heavy stiff wire, ready to feed a trailer’s electric circuits. He
wrenched it out and stripped the insulation with his teeth. Ran back
to the moonlight.
He kept close to the road, all the way back to Yorke. Two miles,
twenty minutes at a slow agonizing jog through the trees. He looped
around behind the ruined northeastern block and approached the
courthouse from the rear. Circled it silently in the shadows. Waited
and listened.
He tried to think like Borken. Complacent. Happy with his perimeter.
Constant information from inside the FBI. Reacher locked into the
punishment hut, Holly locked into her prison room. Would he post a
sentry? Not tonight. Not when he was expecting heavy action tomorrow
and beyond. He would want his people fresh. Readier nodded and
gambled he was right.
He arrived at the courthouse steps. Deserted. He tried the door.
Locked. He smiled. Nobody posts a sentry behind a locked door. He
bent the wire into a shallow hook and felt for the mechanism. An old
two-lever. Eight seconds. He stepped inside. Waited and listened.
Nothing. He went up the stairs.
The lock on Holly’s door was new. But cheap. He worked quietly which
delayed him. Took him more than thirty seconds before the last tumbler
clicked back. He pulled the door open slowly and stepped onto the
built-up floor. Glanced apprehensively at the walls. She was on a
mattress on the floor. Fully dressed and ready. Awake and watching
him. Huge eyes bright in the gloom. He gestured her outside. Turned
and climbed down and waited in the corridor for her. She picked up her
crutch and limped to the door. Climbed carefully down the step and
stood next to him.
“Hello, Readier,” she whispered. “How are you doing?”
“I’ve felt better,” he whispered back. Time to time.”
She turned and glanced back into her room. He followed her gaze and
saw the dark stain on the floor.
“Woman who brought me lunch,” she whispered.
He nodded.
“What with?” he whispered back.
Tart of the bed frame,” she said.
He saw the satisfaction on her face and smiled.
That should do it,” he said, quietly. “Bed frames are good for
that.”
She took a last look at the room and gently closed the door. Followed
him through the dark and slowly down the stairs. Across the lobby and
through the double doors and out into the bright silent moonlight.
“Christ,” she said, urgently. “What happened to you?”
He glanced down and checked himself over in the light of the moon. He
was gray from head to foot with dust and grit. His clothing was
shredded. He was streaked with sweat and blood. Still shaky.
“Long story,” he said. “You got somebody in Chicago you can trust?”
“McGrath,” she said immediately. “He’s my agent-in-charge. Why?”
They crossed the wide street arm-in-arm, looking left and right.
Skirted the mound in front of the ruined office building. Found the
path running northwest.
“You need to send him a fax,” he said. They’ve got missiles. You need
to warn him. Tonight, because their line is going to be cut first
thing in the morning.”
The mole tell them that?” she asked.
He nodded.
“How?” she asked. “How is he communicating?”
“Short-wave radio,” Reacher said. “Has to be. Anything else is
traceable.”
He swayed and leaned on a tree. Gave her the spread, everything,
beginning to end.
“Shit,” she said. “Ground-to-air missiles? Mass suicide? A
nightmare.”
“Not our nightmare,” he said. “We’re out of here.”
“We should stay and help them,” she said. The families.”
He shook his head.
“Best help is for us to get out,” he said. “Maybe losing you will
change their plan. And we can tell them about the layout around
here.”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“I do,” he said. “First rule is stick to priorities. That’s you.
We’re out of here.”
She shrugged and nodded.
“Now?” she asked.
“Right now,” he said.
“How?” she asked.
“Jeep through the forest,” he said. “I found their motor pool. We get
up there, steal a jeep, by then it should be light enough to find our
way through. I saw a map in Borken’s office. There are plenty of