Page 35 of The Secret

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Roberta Sanson wantedthe agent to suffer for as long as possible so she left him writhing on the floor, grasping his groin, until she heard the UPS truck pull up outside Neville Pritchard’s house. Then she kicked him in the side of the head, made sure he was out, lay on the rug, and pulled her arms as far apart as the PlastiCuffs would allow. She slid her wrists down the back of her legs and out from beneath her feet. Stood, and went to let Veronica in through the front door.

Veronica took out her knife and freed Roberta’s hands. She gave her a hug, then looked at the agents’ bodies slumped in the hallway and said, “You OK?”

Roberta said, “Fine,” and peeled off her balaclava. “You?”

Veronica pulled the bandage from her cheek. “Did Pritchard give up the name?”

“He’s not here. It was an ambush.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s missing. They don’t know where he is. We need to figure out where he went. And we don’t have much time. I sent the surveillance guys on a wild-goose chase but they’ll be back soon. Ninety minutes, max.”

“He ran?”

“Must have heard about his old buddies’ accidents.”

Veronica was quiet for a second then she turned and looked atthe doorframe. She opened the door and ran her fingers over a patch near the lock. She said, “I’m not sure about that. This door’s been busted in, then fixed. Recently. I think they came to snatch him up, botched it, and he slipped away somehow.”

“Maybe. Butwhy’s not important right now. It’swherethat matters.”

“He was a career agent. A cautious guy. He would have had a go-bag ready. Is his car here?”

“In the garage.”

“So he left on foot, or he had another vehicle nearby. Something untraceable.”

“Must have had a vehicle. He’s no spring chicken and he’d need to carry supplies. And if he was seen walking or running, that could be suspicious. Especially if they came for him at night.”

“So what kind of vehicle? Where would he have kept it? How would he have gotten to it?”

“If they hit the house from the front, they’d also have been watching the back. The east side is pretty exposed. Not a great place to bail out from. What about the west? We need to check the garage.”

Roberta led the way, retracing her steps from when she had snuck into the house. The garage was small by modern standards. There was room for one car plus just about enough space for a workbench at the far end and some shelves running along the side walls. The workbench was kept clean and a whole assortment of tools was laid out on a pegboard on the wall above it. The shelves were sagging under all the stuff that was piled on them. Years’ and years’ accumulation of car parts and tools for yard work, and redundant kitchen gadgets and cans of dry food. And the car was a beauty. A blood-red 1969 Camaro with a black stripe down the hood. It looked well cared for. Pritchard was clearly conscientious when it came to its upkeep. Cosmetically, it was flawless. Its paint was gleaming andthere was not a scratch or a ding to be seen. A maintenance pit stretched the whole length of the floor so the sisters figured maybe he handled the mechanical stuff himself, too.

They inspected every inch of the walls. Roberta made her way around clockwise. Veronica, the opposite way. They pushed and pulled and prodded every plank and board and panel. Nothing gave an inch. They even poked the ceiling with a broom but it was rock solid, too.

Roberta started toward the door. She said, “Come on. We’re wasting time.”

Veronica stayed where she was. She said, “Wait. I have an idea. Have you seen a flashlight in here?”

“I don’t think so.”

Veronica nodded and made her way around to the Camaro’s hood. She crept down the steps to the maintenance pit. A moment later, an inspection lamp flickered to life beneath the car. Veronica was out of sight for more than two minutes. When she climbed back up, she had a smile on her face. She said, “This is it. The pit branches off to the side and comes up under a fake coal hatch on the other side of the garage wall. It’s how he got out. It has to be. So follow me. Quick. We need to figure out where he went next.”

Chapter14

Reacher crouched down and startedto work his way through the guy’s pockets. He pulled out a wallet and opened it. He held it up for Smith to see. There was a driver’s license in the center section behind a clear plastic window. It gave the name Valery Kerzhakov.

Reacher raised his voice and said, “I wonder what the Russian community in D.C. would do if they found out that Maksim Sarbotskiy is such a pretentious freak he doesn’t just make up names, he also hides behind a body double? Laugh, I bet. Certainly stop coming to his little café.”

There was a scraping sound from the side of the room. A section of the wood paneling on the wall behind the pair of chairs slid to one side. A man appeared in the gap that had been created. He was wearing a suit with a telltale bulge under the left armpit. His head was shaved. He was tall, but not giant. Broad, but not imposing. Somewhere in size between Sergei and the whippy guys who were now lying unconscious on the floor.

Reacher said, “Got any buddies in there? Because no offense, friend, but you’re not going to get very far on your own.”

The guy said, “I’m not here to fight you. If I were…” He patted the bulge in his suit coat. Then he stepped back and gestured for Reacher to follow him. “Please.”

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