`Eleven,’ he said.
The whole place had that night look on it. Slowed down and silent and asleep. I found Finlay’s cabin. Number eleven. His police Chevy was parked up outside. I made a lot of noise banging on his door. Had to keep banging for a while. Then I heard an irritated groan. Couldn’t make out any words. I banged some more.
`Come on, Finlay,’ I called.
`Who’s there?’ I heard him shout.
`It’s Reacher,’ I said. `Open the damn door.’
There was a pause. Then the door opened. Finlay was standing there. I’d woken him up. He was wearing a grey sweatshirt and boxer shorts. I was amazed. I realized I had expected him to be sleeping in his tweed suit. With the moleskin vest.
`What the hell do you want?’ he said.
`Something to show you,’ I told him.
He stood yawning and blinking.
`What the hell time is it?’ he said.
`I don’t know,’ I said. `Five o’clock, six, maybe. Get dressed. We’re going somewhere.’
`Going where?’ he said.
`Atlanta,’ I said. `Something to show you.’
`What something?’ he said. `Just tell me, can’t you?’
`Get dressed, Finlay,’ I said again. `Got to go.’
He grunted, but he went to get dressed. Took him a while. Fifteen minutes, maybe. He disappeared into the bathroom. Went in there looking like a normal sort of a guy, just woken up. Came out looking like Finlay. Tweed suit and all.
`OK,’ he said. `This better be damn good, Reacher.’
We went out into the night. I walked over to the car while he locked his cabin door. Then he joined me.
`You driving?’ he said.
`Why?’ I said. `You got a problem with that?’ He looked irritable as hell. Glared at the gleaming Bentley.
`Don’t like people driving me,’ he said. `You want to let me drive?’
`I don’t care who drives,’ I said. `Just get in the damn car, will you?’
He got in the driver’s side and I handed him the keys. I was happy enough to do that. I was very tired. He started the Bentley up and backed it out of the lot. Swung east. Settled in for the drive. He went fast. Faster than I had. He was a hell of a good driver.
`So what’s going on?’ he said to me.
I looked across at him. I could see his eyes in the glow from the dash.
`I figured it out,’ I said. `I know what it’s all about.’
He glanced back again.
`So are you going to tell me?’ he said.
`Did you call Princeton?’ I asked him.
He grunted and slapped the Bentley’s wheel in
irritation.
`I was on the phone for an hour,’ he said. `The
guy knew a hell of a lot, but in the end he knew nothing at all.’
`What did he tell you?’ I asked him.
`He gave me the whole thing,’ he said. `He was a smart guy. History postgrad, working for Bartholomew. Turns out Bartholomew and the other guy, Kelstein, were the big noises in counterfeiting research. Joe had been using them for background.’
I nodded across at him.
`I got all that from Kelstein,’ I said.
He glanced over again. Still irritable.
`So why are you asking me about it?’ he said.
`I want your conclusions,’ I told him. `I want to see where you got to.’
`We didn’t get to anywhere,’ he said. `They all talked for a year and decided there was no way Kliner could be getting so much good paper.’
`That’s exactly what Kelstein said,’ I told him. `But I figured it out.’
He glanced over at me again. Surprise on his face. In the far distance I could see the glow of the prison lights at Warburton.
`So tell me about it,’ he said.
`Wake up and figure it out for yourself, Harvard guy,’ I said.
He grunted again. Still irritable. We drove on. We hurtled into the pool of light spilling from the prison fence. Passed by the prison approach. Then the fierce yellow glare was behind us.
`So start me off with a clue, will you?’ he said.
`I’ll give you two clues,’ I said. `The heading Joe used on his list. E Unum Pluribus. And then think about what’s unique about American currency.’