Die Trying by Lee Child

were stacked in the hallway outside the modified corner room. The

three builders opened each box in turn and carried the material into

the room. Then they stacked it carefully into the wide spaces behind

the new softwood framing. The unloaders generally paused for a moment

and watched them, grateful for a moment of rest.

The process lasted most of the afternoon because of the amount of

material and the care they took in moving it. When the last of the

four loads was stacked upstairs, the eight volunteers dispersed. Seven

of them headed for the mess hall. The eighth stretched in the last of

the afternoon sun and strolled off. It was his habit. Four or five

times a week, he would take a long walk on his own, especially after a

period of heavy work. It was assumed to be his way of relaxing.

He strolled in the forest. There was a beaten path running west

through the silence. He followed it for a half-mile. Then he paused

and stretched again. He used the weary twisting motion of a tired man

easing a sore back to glance around a complete circle. Then he stepped

sideways off the path. Stopped strolling. Started an urgent walk. He

dodged trees and followed a wide looping course west, then north. He

went straight for a particular tree. There was a large flat rock

bedded in needles at its base. He stood still and waited. Listened

hard. Then he ducked down and heaved the rock to one side. Underneath

was a rectangular shape wrapped in oilcloth. He unfolded the cloth and

took out a small hand-held radio. Pulled the stubby antenna and hit a

button and waited. Then he whispered a long and excited message.

When the old building was quiet again, the employer stopped by with

some strange new instructions. The three builders asked no questions.

Just listened carefully. The guy was entitled to get what he wanted.

The new instructions meant a certain amount of work would have to be

redone. In the circumstances, not a problem. Even less of a problem

when the employer offered a cash bonus on top of the bid price.

The three builders worked fast and it took them less time than it might

have. But it was already evening by the time they finished. The

junior man stayed behind to pack tools and coil cables. The crew chief

and the other guy drove north in the dark and parked exactly where the

employer had told them to. Got out of their truck and waited in the

silence.

“In here,” a voice called. The employer. “All the way in back.”

They went in. The place was dark. The guy was waiting for them,

somewhere in the shadows.

These boards any use to you?” the employer asked.

There was a stack of old pine boards, way in back.

“They’re good lumber,” the employer said. “Maybe you can use them.

Like recycling, you know?”

There was something else on the ground beside the stack of boards.

Something strange. The two carpenters stared. Strange humped shapes.

The two carpenters stared at the strange humped shapes, then they

stared at each other. Then they turned around. The employer smiled at

them and raised a dull black automatic.

The resident agent at the FBI’s remote satellite, station was a smart

enough guy to realize it was going to be important. He didn’t know

exactly how or why it was going to be important, but an undercover

informant doesn’t risk a radio message from a concealed location for no

reason. So he copied the details into the FBI computer system. His

report flashed across the computer network and lodged in the massive

mainframe on the first floor of the FBI’s Hoover Building in

Washington, DC. The Hoover Building database handles more new reports

in a. day than there are seconds, so it took a long moment for the FBI

software to scan through and pick out the key words. Once it had done

so, it lodged the bulletin high in its memory and waited.

At exactly the same time, the system was logging a message from the FBI

Field Office in Chicago. The bureau chief up there, Agent-in-Charge