Page 18 of Bulletproof Jack: Hunting Lee Child's Jack Reacher

No chance of Lady Luck striking Morin anytime soon.

He found the new burner phone and checked it for a text from Fox.

Nothing.

Lack of fresh contact from Fox made Morin nervous. He tapped his finger rapidly on the table as he considered what to do next.

Which was when he noticed the time.

Morin dropped the phone into his pocket and refilled his coffee. He put the lid on the cup and took it with him when he left his apartment.

He couldn’t be late for his committee meeting at the UN. People would notice. Brax would find out.

There were bean counters and attendance takers everywhere.

And a CCTV camera to record every waking moment around New York City, it seemed.

Morin’s alibi would only be established if he showed up and people present at the meeting remembered seeing him there.

He’d need to talk to some of them. Make sure they remembered the conversations.

The best way to make his entrance memorable was to show up after they’d already started. But he couldn’t be any later than that.

Morin had hustled halfway to his destination when Fox’s phone rang.

Even amid the morning cacophony of traffic and bells and horns and voices along the sidewalks, the sound of the phone’s ring tone was jarring.

Fox never called.

Never.

Until this moment, all communication had been disappearing texts only.

Morin fished the phone from his pocket and picked up the call. “Yeah.”

“He’s headed to Niagara Falls. He’s in the air. I’m several hours behind him,” Fox said without preamble. “You’ll need to set things up.”

“Understood.” Morin nodded, already worried. This development presented several serious problems.

Fox couldn’t fly commercial while carrying weapons and other necessary equipment. He’d need supplies in Ontario.

Which would be challenging.

Guns and ammo and suppressors and all manner of explosives were strictly controlled in Canada.

Morin’s thoughts were already tumultuous.

He could arrange things.

But he’d need solitude to do so.

Privacy he wouldn’t have for most of the day.

“You’ve got nine hours to get what we need. I’ll send you a list,” Fox said, interrupting Morin’s chaotic worries. “Leave everything in the back of the SUV parked at the Niagara airport. Text me the exact location. I’ll take it from there.”

Before Morin could respond, Fox disconnected.

The words and the assumptions were beyond arrogant.

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