Page 48 of No Plan B

“No. He’s worse. He’s human. He had a choice.”

“You know something? You’re right.” Hannah took another step then kicked the guy in the ribs. “He did choose this. He chose to help the people who murdered Sam. Not just killed him.Killedcould be an accident. They took Sam’s life on purpose. For some sort of gain. They’re assholes. I hate them. I think we should get every last one of them.”

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

“Good. So what do we do next?”

Chapter26

It was a question ofbalance.

The question arose because the spectators at the next day’s ceremony would be divided into two groups. Those who showed up in person. And those who would watch remotely. On TV. Or online. The problem was how to look good to both sets of people. If he remained too static he would appear stiff and wooden to the live crowd. But if he was too animated he would come across as a maniac on the screen. The cameras would have to jerk around to keep him in the frame. It would look like he was having a fit. No one told him to his face—everyone said his speech was a triumph—but that’s what Bruno Hix believed had happened the last time an innocent man was released. Because he had gotten carried away. He had been feeding off the energy from his audience. Lapping it up. He had overindulged. Like with any great feast, it felt good in the moment. But the aftermath was no fun at all. And thanks to the likes of YouTube, the aftermath would live forever online.

The solution lay in better preparation. Hix knew that. He had already memorized his words. He was going to knock the content right out of the park. He had no doubt about that. He just needed to work on the delivery. To make sure he hit both targets simultaneously. The real and the virtual. That would be no mean feat. So he had devised a new system. A combination of old technology and new. He had started by getting the prison’s maintenance crew to install giant mirrors on one wall of the conference room. He had them build a mock-up of the stage at the opposite end. Then he had two small video cameras delivered. They were designed for people who did active sports. Things like skiing and mountain biking and kayaking. Hix didn’t care about how shockproof they were. He wasn’t interested in their underwater performance. But there was one feature he figured would be essential. They were voice activated. So he set one on a regular tripod by his side and aimed it at the mirror to capture the kind of distant view the crowd would get. He set the other on a mini tripod sitting right on his lectern. It was pointing straight at his face. Cropped in tight, the way the news guys would do it. His plan was to give the command to record, which would set both cameras going simultaneously. Run through his speech, several times, with different expressions and gestures and degrees of movement. Then he would play the footage back, both feeds side by side on his computer screen, and settle on the best combination.

Hix had blocked out two hours in his diary. He had told his assistant that unless the prison went on lockdown he was not to be disturbed. He climbed up on the practice stage. He switched on the cameras. He was about to begin the recording. Then the conference room door swung open.

Hix turned and yelled, “What?”

Damon Brockman stepped into the room. He stayed well away from the stage and said, “You were right.”

Hix said, “Of course I was right.” He looked back into the lens of the lectern camera, opened his mouth, then paused. “Right about what?”

“The drifter from Colorado. Reacher. He was trying to come here.”

“Was?”

“The guys at the truck stop on I-20 are all over him.”

“They stopped him?”

“They got a positive ID.”

“So they saw him. I’m asking, did they stop him?”

“They’ve been on radio silence since they sent his picture. Probably busy keeping him on ice. I’ve sent Harold up there to help them.”

“Harold?”

“Harold Keane. The guys call him ‘Tiny.’ You’d recognize him if you saw him. He’s been with us ten years. We brought him over here from Atlanta. He’s six foot six. Three hundred pounds. All muscle. He won silver in America’s Strongest Man two years running when he worked for the Georgia state system.”

“Only silver?”

“Bruno, do me a favor. Don’t ever say that to his face.”

“He has a short fuse? Good. But it’ll take him a while to get up there. Send the guys from the Megamart as well. The intersection with US 61 is way closer.”

“Will do.”

“And you can stand the guys down from the Greyhound station in Jackson. No point leaving them there now.”

“I’ll text them. Let them know. What about the guys at the construction site on US 87?”

“Leave them for now. Just in case. Until we know for sure that Reacher’s safely under wraps.”

“Understood.”

“Good. Send the messages. Then why don’t you come back? Watch me rehearse for tomorrow?”

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