Ingram back to full auto and moved into the crowd, parting it in front
of her with slow menacing sweeps of her gun hand.
She was one woman moving slowly through a crowd of a hundred people.
They parted warily around her then, as she passed them by, they unslung
their weapons and cocked them and leveled them at her back. A wave of
loud mechanical noises trailed behind her like a slow tide. By the
time she reached the front rank, she had a hundred loaded weapons
trained on her from behind.
“Don’t shoot her!” Borken screamed. “That’s an order! Nobody
fire!”
He jumped down off the box. Panic in his face. He raised his arms out
wide and danced desperately around her, shielding her body with his
huge bulk. Nobody fired. She limped away from him and turned to face
the crowd.
“Hell are you doing?” Borken screamed at her. “You think you can
shoot a hundred people with that little popgun?”
Holly shook her head.
“No,” she said quietly.
Then she reversed the Ingram and held it to her chest.
“But I can shoot myself,” she said.
THIRTY-TWO
THE CROWD WAS SILENT. THEIR BREATHING WAS SWALLOWED UP by the awesome
mountain silence. Everybody was staring at Holly. She was holding the
Ingram reversed, the muzzle jammed into a spot above her heart. Thumb
backward on the trigger, tensed. Borken’s bloated face was greased
with panic. His huge frame was shaking and trembling. He was hopping
around next to his upturned box, staring wide-eyed at her. She was
looking back at him, calmly.
“I’m a hostage, right?” she said to him. “Important to them,
important to you, because of who I am. All kinds of importance to all
kinds of people. You expect them to do stuff to keep me alive. So now
it’s your turn. Let’s talk about what stuff you’re prepared to do to
keep me alive.”
Borken saw her glance at Reacher.
“You don’t understand,” he screamed at her. Wild urgency in his voice.
“I’m not going to kill this guy. This guy stays alive. The situation
has changed.”
“Changed how?” she asked, calmly.
“I’m commuting his sentence,” Borken said. Still panic in his voice.
“That’s why we’re here. I was just going to announce it. We know who
he is. We just found out. We were just informed.
He was in the army. Major Jack Reacher. He’s a hero. He won the
Silver Star.”
“So?” Holly asked.
“He saved a bunch of Marines,” Borken said urgently. “In Beirut.
Ordinary fighting men. He pulled them out of a burning bunker. Marines
will never attack us while he’s here. Never. So I’m going to use him
as another hostage. He’s good insurance, against the damn Marines. I
need him.”
She stared at him. Reacher stared at him.
“His sentence is commuted,” Borken said again. “Five years on
punishment detail. That’s all. Nothing else. No question about it. I
need him alive.”
He stared at her with a salesman’s beam like the problem was solved.
She stared back and forth between him and Reacher. Reacher was
watching the crowd. The crowd was angry. The circus had left town
before the performance. Reacher felt like they had all taken a step
toward him. They were testing Borken’s power over them. Holly glanced
at him, fear in her eyes. Nodded to him. An imperceptible movement of
her head. She would be safe, she was saying, whatever happened. Her
identity protected her like an invisible magic cloak. Reacher nodded
back. Without turning around, he judged the distance to the trees
behind him. Maybe twenty feet. Shove Fowler at the front rank, drag
the chain, sprint like hell, he might be in the trees before anybody
could aim a weapon. Twenty feet, standing start, using the momentum of
shouldering Fowler away to help him, maybe four or five strides, maybe
three seconds, maybe four. In the trees, he would stand a chance
against the bullets. He imagined them smacking into the trunks either
side of him as he ran and dodged. A forest is a fugitive’s best
friend. It takes a lot of luck to hit a guy running through trees. He