Page 4 of No Plan B

Then under it.

The driver veered hard to the left. She threw all her weight onto the brake. No hesitation. No panic. She was well trained. She had years of experience. But she was still too late. She heard the tires squeal. Heard her passengers scream. And felt the impact. Through the steering wheel. Just a slight, muted ripple running around the hard plastic rim. Less of a jolt than if she’d driven through a deep pothole. Or hit a log. But then, asphalt doesn’t have bones that crush and shatter. Wood doesn’t have organs that rupture and bleed.

The driver shut her eyes and willed herself not to vomit. She knew the kind of scene that would be waiting for her on the street. She’d been an unwilling partner in a stranger’s suicide once before. It was an occupational hazard.

—

The guy onthe opposite corner saw a lot more.

He saw the bus heading north. He saw a woman arrive at the southeast corner of the intersection. He had an unobstructed view. He was close enough to be credible. In his statement he said the woman looked nervous. Twitchy. He saw her check her watch. Atfirst he figured she was in a hurry. He thought she was going to try to run across the street before the bus got too close. But she didn’t. She stopped. She stood and squirmed and fidgeted until the bus was almost alongside her. Until there was no chance for it to slow or swerve.

Then she dived under its wheels.

The woman dived. The guy was certain about that. She didn’t trip. She didn’t fall. It was a deliberate act. He could tell from the timing. The way her body accelerated. The curve it moved through. The precise aim. There was no way it could have been an accident. She had done it on purpose. He could see no other explanation.

—

Reacher was theonly one who saw the whole picture.

He was about fifty feet from the intersection. His outlook was also unobstructed but he had a wider angle of view. He saw the woman and the guy waiting to cross in opposite directions. And he saw a third person. A man. Around five foot ten. Wiry-looking. Wearing a gray hoodie and jeans. On the same side as the woman. Eight feet away from her. A foot back from the curb. Standing completely still.

The guy had picked his spot carefully. That was clear. He was in the general vicinity of the crosswalk so he didn’t attract attention the way someone loitering aimlessly might. He was far enough away from the woman that he didn’t appear to be connected to her in any way. But he was close enough that when the bus approached he only needed to take a couple of steps to reach her side. His movement was smooth. Fluid. He was more like a shadow than a physical presence. The woman didn’t notice him appear next to her. She didn’t notice his foot snake around in front of her ankles.

The guy planted his hand between the woman’s shoulder blades and pushed. It was a small motion. Economical. Not dramatic. Notsomething most observers would notice. But sufficient for the guy’s purpose. That was for sure. There was no danger of the woman stumbling forward and bouncing off the front of the bus. No danger she might get away with broken bones and a concussion. The guy’s foot took care of that. It stopped the woman from moving her own feet. It made sure she pivoted, ankles stationary, arms flailing. And it guaranteed she slammed horizontally onto the ground.

The impact knocked the breath out of the woman’s body. Her last breath. Because half a second later the bus’s front wheel crushed her abdomen as flat as a folded newspaper.

Chapter4

The bus came to restat an angle from the curb like it had been stolen by a drunk and then abandoned when the prank lost its gloss. The front end was partly blocking the intersection. Reacher saw the route number on the electronic panel above its entry door switch to a written message:CALL POLICE.He also saw the dead woman’s legs. They were jutting out from under the bus, about halfway between its front and rear wheels. One of her sneakers had fallen off. The guy who had pushed her took a black trash bag from the back pocket of his jeans. He shook it open. Crouched down next to her bare foot. Stretched an arm under the bus. Snagged something and pulled it out. Reacher realized it was the woman’s purse. The guy slipped it into the trash bag. Stood up. Adjusted his hood. And strolled away, heading south, disappearing from sight.

Reacher ran across the street, diagonally, toward the bus. The sidewalk was starting to fill up. People were spilling out of the shops and cafés and offices to gawp at the body. A man in a suit had stoppedhis car and climbed out to get a better look. But no one was paying any attention to the guy in the hoodie. He was melting away through the fringe of the crowd. Reacher barreled through the spectators, shoving people aside, knocking one of them on his ass. The guy in the hoodie cleared the last of the onlookers. He picked up his pace. Reacher kept going, pushing harder. He barged between one final couple and broke back into a run. The guy was sixty feet ahead now. Reacher closed the gap to fifty feet. Forty-five. Then the guy heard the footsteps chasing him. He glanced over his shoulder. Saw Reacher bearing down on him. He started to run, still clutching the trash bag in one hand. He slipped his other hand up inside his hood. Jabbed at a device that was jammed into his right ear. Barked out a couple of sentences. Then veered off into an alleyway that stretched away to his left.

Reacher kept running until he was a couple of feet from the mouth of the alley. Then he stopped. He listened. He heard nothing so he knelt down, crept forward, and peered around the corner. He figured if the guy had a gun he’d be looking for a target at head height. If he had a knife he’d be winding up for a lunge to the gut. But Reacher didn’t encounter any threat. There was no response at all. So he got back to his feet and took a step forward.

The alley was the cleanest he had ever been in. The walls of the adjoining buildings were pale brick. They looked neat and even. There was no graffiti. None of the second-floor windows were broken. The fire escapes looked freshly painted. There were dumpsters lined up on both sides. They were evenly spaced out. Some were green. Some were blue. All had lids. None was overflowing, and there was no trash blowing around on the ground.

The guy was thirty feet away. His back was against the left-hand wall. He was standing completely still and the trash bag was on theground at his feet. Reacher moved toward him. He closed the gap to twenty feet. Then the guy lifted the hem of his hoodie. A black, boxy pistol was sticking out of his waistband.

The guy said, “Hold it. That’s close enough.”

Reacher kept moving. He closed the gap to ten feet.

The guy’s hand hovered over the grip of his pistol. He said, “Stop. Keep your hands where I can see them. There’s no need for anyone to get hurt. We just need to talk.”

Reacher closed the gap to four feet. Then he said, “Anyone else.”

“What?” the guy said.

“Someone already got hurt. The woman you pushed. Was there a need for that?”

The guy’s mouth opened and closed but no words came out.

Reacher said, “Down on the ground. Fingers laced behind your head.”

The guy didn’t respond.

“Maybe there is no need for anyone else to get hurt,” Reacher said. “And byanyone,I meanyou. It all depends on what you do next.”

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