Page 71 of No Plan B

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Reacher walked backto reception, tapped the bell, and waited for the smart-looking guy to reappear. Then he laid one of the key cards down on the counter.

He said, “This one doesn’t work. Can you reprogram it?”

The guy said, “Did you put it next to your cellphone? Or your credit cards?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well, what about the other one?”

“It worked fine. I went into my room. Then I put it down and came out to speak to my friend. I figured I could get back in with this one, but no luck.”

“Weird.” The guy picked up the card. “No problem, though. I can fix it right away.”

Reacher said, “Room 121.”

The guy worked the buttons on the little machine, dipped the key into the slot, and handed it back. Reacher slipped it into his pocket. Then the guy said, “Wait a minute. You’re in 112. I remember because your friend is next door. Room 114.”

Reacher nodded. “Correct. Room 112.”

“You said 121.”

“I’m good with numbers. I know exactly what I said.”

“Well, whatever you said, I programmed it for 121. My mistake, I guess. You better let me have it back. Do it over.”

Reacher shrugged, pulled out the other card, and gave it to the guy. The guy worked the machine again and handed the card back.

The guy said, “I’m really sorry about that. Stupid of me.”

Reacher said, “No problem. Same digits. Easy to mix them up. Forget it even happened.”

—

The hands onthe alarm clock crept around to 1:30a.m.Friday morning. Bruno Hix was in bed. He had been there for hours. But he hadn’t gotten a moment of sleep. He had just lain there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the stranger who had invaded his town. First, he had thought about the operation to take care of the guy. And his female companion. Harold and the others were going to hit them in their rooms at the hotel. But that had been due to happen at 1:00a.m.Another half hour had passed. It should have been a simple procedure. He should have heard something. Confirmation that the problem had been eliminated. Unless—

Hix’s phone rang. He snatched it up from the nightstand. The display showed Brockman’s number. Hix hit the answer key. “Tell me we got them.”

Brockman said, “It’s better than that. Getting stopped by that cop must have spooked them. They’ve gone.”

“What do you mean,gone?”

“They’re not in their rooms at the Winson Garden. The beds haven’t been touched. And their truck’s not in the lot. They must have sneaked away, somehow.”

“They must be staying somewhere else.”

“Not in Winson. They did have a reservation at the RiversideLodge, prepaid, in Hannah Hampton’s name, but they didn’t show up. We called all the B&Bs in town and they’re not at any of them. We checked their names and descriptions. They’re nowhere. They’re history. They’re no longer a problem.”

—

Hix dropped thephone on the pillow and closed his eyes. He breathed freely for the first time that night. He felt his heart rate slow down. He began to drift toward sleep. Then he sat up. He was wide awake again. He grabbed his phone and hit the key to call Brockman back.

Hix said, “The Riverside Lodge. Where Reacher and the woman made a reservation but didn’t show. Did you ask about walk-ins? Anyone paying cash?”

Brockman said, “No. Why would I? We know they didn’t—damn.”

“The penny drops. It’s the perfect misdirect. Or almost perfect, given they’re dealing with me, not you. Find the clerk who was working yesterday evening. They were probably bribed. Or threatened. Or both. Go to their house. Loosen their tongue. And if Reacher is at the Lodge, send Harold and the guys. Immediately. I don’t want this dragging on any longer.”

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