Page 20 of The Secret

Kasluga saw her stress ball sitting on a low table beneath the window. It was leaning against a decanter of whiskey. A pair of cut-crystal tumblers sat on either side. She made her way across to the table and poured two measures. She went heavier on one, which she carried over and handed to Stamoran.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You took me by surprise. That call—”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Stamoran said.

“I know. It’s just…it’s nothing you need to worry about. Just business.”

“Your takeover deal?”

“A vulnerability. Something that could have derailed everything. But it’s fixed now. That call was confirmation. Which is why it was so short.”

“I’ve never known a lawyer to be so brief.”

“Who said it was a lawyer?”

“Maybe I’m better off not knowing about this.”

“See? Another reason I married you. Impeccable instincts. Now let’s leave work till tomorrow. It’s getting late.” She took a long sip of her drink. “And there are much better ways to spend an evening together.”

—

Ottoway watched theMPs lead Chapellier away then crossed to Reacher’s side. She said, “What was that all about?”

Reacher shrugged. “New orders.”

“Anything good?”

“More likely the opposite.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. So are you shipping out?”

Reacher nodded.

Ottoway said, “When?”

Reacher said, “Tonight, I guess, if I can get a flight. Otherwise first thing tomorrow.”

“I vote for tomorrow. Stay in Chicago tonight. That was a job well done. We deserve to celebrate.”

“You have a point.” Reacher was quiet for a moment. “And there’s something else I wouldn’t mind taking care of before I leave.”

—

Reacher led theway back inside the building and strolled across to the bar. The bartender looked up then took a step back. He hadn’t noticed Reacher approach. He wasn’t expecting to see anyone right in front of him. Certainly not anyone who looked like Reacher. Six foot five. Chest like a refrigerator. Arms like other people’s legs. Cropped hair. Head tipped quizzically to one side.

On the far side of the bar there was a metal tub about ten inches high and a yard across. At the start of the evening it had been crammed with ice and bottles of beer. Now it was mainly full of water with a few residual cubes floating around. Reacher pointed to it and said, “That thing? Give it to me.”

The bartender blinked and said, “Why?”

Reacher said, “I want to borrow it.”

“No,” the guy said. “But you can rent it. Twenty bucks for a half hour. Driver’s license for security. No questions asked. Do what you want with it.”

Reacher shook his head. “I borrow it. For two minutes. Youwatch what happens. And when I return it, if you still think I should pay, I’ll give you forty.”

The bartender thought for a moment then called his buddy to help him heave the tub across to a spot close to Reacher. Reacher picked it up and headed toward the fat guy who’d messed with the waiter, earlier. The guy made a point of turning his back. Reacher closed in, paused to make sure the waiter was close enough to see what was happening, then lifted the tub and dumped the icy water over the fat guy’s head.

He screamed. He howled. He flailed his arms and danced up and down on the spot. He huffed and gasped and finally spun around to face Reacher. His cap had been washed off. His beard was drenched. His shirt was clinging to his torso.

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