Die Trying by Lee Child

flange bolted to one end. It would stand out like a rigid right-angled

hook. Better than separating the flange and then jamming it into the

open end. More strength.

But it still left her with six bolts. She would have to take the

flange off the leg. An improvement, but not a shortcut. She worked

fast. No reason to believe Jackson would fail, but his odds had just

worsened. Worsened dramatically.

Next to the mess hall were the dormitories. There were four large

buildings, all of them immaculate and deserted. Two of them were

designated as barracks for single men and single women. The other two

were subdivided by plywood partitions. Families lived there, the

adults in pairs in small cubicles behind the partitions, the children

in an open dormitory area. Their beds were three-quarter size iron

cots, lined up in neat rows. There were half-size footlockers at the

ends of the cots. No drawings on the walls, no toys. The only decor

was a tourist poster from Washington DC. It was an aerial photograph

taken from the north on a sunny spring day, with the White House in the

right foreground, the Mall in the middle and the Capitol end-on to the

left. It was framed in plastic and the tourist message had been

covered over with paper and a new title had been hand-lettered in its

place. The new title read: This Is Your Enemy.

“Where are all the kids right now?” Reacher asked.

“In school,” Fowler said. “Winter, they use the mess hall. Summer,

they’re out in the woods.”

“What do they learn?” Reacher asked.

Fowler shrugged.

“Stuff they need to know,” he said.

“Who decides what they need to know?” Reacher asked.

“Beau,” Fowler said. “He decides everything.”

“So what has he decided they need to know?” Reacher asked.

“He studied it pretty carefully,” Fowler said. “Comes down to the

Bible, the Constitution, history, physical training, woodsman ship

hunting, weapons.”

91 F;

“Who teaches them all that stuff?” Readier asked.

The women,” Fowler replied.

The kids happy here?” Reacher asked.

Fowler shrugged again.

They’re not here to be happy,” he said. They’re here to survive.”

The next hut was empty, apart from another computer terminal, standing

alone on a desk in a corner. Reacher could see a big keyboard lock

fastened to it.

“I guess this is our treasury department,” Fowler said. “All our funds

are in the Caymans. We need some, we use that computer to send it

anywhere we want.”

“How much you got?” Reacher asked.

Fowler smiled, like a conspirator.

“Shitloads,” he said. Twenty million in bearer bonds. Less what we’ve

spent already. But we got plenty left. Don’t you worry about us

getting short.”

“Stolen?” Reacher asked.

Fowler shook his head and grinned.

“Captured,” he said. “From the enemy. Twenty million.”

The final two buildings were storehouses. One stood in line with the

last dormitory. The other was set some distance away. Fowler led

Reacher into the nearer shed. It was crammed with supplies. One wall

was lined with huge plastic drums filled with water.

“Beans, bullets and bandages,” Fowler said. That’s Beau’s motto.

Sooner or later we’re going to face a siege. That’s for damn sure. And

it’s pretty obvious the first thing the government is going to do,

right? They’re going to fire artillery shells armed with plague germs

into the lake which feeds our water system. So we’ve stockpiled

drinking water. Twenty-four thousand gallons. That was the first

priority. Then we got canned food, enough for two years. Not enough

if we get a lot of people coming in to join us, but it’s a good

start.”

The storage shed was crammed. One floor-to-ceiling bay was packed with

clothing. Familiar olive fatigues, camouflage jackets, boots. All

washed and pressed in some army laundry, packed up and sold off by the

bale.

“You want some?” Fowler asked.

Reacher was about to move on, but then he glanced down at what he was

wearing. He had been wearing it continuously since Monday morning.

Three days solid. It hadn’t been the best gear to start with, and it

hadn’t improved with age.

“OK,” he said.

The biggest sizes were at the bottom of the pile. Fowler heaved and