Allen’s eyes were blank. He shifted Jodie’s weight to keep her directly in front of him. Twisted the hook and jammed the gun in harder. He nodded, just a fractional movement of his head.
‘OK, I was Carl Allen,’ he said. ‘I admit it, smart guy. I was Carl Allen, and then that was over. Then I was Victor Hobie. I was Victor Hobie for a real long time, longer than I was ever Carl Allen, but I guess that’s over now, too. So now I’m going to be Jack Reacher.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what you’ve got,’ Allen said. ‘That’s the deal. That’s your trade. Your name, for this woman’s life.’
‘What?’ Reacher said again.
‘I want your identity,’ Allen said. ‘I want your name.’
Reacher just stared at him.
‘You’re a drifter, no family,’ Allen said. ‘Nobody will ever miss you.’
‘Then what?’
‘Then you die,’ Allen said. ‘We can’t have two
people with the same name running around, can we? It’s a fair trade. Your life, for the woman’s life.’
Jodie was staring, straight at Reacher, waiting.
‘No deal,’ Reacher said.
I’ll shoot her,’ Allen said.
Reacher shook his head again. The pain was fearsome. It was building stronger and spreading behind both his eyes.
‘You won’t shoot her,’ he said. ‘Think about it, Allen. Think about yourself. You’re a selfish piece of shit. The way you are, you’re always number one. You shoot her, I’ll shoot you. You’re twelve feet away from me. I’m aiming at your head. You pull your trigger, I pull mine. She dies, you die one-hundredth of a second later. You won’t shoot me either, because you start to line up on me, you go down before you’re even halfway there. Think about it. Impasse.’
He stared at him down through the pain and the gloom. A classic standoff. But there was a problem. A serious flaw in his analysis. He knew that. It came to him in a cold flash of panic. It came to Allen at the exact same moment. Reacher knew that, too, because he saw it settle in his eyes, complacently.
‘You’re miscalculating,’ Allen said. ‘You’re missing something.’
Reacher made no response.
‘Right now it’s a stalemate,’ Allen said. ‘And it always will be, as long as I’m standing here and you’re standing there. But how long are you going to be standing there?’
Reacher swallowed against the pain. It was hammering at him.
‘I’ll be standing here as long as it takes,’ he said. ‘I’ve got plenty of time. Like you figured, I’m a drifter. I
don’t have any pressing appointments to get to.’
Allen smiled.
‘Brave words,’ he said. ‘But you’re bleeding from the head. You know that? You’ve got a piece of metal sticking in your head. I can see it from here.’
Jodie nodded desperately, eyes full of terror.
‘Check it out, Mr Curry,’ Allen said. ‘Tell him.’
The guy on the sofa underneath the Steyr crabbed around and knelt up. He kept well away from Reacher’s gun arm and craned his head around to look. Then his face creased in horror.
‘It’s a nail,’ he said. ‘A woodworking nail. You’ve got a nail in your head.’
‘From the reception desk,’ Allen said.
The guy called Curry ducked down again and Reacher knew it was true. As soon as the words were spoken, the pain doubled and quadrupled and exploded. It was a piercing agony centred in his forehead, an inch above his eye. The adrenaline had masked it for a long time. But adrenaline doesn’t last for ever. He forced his mind away from it with all the power of his will, but it was still there. Bad pain, razor-sharp and nausea-dull all at the same time, booming and throbbing through his head, sending brilliant lightning strikes into his eyes. The blood had soaked his shirt, all the way down to his waist. He blinked, and saw nothing at all with his left eye. It was full of blood. Blood was running down his neck and down his left arm and dripping off his fingertips.
‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Don’t anybody worry about me.’
‘Brave words,’ Allen said again. ‘But you’re in pain and you’re losing a lot of blood. You won’t outlast me, Reacher. You think you’re tough, but you’re nothing next to me. I crawled away from that helicopter with