Whichever one is the good guy, he still thinks Reacher’s his enemy. And
whichever one is the bad guy, he knows Reacher’s his enemy.”
Webster looked away. Turned back to the bank of screens.
Borken put the radio back in the pocket of his black uniform. Drummed
his fingers on the judge’s desk. Looked at the people looking back at
him.
“One camera is enough,” he said.
“Sure,” Milosevic said. “One is as good as two.”
“We don’t need interference right now,” Borken said. “So we should
nail Reacher before we do anything else.”
Milosevic glanced around, nervously.
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m staying in here. I just want my
money.”
Borken looked at him. Still thinking.
“You know how to catch a tiger?” he asked. “Or a leopard or
something? Out in the jungle?”
“What?” Milosevic asked.
“You tether a goat to a stake,” Borken said. “And lie in wait.”
“What?” Milosevic asked again.
“Reacher was willing to rescue McGrath, right?” Borken said. “So
maybe he’s willing to rescue your pal Brogan, too.”
General Garber heard the commotion and risked moving up a few yards. He
made it to where the trees thinned out and he crouched. Shuffled
sideways to his left to get a better view. The courthouse was dead
ahead up the rise. The south wall was face-on to him, but he had a
narrow angle down the front. He could see the main entrance. He could
see the steps up to the door. He saw a gaggle of men come out. Six
men. There were two flanking point men, alert, scanning around, rifles
poised. The other four were carrying somebody, spreadeagled,
face-down. The person had been seized by the wrists and the ankles. It
was a man. Garber could tell by the voice. He was bucking and
thrashing and screaming. It was Brogan.
Garber went cold. He knew what had happened to Jackson. McGrath had
told him. He raised his rifle. Sighted in on the nearer point man.
Tracked him smoothly as he moved right to left. Then his peripheral
vision swept the other five. Then he thought about the sentry screen
behind him. He grimaced and lowered the rifle. Impossible odds. He
had a rule: stick to the job in hand. He’d preached it like a gospel
for forty years. And the job in hand was to get Holly Johnson out
alive. He crept backward into the forest and shrugged at the two men
beside him.
The Chinook crew had clambered out of their wrecked craft and stumbled
away into the forest. They had thought they were heading south, but in
their disorientation they had moved due north. They had passed
straight through the sentry screen without knowing anything about it
and come upon a three-star general sitting at the base of a pine. The
general had hauled them down and told them to hide. They thought they
were in a dream, and they were hoping to wake up. They said nothing
and listened as the screaming faded behind the ruined county offices.
Reacher and McGrath heard it minutes later. Faintly, at first, deep in
the forest to their left. Then it built louder. They moved together
level with a gap between huts where they could see across the Bastion
to the mouth of the track. They were ten feet into the forest, far
enough back to be well concealed, far enough forward to observe.
They saw the two point men burst out into the sunlight. Then four more
men, walking in step, rifles slung, leaning outward, arms
counterbalancing something heavy they were carrying. Something that
was bucking and thrashing and screaming.
“Christ,” McGrath whispered. That’s Brogan.”
Reacher stared for a long time. Silent. Then he nodded.
“I was wrong,” he said. “Milosevic is the bad guy.”
McGrath clicked the Clock’s trigger to release the safety device.
“Wait,” Reacher whispered.
He moved right and signaled McGrath to follow. They stayed deep in the
trees and paralleled the six men and Brogan across the clearing. The
men were moving slow across the shale, and Brogan’s screaming was
getting louder. They looped past the bodies and the tent pegs and the
cut ropes and walked on.