He said, “McInnes. Who’s this?”
Reacher said, “Danny Peel. I got your note. I’ll see you at Coal Creek, 11:30.”
“Wait. I’m not sure it’s safe.”
“Want to pick another venue? Name it.”
“Not the venue. You. How do I know you’re Danny?”
“How else would I know your number?”
“I don’t know. OK. What’s your middle name?”
Reacher looked at Hannah. She shook her head. He said, “I don’t have one.”
“Where did you live before you moved to Winson?”
“Gerrardsville, Colorado.”
“Name of your last boss before you went to work at Minerva?”
“Sam Roth.”
“OK.” There was a moment’s silence. “I’ll meet you. But come alone. And don’t be late.”
—
Bruno Hix ended the call. He was sitting in his kitchen, in his pajamas. He didn’t like to be at the prison too early on release days. There was always some kind of last minute logistical snafu and he couldn’t risk encountering anything that would put him in a bad mood before his speech. He took a sip of coffee, switched to his regular phone, and called Brockman.
“No Plan B,” he said. “It’s confirmed. Reacher will be nowhere near the ceremony.”
Brockman said, “Fantastic news. But, Bruno—you’re sure?”
“Positive. I got it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
—
Hannah tried to pull a U-turn in the street but the old VW’s steering was so heavy and slow to respond she bumped up onto the opposite sidewalk and almost clipped Danny Peel’s mailbox. She backed up a couple of yards, hauled on the wheel with all her strength, dropped down onto the street, and started to build a little speed. The bus mustered all the acceleration of a slug.
Reacher looked back at the mailbox. He said, “Stop.”
Hannah coasted to the side of the road. Reacher climbed out, walked back, and opened the mailbox lid. The junk was still there. Four envelopes, all loose. Also in the box was an elastic band. The kind mail carriers use to hold all the correspondence for the same address together. Someone had removed it and set the separate letters free.
Reacher cut across the muddy lot toward the garage. He let himself in and picked up the maintenance log Danny had kept for the Stingray. He flicked through until he found a number of specific characters. Two capitals. The rest lower case. Then he walked back to the VW, climbed in, and said, “We’re not going to Hattiesburg.”
Chapter 40
The coffee was strong, but it still couldn’t keep Lev Emerson awake long enough to reach the state line. He had no choice but to let Graeber drive for a while. He was counting on only napping for a couple of hours, just until he got his second wind, but when he woke up five hours had passed. The van was parked outside a square brick building, four miles north of Vicksburg, Mississippi. The building was the last in a line of three in a paved compound a stone’s throw from the river. It was surrounded by trees and a rusty chain-link fence. There was a single-width gate, which hadn’t been locked. Each building had two entrances. A vehicle door to the left, tall and wide enough for a van or small truck. And a personnel door to the right. Each had four windows in its second floor, square and dark beneath their crumbling concrete lintels.
Graeber waited for Emerson to get his bearings, then said, “Morning, boss.”
Emerson grunted and checked his mug for any last dregs of coffee.
Graeber said, “The other two buildings are deserted. This one doesn’t look much better but the locks are new. They’re solid. It’s in use.”
“Any sign of the guy?”
“Not yet.”
Emerson checked his watch. It was 8:30. He grunted again, a little louder this time.
—
Twenty minutes later a car appeared at the gate. A huge wallowing Cadillac coupe from the 1970s. It was burgundy. Its paint was shiny. It was well cared for. A guy climbed out. He could have been the same age as the car. He was a little under six feet tall, stocky, with a round face and brown curly hair. He was wearing a brown leather jacket and jeans. He shoved the gate open. Drove through. Closed the gate. Continued to the last building in line, and swung in next to Emerson’s van.
Emerson worked on the principle that if something wasn’t broken there was no need to fix it. He waited for Graeber to jump out with a clipboard in his hand, approach the guy from the Cadillac, and say he needed a quote to get a special consignment delivered. Then Emerson slipped out through the passenger door, looped around the back of the van, and clamped a rag soaked in chloroform over the guy’s mouth and nose. He didn’t hold it in place as long as he had done in St. Louis, the day before. They didn’t have to move the guy very far. They just wanted to keep him compliant while they got set up. And because no one could notice what they were doing, there was no need for subtlety. So they let him fall to the ground when the chemical had done its job and dragged him toward the building.
