Die Trying by Lee Child

them. He was such a big guy, it made for a tight fit. He pointed

beyond the old building.

“Drive north,” he said, ‘about a mile.”

The road led them straight out of town and then wound upward through

some steep bends. The employer pointed to a place.

“In there,” he said, ‘all the way in back, OK?”

He strolled quietly away and the two guys unloaded their truck. Drove

it back south and heaved the old pine boards in. Followed the winding

bends again and unloaded. They carried the boards inside and stacked

them neatly. All the way in back of the dark space. Then the employer

stepped out of the shadows. He had been waiting for them. He had

something in his hand.

“We’re all done,” the first guy said.

The employer nodded.

“You sure are,” he said.

His hand came up. He was holding a gun. A dull black automatic. He

shot the first guy in the head. The crash of the bullet was deafening.

Blood and bone and brain sprayed everywhere. The second guy froze in

terror. Then he ran. He launched himself sideways in a desperate

sprint for cover. The employer smiled. He liked it when they ran. He

dropped his huge arm to a shallow angle. Fired and put a bullet

through the back of the guy’s knee. Smiled again. Now it was better.

He liked it when they ran, but he liked it better when they were

squirming on the floor. He stood and listened to the guy’s yelping for

a long moment. Then he strolled quietly over and took careful aim. Put

a bullet through the other knee. He watched for a while, then he tired

of the game. Shrugged and put a final bullet through the guy’s head.

Then he laid the gun on the ground and rolled the two bodies over and

over until they were stacked neatly in line with the old floorboards.

THREE

THEY HAD BEEN ON THE ROAD AN HOUR AND THIRTY-THREE minutes. Some urban

crawling, then an acceleration to a steady cruise. Maybe sixty miles

covered. But in the noisy darkness inside the panel truck Reacher had

no idea which direction those sixty miles were taking him.

He was handcuffed to the young woman with the bad leg and within the

first few minutes of their forced acquaintance they had worked out how

to get as comfortable as they were ever going to get. They had crabbed

around inside the truck until they were sitting sideways on the floor,

legs straight out, propped against the big wheel well on the right,

braced against the motion. The woman sat against the rear side and

Reacher sat on the forward side. Their cuffed wrists lay together on

the flat top of the metal bulge like they were lovers idling their time

away in a cafe.

At first they hadn’t spoken. They’d just sat for a long time in

stunned silence. The immediate problem was the heat. It was the

middle of the last day of June in the Midwest. They were shut into an

enclosed metal space. There was no ventilation. Reacher figured the

rush of air over the outside of the truck’s body must be cooling it to

an extent, but nowhere near enough. He just sat there in the gloom and

used the hot dead time thinking and planning like he was trained to do.

Staying calm, staying relaxed, staying ready, not burning his energy

away with useless speculation. Assessing and evaluating. The three

guys had shown a measure of efficiency. No great talent, no real

finesse, but no significant mistakes. The jumpy guy with the second

Clock was the weakest component of the team, but the leader had covered

for him pretty well. An efficient threesome. Not at all the worst

he’d ever seen. But, at that point, he wasn’t worrying. He’d been in

worse situations and survived them. Much worse situations, and more

than once. So he wasn’t worrying yet.

Then he noticed something. He noticed that the woman wasn’t worrying

yet either. She was calm too. She was just sitting there, swaying,

cuffed to his wrist, thinking and planning like maybe she was trained