Page 57 of Better off Dead

He started toward the passenger door. “All right. I’ll come with you.”

The driver’s seat was already pushed all the way back. The mirrors were fine. The controls seemed straightforward. So I fired up the engine and pulled away from the curb. I took it easy on that first street. Negotiated my way around the next couple of turns. Continued to the end. Lumbered back and forth across the fishtail until I got the truck turned around. Then I pulled in behind the Chevy and climbed down. I didn’t have the keys so I couldn’t unlock the trunk—Dendoncker had kept them after he searched me—so I opened the driver’s door and found the release lever. Mansour lifted the lid. He reached in and already had Fenton’s case unzipped by the time I got to the back of the car. He rummaged around, messing up her neat packing and spilling the odd item, but he seemed satisfied there was nothing in there he needed to worry about. Nothing I could use to defuse their bomb or derail their scheme. He ran his fingers around the outside of the case one last time then closed it up, lifted it out, and set it on the sidewalk.

He said, “OK. You can take it. Better get moving.”

I stepped around the case and opened the car’s back door. “There’s one other thing she’s going to need.” I picked up the backpack I’d retrieved from the Lincoln after the crash outside the Border Inn.

“Wait.” Mansour scowled at me. “What’s in there?”

“Just this.” I pulled out Fenton’s prosthetic foot and shoved it in his face. “Hard for her to walk without it.”

The guy jumped back. “Fine. Take that, too. Now get out of here.”

I guess Fenton was right when she said people were freaked out by anything to do with wounds or injuries. Mansour certainly was. Enough not to find out if anything else was in the bag.

—

I left Mansourto walk back to the house and started out following Dendoncker’s directions. They led me through the final few mazy streets on the outskirts of the town and onto the long straight road that went past The Tree. The spot where I first met Fenton. No one was staging an ambush there that day. No one was there at all. Alive. Or dead.

I drove slowly and steadily, like an old geezer taking his antique car for its weekly outing. I was mindful of the cargo in the back of the truck. I didn’t want it blowing up if I hit a pothole. And I didn’t want to get pulled over with it on board. I figured it was unlikely there would be any police patrols around those parts. But it’s the things you don’t expect that bite you in the ass.

I kept an eye on my mirrors the whole time. I wanted to know if I was being followed. I couldn’t see anyone. No black Lincolns. No worn-out Jeeps. So I also scanned the sky. For small planes. Or helicopters. Or drones. And again I came up blank. Which wasn’t a surprise. I believed Mansour when he said they’d be monitoring me. But it was more likely they’d have put a GPS chip in the bomb. Or in the truck. Or both. Which would be fine. That wouldn’t hurt me at all. In fact, I was relying on it.

Chapter45

The small roads led methrough scrub and desert for forty minutes, then I merged onto the highway. Traffic was light. I let the truck settle down to a steady fifty-five. I checked the mirrors. I checked the sky. No one was following. Nothing was watching. After twenty minutes I came to a truck stop. I pulled in. Topped off the truck’s tank. Then headed into the little store to pay. I filled a to-go cup with coffee. Hot, this time. With no milk. And I asked the clerk for change for the pay phone. The guy looked like I’d asked for a date with his mother. He must have been in his early twenties. I guess it wasn’t a request he heard very often. Maybe it was a request he’d never heard at all.

There were two pay phones. Both were outside, attached to the end wall of the building. They were covered with matching, curved canopies made out of translucent plastic. Maybe for protection from the weather. Maybe for privacy. Either way, I wasn’t too concerned. It wasn’t too hot. It wasn’t raining. And there was no one around to overhear anything I said.

I ducked under the nearer canopy. The wall beneath it was plastered with business-card-sized pieces of paper and cardboard. Adverts for escort services, mainly. Some were subtle. But most, not so much. I ignored them, picked up the handset, and dialed Wallwork’s number. Nothing happened. The phone was dead. So I tried the second one. I was in luck this time. It had a dial tone. I tapped the digits in again and Wallwork answered on the second ring.

“Sorry, Reacher,” he said. “The map of the drainage system? I’ve tried, but there’s nothing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “The research phase is over.”

I brought him up to speed with how I came to have the truck. Its cargo. And my destination for the night.

“My ETA is around 2100, local,” I said. “Can you meet me there?”

Wallwork was silent for a moment. “It won’t be easy. I’ll have to pull some strings. But to secure the device? Sure. I’ll find a way.”

“You’ll fly out?”

“I’ll have to. I’m in the middle of Tennessee. Too far to drive to Texas in time.”

“OK. When you land, make sure the chopper doesn’t leave right away. And tell the pilot to refuel. Fill the tanks to the brim.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to need a ride someplace.”

“Can’t do that, Reacher. You’re a civilian. The Bureau’s not a taxi service.”

“I don’t need a taxi. I need to get to Fenton before Dendoncker kills her.”

Wallwork went silent again.

“And I need to get Dendoncker. I’m the only one who can. Unless you’d rather he walks?”

---