Die Trying by Lee Child

Don’t feel bad about it. If you were fit, you’d have slaughtered him.

I could see that. One arm and one leg, you were nearly there. It’s

just your knee. Pain like that, you’ve got no chance. Believe me, I

know what it’s like. After the Beirut thing, I couldn’t have taken

candy from a baby, best part of a year.”

She smiled a slight smile and squeezed his hand. The clock inside his

head started up again. Getting close to dawn.

us

EIGHTEEN

SEVEN-TWENTY WEDNESDAY MORNING EAST COAST TIME, GENERAL Johnson left

the Pentagon. He was out of uniform, dressed in a lightweight business

suit, and he walked. It was his preferred method of getting around. It

was a hot morning in Washington, and already humid, but he stepped out

at a steady speed, arms swinging loosely through a small arc, head up,

breathing hard.

He walked north through the dust on the shoulder of George Washington

Boulevard, along the edge of the great cemetery on his left, through

Lady Bird Johnson Park, and across the Arlington Memorial Bridge. Then

he walked clockwise around the Lincoln Memorial, past the Vietnam Wall,

and turned right along Constitution Avenue, the Reflecting Pool on his

right, the Washington Monument up ahead. He walked past the National

Museum of American History, past the National Museum of Natural

History, and turned left onto 9th Street. Exactly three and a half

miles, on a glorious morning, an hour’s brisk walk through one of the

world’s great capital cities, past landmarks the world’s tourists flock

to photograph, and he saw absolutely nothing at all except the dull

mist of worry hanging just in front of his eyes. He crossed

Pennsylvania Avenue and entered the Hoover Building through the main

doors. Laid his hands palms-down on the reception counter.

The chairman of the joint chiefs of staff,” he said. To see the

director.”

His hands left two palm-shaped patches of dampness on the laminate. The

agent who came down to show him upstairs noticed them. Johnson was

silent in the elevator. Harland Webster was waiting for him at the

door to his private suite. Johnson nodded to him. Didn’t speak.

Webster stood aside and gestured him into the inner office. It was

dark. There was a lot of mahogany paneling, and the blinds were

closed. Johnson sat down in a leather chair and Webster walked around

him to his desk.

“I don’t want to get in your way,” Johnson said.

He looked at Webster. Webster worked for a moment, decoding that

sentence. Then he nodded, cautiously.

“You spoke with the president?” he asked.

Johnson nodded.

“You understand it’s appropriate for me to do so?” he asked.

“Naturally,” Webster said. “Situation like this, nobody should worry

about protocol. You call him or go see him?”

“I went to see him,” Johnson said. “Several times. I had several long

conversations with him.”

Webster thought: face to face. Several long conversations. Worse than

I thought, but understandable.

“And?” he asked.

Johnson shrugged.

“He told me he’d placed you in personal command,” he said.

Webster nodded.

“Kidnaping,” he said. “It’s Bureau territory, whoever the victim

is.”

Johnson nodded, slowly.

“I accept that,” he said. “For now.”

“But you’re anxious,” Webster said. “Believe me, General, we’re all

anxious.”

Johnson nodded again. And then he asked the question he’d walked three

and a half miles to ask.

“Any progress?” he said.

Webster shrugged.

“We’re into the second full day,” he said. “I don’t like that at

all.”

He lapsed into silence. The second full day of a kidnaping is a kind

of threshold. Any early chance of a resolution is gone. The situation

starts to harden up. It starts to become a long, intractable

set-piece. The danger to the victim increases. The best time to clear

up a kidnaping is the first day. The second day, the process gets

tougher. The chances get smaller.

“Any progress?” Johnson asked again.

Webster looked away. The second day is when the kidnapers start to

communicate. That had always been the Bureau’s experience. The second

day, sick and frustrated about missing your first and best chance, you

sit around, hoping desperately the guys will call. If they don’t call