Die Trying by Lee Child

read out. Then he heard nothing. Ninety minutes later, Fowler came

back to the hut alone. He sat down behind Borken’s desk and lit a

cigarette, and the armed guards remained standing.

“We faxed it an hour ago,” Fowler said. “No reaction.”

Reacher smelled his smoke and gazed at the banners on the walls. Dark

reds and dull whites, vivid crooked symbols in black.

“Do you know why we’re getting no reaction?” Fowler asked.

Reacher just shook his head.

“You know what I think?” Fowler said “They cut the line. Phone

company is colluding with the federal agents. We were told it would

happen at seven-thirty. It obviously happened earlier.”

Reacher shrugged again. Made no reply.

“We would expect to be informed about a thing like that,” Fowler

said.

He picked up his Clock and propped it in front of him, butt on the

desktop, swiveling it like naval artillery left and right.

“And we haven’t been,” he said.

“Maybe your pal from Chicago has given you up,” Reacher said.

Fowler shook his head. His Clock came to rest aimed at Reacher’s

chest.

“We’ve been getting a stream of intelligence,” he said. “We know where

they are, how many of them there are, what their intentions are. But

now, when we still need information, we aren’t getting it.

Communication has been interrupted.”

Reacher said nothing.

“We’re investigating,” Fowler said. “We’re checking the radio right

now.”

Reacher said nothing.

“Anything you want to tell us about the radio?” Fowler asked.

“What radio?” Reacher said.

“It worked OK yesterday,” Fowler said. “Now it doesn’t work at all,

and you were wandering around all night.”

He ducked down and rolled open the drawer where Borken kept the Colt

Marshal. But he didn’t come out with a revolver. He came out with a

small black radio transmitter.

“This was Jackson’s,” he said. “He was most anxious to show us where

it was hidden. In fact he was begging to show us. He screamed and

cried and begged. Just about tore his fingernails off digging it up,

he was so anxious.”

He smiled and put the unit carefully in his pocket.

“We figure we just switch it on,” he said. That should put us straight

through to the federal scum, person-to-person. This stage of the

process, we need to talk direct. See if we can persuade them to

restore our fax line.”

“Terrific plan,” Reacher said.

“The fax line is important, you see,” Fowler said. “Vital. The world

must be allowed to know what we’re doing here. The world must be

allowed to watch and witness. History is being made here. You

understand that, right?”

Readier stared at the wall.

“They’ve got cameras, you know,” Fowler said. “Surveillance planes are

up there right now. Now it’s daylight again, they can see what we’re

doing. So how can we exploit that fact?”

Reacher shook his head.

“You can leave me out of it,” he said.

Fowler smiled.

“Of course we’ll leave you out of it,” he said. “Why would they care

about seeing you nailed to a tree? You’re nothing but a piece of shit,

to us and to them. But Holly Johnson, there’s a different story. Maybe

we’ll call them up on their own little transmitter and tell them to

watch us do it with their own spy cameras. That might make them think

about it. They might trade a fax line for her left breast.”

He ground out his cigarette. Leaned forward. Spoke quietly.

“We’re serious here, Reacher,” he said. “You saw what we did to

Jackson. We could do that to her. We could do that to you. We need

to be able to communicate with the world. We need that fax line. So

we need the short-wave to confirm what the hell they’ve done with it.

We need those things very badly. You understand that, right? So if

you want to avoid a lot of unnecessary pain, for you and for her, you

better tell me what you did to the radio.”

Reacher was twisted around, looking at the bookcase. Trying to recall

the details of the inexpert translations of the Japanese Pearl Harbor

texts he’d read.

Tell me now,” Fowler said softly. “I can keep them away from you and