Die Trying by Lee Child

much smaller. Scrappy little guys, just immigrated from Europe, been

starving for generations. Small people, small hands. Look at the

stock on that thing. Tight curve, way too small for you. You

18Q

grab that thing, your hand looks like a bunch of bananas around it. And

that stock is hundred-and-twenty-year-old walnut. Hard as a rock. The

back of the stock and the end of the frame below the hammer would be

pounding you with the recoil. You used that gun a lot, you’d have a

pad of callus between your thumb and forefinger I could see from here.

But you haven’t, so don’t tell me you’ve been practicing with it, and

don’t tell me you can be a marksman without practicing with it.”

Borken looked hard at him. Then he smiled again. His wet lips parted

and his eyes closed into slits. He rolled open the opposite drawer and

lifted out another handgun. It was a Sig-Sauer 9mm. Maybe five years

old. Well used, but well maintained. A big boxy grip for a big

hand.

“I lied,” he said. This is my personal weapon. And now I know

something. I know my decision was the right one.”

He paused so Reacher could ask him about his decision. Reacher stayed

silent. Clamped his lips. He wasn’t about to ask him about anything,

not even if it would be the last sentence he would ever live to say.

“We’re serious here, you know,” Borken said to him. “Totally serious.

We’re not playing games. And we’re correct about what’s going on.”

He paused again, so Reacher could ask him what was going on. Reacher

said nothing. Just sat and stared into space.

“America has got a despotic government,” Borken said. “A dictatorship,

controlled from abroad by our enemies. Our current president is a

member of a world government which controls our lives in secret. His

federal system is a smokescreen for total control. They’re planning to

disarm us and enslave us. It’s started already. Let’s be totally

clear about that.”

He paused. Picked up the old revolver again. Reacher saw him checking

the fit of the stock in his hand. Felt the charisma radiating out of

him. Felt compelled to listen to the soft, hypnotic voice.

Two main methods,” Borken said. The first is the attempt to disarm the

civilian population. The second amendment guarantees our right to bear

arms, but they’re going to abolish that. The gun laws, all this

beefing about crime, homicides, drug wars, it’s all aimed at disarming

people like us. And when we’re disarmed, they can do what they like

with us, right? That’s why it was in the Constitution in the first

place. Those old guys were smart. They knew the only thing that could

control a government was the people’s willingness and ability to shoot

them down.”

Borken paused again. Reacher stared up at the swastika behind his

head.

“Second method is the squeeze on small business,” Borken said. “This

is a personal theory of mine. You don’t hear it much around the

Movement. But I spotted it. It puts me way ahead of the others in my

understanding.”

Borken waited, but Reacher still stayed silent. Looking away.

“It’s obvious, right?” Borken said to him. “World government is

basically a communistic type of government. They don’t want a strong

small-business sector. But that’s what America had. Millions of

people, all working hard for themselves and making a living. Too many

just to murder out of hand, when the time comes. So the numbers have

to be reduced in advance. So the federal government was instructed to

squeeze the small businessman. They put on all kinds of regulations,

all kinds of laws and taxes, they rig the markets, they bring the small

guy to his knees, then they order the banks to come sniffing round with

attractive loans, and as soon as the ink is dry on the loan papers they

jack up the interest, and rig the market some more, until the poor guy

defaults. Then they take away his business, and so that’s one less for

the gas ovens when the time comes.”

Reacher glanced at him. Said nothing.

“Believe it,” Borken said. “It’s like they’re solving a