Die Trying by Lee Child

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