the crowd drew breath. Loder was pushed
into the room. He was surrounded by six guards. They pushed him to
the table opposite Fowler’s. The accused’s table. The guards stood
behind him and forced him into the chair with their hands on both his
shoulders. His face was white with fear and crusted with blood. His
nose was broken and his lips were split. Borken stared across at him.
Sat down heavily in the judge’s chair and placed his big hands, palms
down, on the bench. Looked around the quiet room and spoke.
“We all know why we’re here,” he said.
Holly could sense there was a big crowd in the room below her. She
could feel the faint rumble of a body of people holding themselves
still and quiet. But she didn’t stop working. No reason to believe
her Bureau contact would fail, but she was still going to spend the day
preparing. Just in case.
Her search for a tool had led her to the one she had brought in with
her. Her metal crutch. It was a one-inch aluminum tube, with an elbow
clip and a handle. The tube was too wide and the metal was too soft to
act as a pry-bar. But she realized that maybe if she pulled the rubber
foot off, the open end of the tube could be molded into a makeshift
wrench. She could maybe crush the tube around the shape of the bolts
holding the bed together. Then she could bend the tube at a right
angle, and maybe use the whole thing like a flimsy tire iron.
But first she had to scrape away the thick paint on the bolts. It was
smooth and slick, and it welded the bolts to the frame. She used the
edge of the elbow clip to flake the top layers. Then she scraped at
the seams until she saw bright metal. Now her idea was to limp back
and forth from the bathroom with a towel soaked in hot water. She
would press the towel hard on the bolts and let the heat from the water
expand the metal and crack its grip. Then the soft aluminum of the
crutch might just prove strong enough to do the job.
“Reckless endangerment of the mission,” Beau Borken said.
His voice was low and hypnotic. The room was quiet. The guards in
front of the judge’s bench stared forward. The guard at the end was
staring at Reacher. He was the younger guy with the trimmed beard and
the scar on his forehead Reacher had seen guarding Loder the previous
night. He was staring at Reacher with curiosity.
Borken held up the slim leather-bound volume and swung it slowly, left
to right, like it was a searchlight and he wanted to bathe the whole of
the room with its bright beam.
The Constitution of the United States,” he said. “Sadly abused, but
the greatest political tract ever devised by man. The model for our
own constitution.”
He turned the pages of the book. The rustle of stiff paper was loud in
the quiet room. He started reading.
The Bill of Rights,” he said. The fifth amendment specifies no person