Page 86 of No Plan B

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Reacher tied twoof the blankets corner to diagonal corner to maximize their combined length. He rolled them to form a makeshift rope, coiled it, and slung it around his neck. Then he tied the other three blankets together the same way. He secured one end to the VW’s rear fender and climbed onto its roof. Hannah passed him the cushion. He set it down on the glass that was fixed into the top of the wall. He laid the blanket over the cushion and lowered it slowly to make sure it didn’t touch the ground on the far side. He stepped onto the wall and stood with his feet on the narrow strip of brick without any shards. Checked that the blankets hung down far enough to grab if he needed to climb back out. Then he looked around. There was a clear band of grass, four feet wide, at the base of the wall. That’s where the sensors would be buried. Beyond the grass, running the length of the property, there was a swathe of trees twenty feet deep. Reacher aimed for a gap between two of the thinner ones. He jumped, threw himself forward, rolled, and pushed himself up into a crouch. He listened. There were no alarms. No bells. No dogs.

Reacher straightened up and moved behind the tree line until he got to a point where he could approach the house on a diagonal, toward one corner. That way there would be no windows directly facing him. He crawled forward until he was at the limit of his cover. Then he lay for five minutes, completely still, observing.

There was a sound, behind him and to the left. A twig snapping. Reacher hustled back then got up and ran toward the source of the noise. He rounded a tree. And found a man. He was sitting at thebase of the trunk, hugging his knees to his chest. He peered up at Reacher and whispered, “Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.”

Reacher kept his voice low. “I’m not going to hurt you. Who are you?”

The guy straightened a little and when Reacher could see more of him he thought he looked like a young Che Guevara. The guy said, “My name’s Maurice. You?”

“Reacher. What are you doing here?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“You work for Hix? Or anyone at Minerva?”

“Hell, no.”

“You going to call the police, or do anything stupid?”

“The police are the last people I’d call. And could I do anything more stupid than get stuck in this damn yard?”

“OK, then. Nice meeting you.” Reacher turned and started back toward the house.

“Wait. Hix is home. So’s his number two. And some other guy.”

Reacher ignored him and kept moving.

Maurice scurried after Reacher. “Wait. Please. I have to ask you. Are you working on a story? Because if you are—”

Reacher said, “Are you a journalist?”

Maurice nodded.

“I’m not. I’m not going to steal your thunder. So stay here. Lie low. Keep quiet. Don’t attract any attention. Somebody’s life is at stake.”

“Somebody’s? Lots of people’s.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’re here because of the drugs, right? That’s why you’re going after Hix. What happened? Did you lose a family member? A friend? In a Minerva prison?”

Reacher grabbed Maurice’s arm and dragged him back, deeper into the trees. “Tell me what you know. All of it. Now. The nutshell version.”

“It’s like this. Minerva’s an octopus, right? An evil one. On the surface all progressive and enlightened. But the truth? Tentacles everywhere. They cherry-pick inmates. Put them to work. All kinds of ways. Including refining drugs. They do it in their disused segregation units. Supply their own populations. Which is why their death rate is so high. They deny it, but it’s true. And they’ve expanded. They supply other markets now, too.”

Drugs made sense, Reacher thought. All prisons have a problem with them. Maybe Minerva saw it as an opportunity. It could be big business. And guys involved in that trade are the kind who find themselves needing new identities from time to time. He said, “Where’s your proof?”

“Death rates. I’ve got that documented. Nothing else. Yet.”

“I’m going to visit with Hix, right now. The subject may come up. Anything concrete I find, it’s all yours.”

Chapter42

Reacher left the cover ofthe trees and approached the house from the southeast. Toward the rear corner. He climbed up onto the porch railing and wrapped his left arm around the column that supported the balcony. He used his right hand to slip the coiled-up blankets from around his neck. He held one end and swung the rest of the length around in an arc. Once. Twice. Then as it neared the top of its third rotation he snapped it in toward the house and straight back out, like a lion tamer with an oversized whip. The tip curled around the column and dropped straight down the other side. Reacher caught it with his left hand. He brought his hands close and gripped both strands together. He shifted the soles of his feet onto the face of the column. Moved his left hand up and pulled. Took a step vertically with his right foot. Moved his right hand. Stepped with his left foot. He kept going until he could grab the upper rail then he hauled himself up and over and rolled onto the balcony.

Reacher got to his feet. He stood still and listened. He heard nothing.

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