Die Trying by Lee Child

them. The sounds were grotesquely loud in the still night. Boots

smashed into shale and gun stocks slapped into palms. Reacher glanced

into the clearing and saw a seventh man approaching. Younger, maybe

thirty-five. A tall man, clean-shaven, no camouflage on his face,

crisp fatigues, shiny boots. Same semicircular flashes at the

shoulder. Some kind of an officer.

The six forty-year-old grunts stood back and saluted and the new guy

crunched up face to face with Reacher. He took a cigarette pack from

his pocket and a cigarette from the pack. Lit it and kept the lighter

burning to illuminate Reacher’s face. Stared over the wavering flame

with an expressionless gaze. Reacher stared back at him. The guy had

a small head on wide shoulders, a thin hard face starved into premature

lines and crevices. In the harsh shadow of the flame, it looked like

he had no lips. Just a slit where his mouth should be. Cold eyes,

burning under the thin skin stretched over his brow. A military

buzz-cut, maybe a week old, just growing out. He stared at Reacher and

let the flame die. Ran a hand across his scalp. Reacher heard the

loud rasp of the stubble passing under his palm in the still night

air.

“I’m Dell Fowler,” the guy said. “I’m chief-of-staff here.”

A quiet voice. West Coast. Reacher looked back at him and nodded,

slowly.

“You want to tell me what staff you’re chief of?” he said.

“Loder didn’t explain?” the guy called Fowler asked.

“Loder didn’t explain anything,” Reacher said. “He had his hands full

just getting us here.”

Fowler nodded and smiled a chilly smile.

“Loder’s an idiot,” he said. “He made five major mistakes. You’re one

of them. He’s in all kinds of deep shit now. And so are you.”

He gestured to one of the guards. The guard stepped forward and handed

him a key from his pocket. The guard stood with his weapon ready and

Fowler unlocked Reacher’s chain. It clattered down the tree trunk to

the ground. Metal on wood, a loud sound in the forest night. A dog

padded near and sniffed. People moved in the trees. Reacher pushed

away from the trunk and squeezed some circulation back into his

forearm. All six guards took a pace forward. Weapons slapped back to

the ready position. Reacher watched the muzzles and Fowler caught his

arm and turned him. Cuffed his hands together again, behind his back.

Nodded. Two guards melted away into the trees. A third jabbed the

muzzle of his gun into Reacher’s back. A fourth took up position to

the rear. Two walked point out in front. Fowler fell in beside

Reacher and caught his elbow. Walked him across toward a small wooden

hut on the opposite edge of the clearing. Clear of the trees, the

moonlight was brighter. Reacher could make out the writing on Fowler’s

shoulder flash. It read: Montana Militia.

This is Montana?” he said. “Loder called it a brand-new country.”

Fowler shrugged as he walked.

“He was premature,” he said. “Right now, this is still Montana.”

They reached the hut. The point men opened the door. Yellow light

spilled out into the darkness. The guard with the weapon in Reacher’s

back used it to push him inside. Loder was standing against the far

wall. His hands were cuffed behind him. He was guarded by another

lean, bearded man with a machine gun. This guy was a little younger

than the other grunts, neater beard. A livid scar running laterally

across his forehead.

Fowler walked around and sat behind a plain desk. Pointed to a chair.

Reacher sat down, handcuffed, six soldiers behind him. Fowler watched

him sit and then transferred his attention across to Loder. Reacher

followed his gaze. First time he’d seen Loder on Monday, he’d seen a

degree of calm competence, hard eyes, composure. That was all gone.

The guy was shaking with fear. His cuffs were rattling behind him.

Reacher watched him and thought: this guy is terrified of his

leaders.

“So, five mistakes,” Fowler said.

His voice was still quiet. And it was confident. Relaxed. The quiet

confident voice of a person very secure about his power.

Readier heard the voice die into silence and listened to the creak of