Die Trying by Lee Child

boots on wood behind him.

“I did my best,” Loder said. “She’s here, right?”

His voice was supplicant and miserable. The voice of a man who knows

he’s in deep shit without really understanding exactly why.

“She’s here, right?” he said again.

“By a miracle,” Fowler replied. “You caused a lot of stress elsewhere.

People had their work cut out covering for your incompetence.”

“What did I do wrong?” Loder asked.

He pushed forward off the wall, hands cuffed behind him, and moved into

Reacher’s view. Glanced desperately at him, like he was asking for a

testimonial.

“Five mistakes,” Fowler said again. “One, you burned the pickup, and

two, you burned the car. Way too visible. Why didn’t you just put an

ad in the damn paper?”

Loder made no reply. His mouth was working, but no sound was coming

out.

“Three, you snarled this guy up,” Fowler said.

Loder glanced at Reacher again and shook his head vigorously.

This guy’s a nobody,” he said. “No heat coming after him.”

“You should still have waited,” Fowler said. “And four, you lost

Peter. What exactly happened to him?”

Loder shrugged again.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“He got scared,” Fowler said. “You were making so many mistakes, he

got scared and he ran. That’s what happened. You got any other

explanation?”

Loder was just staring blankly.

“And five, you killed the damn dentist,” Fowler said. They’re not

going to overlook that, are they? This was supposed to be a military

operation, right? Political? You added an extra factor there.”

“What dentist?” Reacher asked.

Fowler glanced at him and smiled a lipless smile, indulgent, like

Reacher was an audience he could use to humiliate Loder a little

more.

They stole the car from a dentist,” he said. The guy caught them at

it. They should have waited until he was clear.”

“He got in the way,” Loder said. “We couldn’t bring him with us, could

we?”

“You brought me,” Reacher said to him.

Loder stared at him like he was a moron.

The guy was a Jew,” he said. This place isn’t for Jews.”

Reacher glanced around the room. Looked at the shoulder flashes.

Montana Militia, Montana Militia, Montana Militia. He nodded slowly. A

brand-new country.

“Where have you taken Holly?” he asked Fowler.

Fowler ignored him. He was still dealing with Loder.

“You’ll stand trial tomorrow,” he told him. “Special tribunal. The

commander presiding. The charge is endangering the mission. I’m

prosecuting.”

“Where’s Holly?” Reacher asked him again.

Fowler shrugged. A cool gaze.

“Close by,” he said. “Don’t you worry about her.”

Then he glanced up over Reacher’s head and spoke to the guards.

Tut Loder on the floor,” he said.

Loder offered no resistance at all. Just let the younger guy with the

scar hold him upright. The nearest guard reversed his rifle and

smashed the butt into Loder’s stomach. Reacher heard the air punch out

of him. The younger guy dropped him and stepped neatly over him.

Walked out of the hut, alone, duty done. The door slammed noisily

behind him. Then Fowler turned back to Reacher.

“Now let’s talk about you,” he said.

His voice was still quiet. Quiet, and confident. Secure. But it was

not difficult to be secure holed up in the middle of nowhere with six

armed subordinates surrounding a handcuffed man on a chair. A

handcuffed man who has just witnessed a naked display of power and

brutality. Reacher shrugged at him.

“What about me?” he said. “You know my name. I told Loder. No doubt

he told you. He probably got that right. There isn’t much more to say

on the subject.”

There was silence. Fowler thought about it. Nodded.

This is a decision for the commander,” he said.

It was the shower which convinced her. She based her conclusions on

it. Some good news, some bad. A brand-new bathroom, cheaply

but carefully fitted out in the way a pathetic house proud woman down

on her luck in a trailer park would choose. That bathroom communicated

a lot to Holly.

It meant she was a hostage, to be held long term, but to be held with a

certain measure of respect. Because of her value in some kind of a