Page 87 of No Plan B

Along the side of the house a row of glass doors led out to the balcony. There were four. Maybe from bedrooms. They were all closed and, inside, white drapes were drawn across them. For privacy. Or to combat the heat.

Reacher moved around to the back of the house. The balcony boards were solid. His feet made no noise. He looked down into the yard. It was an even space, fifty feet square, carved out from the trees and covered with grass. Hix must have been getting ready for a party. There was a bar to the left with a line of silver buckets for ice, tables with trays of plastic cups, and two giant trash cans done up to look like Greek urns. In the center of the lawn a space had been covered to make a temporary dance floor. And there was a stage to the right with a drum kit, microphone stands, and a lighting gantry extending across its whole width.

Reacher continued around the balcony until he found what he was looking for. A sash window with frosted glass. A bathroom. He took out his ATM card and pushed it up into the jamb between the upper and lower panes. He worked it from side to side until the latch eased around and disengaged. He lifted the lower section an inch and looked inside. He saw a tub. A sink. A toilet. But no people. He opened the window the rest of the way and climbed through. He crossed to the door. Opened it a crack. Saw no one. He carried on to the landing. It was a broad U shape with an ornate rail around the open side, like an internal version of the balcony. The hallway was below. The stairs were at the far end. Voices were echoing up from the first floor. Three men. They sounded familiar. And they sounded angry.

—

Reacher crept downthe stairs. He kept to one side, where the treads were least likely to creak. Made it to the hallway and crossedto the first door to the right. The men were yelling on the other side. Reacher recognized the voices from the ceremony at the prison.

Brockman said, “It’s your fault. If you hadn’t lost your nerve and hidden away like a scared little kid we—”

“You’re blowing everything out of proportion.” It was the guy who had emerged from the tent, pretending to be Begovic. “I was scared, sure. I’m not an idiot. But I was still working. Our contacts are reestablished. Deliveries resume this afternoon. I got better rates from two of our customers. There’s no shortage of demand out there. And we have all the supply we could ever need. The only question is, how much money do we want to make?”

“But Reacher saw you.”

“So?”

“And he saw the photograph. He knows you’re not Begovic.”

“Hasn’t the photo been destroyed?”

“Yes.”

“The fingerprint record replaced?”

“Yes.”

“And there’s no DNA on file for Begovic. So there’s no way to prove I’m not him. You should have talked to me at the start. I would have told you. There’s no danger. Especially since the real Begovic will be boxed up within the hour. By tomorrow he’ll be in small pieces. There’s nothing Reacher or anyone else can do to stop that.”

—

Reacher opened thedoor and walked through. He found himself in a kitchen. It looked like it had recently been renovated. The surfaces were all marble and pale wood and stainless steel. Three guys were sitting on tall stools at a breakfast bar. They all spun around.

Brockman stood up. “Reacher? The hell are you doing here?”

Reacher closed the gap between them in two strides and punchedBrockman in the face. He fell back, slammed into the counter, and slid onto the floor between his two buddies.

Reacher turned to the guy who was posing as Begovic. He said, “You. Real name?”

The guy climbed down off the stool. He said, “Bite me.”

“Unusual. I bet you had a tough time at school.” Reacher punched him in the gut. The guy doubled over. Reacher slammed his elbow down into the back of his head and the guy’s legs folded and he hit the floor, face-first.

Reacher turned to Hix.

Hix stayed on his stool. His phone was in his hand. He said, “Don’t look at me. I’m not telling you a thing.”

Hix jabbed the phone three times. Reacher took it from him. There were three digits on the display: 911. But there was no call in progress. Reacher dropped the phone and crushed it with his heel. Then he walked around the counter to the business side of the kitchen. He opened the drawers in turn until he found one with utensils in it. He took out a knife. A small one. Its blade was only three inches long. But it was sharp. Designed for delicate work. Peeling. Mincing. Dicing. Reacher held it up for Hix to see. He said, “I watched you on the stage this morning. You looked like you were having fun. Like you loved the attention. The cameras. So tell me this: Would the cameras still love you if I slice your nose off and make you eat it?”

—

Reacher was insidethe big white house for fewer than ten minutes. When he came out he was carrying a prison ID on a lanyard and a car key. He crossed to Hix’s BMW and opened the driver’s door. He leaned in and hit a button up on the ceiling near the rearview mirror. The gates started to swing back over the driveway. He called toMaurice and told him to come out from his hiding place in the trees. Then he walked to the end of the driveway and called to Hannah. He told her to retrieve the cushion from the wall and the blanket that was tied to the fender and bring the VW around to the front of the house.

Hannah parked at the bottom of the stairs leading to the front door. Jed had moved to the passenger seat. Maurice was standing nervously near the VW’s rear hood.

“OK,” Reacher said. “Here’s the deal. Jed—your father is alive. I will try to keep him that way but I’m not going to lie. He’s short on time, and he’s in a lot of trouble. So no promises. Hannah—I need you to take Jed to the Riverside Lodge. Get a room. Use the name J.P. Slough. Pay cash. Call Detective Harewood. We do need him to get the feds involved. Tell him to start here, at the house. If I’m not at the hotel in two hours, leave town. Don’t come back. Maurice—you were half right. Something is killing Minerva inmates. Maybe outsiders, too. But it’s not drugs.”

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