Die Trying by Lee Child

stamped on the gas and roared away one-handed with the muzzle jammed

into Holly’s side. One-handed over the rough road, the jeep was all

over the place. No chance of hitting Milosevic. Garber could see

that. He lowered his rifle and watched them go.

“Both of them?” Webster said to himself. “Please, God, no.”

“We could use another chopper right now,” the aide said. “I don’t

think we have to worry about the missiles anymore.”

He panned the camera north and west and zoomed in on the mountain bowl

in front of the mine entrances. The four missile trucks were sitting

inert. The sprawled body of the dead sentry was nearby.

“OK, call in a chopper,” Johnson said.

“Better coming direct from you, sir,” the aide said.

Johnson turned sideways to use the phone. Then he spun back to watch

as the jeep drove into shot. It bounced up out of the last hairpin

into the bowl and raced across the shale. Swerved around the dead

trucks and slewed to a stop in front of the left-hand shed. Milosevic

jumped out and danced around the hood. Revolver steady on Holly as he

approached. He pulled her out by the arm and dragged her to the big

wooden doors. Levered one open with his foot and pushed her inside. He

followed her in and the huge door swung shut. Webster glanced away

from the screen.

“Call the chopper, sir,” the aide said.

“Make it a fast one,” Webster added.

Quickest way to the mines was a shortcut through the Bastion. It was

deserted and quiet. They ran through it and headed north across the

rifle range toward the parade ground. Stopped short in the woods. The

whole remaining militia population was standing silently in neat ranks,

quiet fearful faces turned to the front, where Borken’s upturned box

still awaited his arrival.

Reacher ignored them and led the others around in the trees. Then in a

straight line to the road. Straight north along it. Reacher was

carrying the big Barren. He had retrieved it from the mess hall roof,

because he liked it. Garber was hurrying at his side. McGrath was

pushing ahead as fast as he could, desperate to get to Holly.

They ducked back into the woods before the last hairpin and

QQ1

Reacher scouted ahead. He holed up behind the rock he’d used before

and covered every inch of the bowl with the Barrett’s scope. Then he

waved the other two up to join him.

“They’re in the motor pool,” he said. “Left-hand shed.”

He pointed with the fat barrel of the sniper rifle and the others saw

the abandoned jeep and nodded. He ran over the shale and crouched

behind the hood of the first missile truck. Garber sent McGrath next.

Then he ran over. They crouched together behind the truck and stared

at the log doors.

“What now?” Garber asked. “Frontal assault?”

“He’s got a gun to her head,” McGrath said. “I don’t want her hurt,

Reacher. She’s precious to me, OK?”

“Any other way in?” Garber asked.

Reacher stared at the doors and the roaring of the Beirut bomb receded

and was replaced by the quiet whimpering of an earlier nightmare. He

spent a minute trawling desperately for an alternative. He thought

about the rifles and the missiles and the trucks. Then he gave it

up.

“Keep him occupied,” he said. Talk to him, anything.”

He left the Barrett and took the Clock back from McGrath. Dodged to

the next truck, and the next, all the way level with the entrance to

the other cavern. The charnel house, full of bodies and skeletons and

rats. He heard McGrath calling to Milosevic in a faint faraway voice

and he ran to the big log doors. Ducked in through the gap and moved

back into the dark.

He had no flashlight. He felt his way around the troop carrier and

eased on into the mountain. He held his hand above his head and felt

the roof come down. Felt for the bodies in the pile and skirted them.

Crouched and headed left for the skeletons. The rats were hearing him

and smelling him and squealing angry warnings all the way back to their