Page 57 of The Secret

“Calls made by the number Neilsen was in touch with,” she said. “Only one was made after he dialed Neilsen’s fax. A minute after he hung up. Let’s see who it was.”

Smith picked up the phone and spoke to the reverse directory guy again. She listened. Asked him to repeat what he’d told her. Then she thanked him and hung up. It was a long moment before she turned and looked at Reacher and Walsh.

“The person Neilsen’s contact called?” she said. “Charles Stamoran. A private line at his house. His name’s on the bill.”

—

Roberta pulled theSuburban over to the side of the road and Veronica jumped down. She ducked into a phone booth and used directory assistance to get the number for the fire department’s central office. When she was answered there she introduced herself as a journalism major from Johns Hopkins. She said she was writing a piece on public infrastructure in contrasting urban environments and so she needed to know which firehouses covered certain buildings in the city. She reeled off her list. The National Cathedral. The Dumbarton Oaks Museum. The Library of Congress. The Kennedy Center. And the headquarters of AmeriChem Incorporated.

The firehouse they were interested in was set on a triangular lot where two streets met in a V shape. That made for an efficient configuration. It meant the fire trucks and ambulances could drive in one side and out the other without ever having to turn around or back up. The tall, wide exit doors were standing open when Roberta and Veronica arrived. They had been told that such buildings are consideredpublicin the United States and are mainly open, allowing people to walk right in, but it still seemed strange to them.

Roberta parked on the street out of the way of the firehouse’s broad apron and led the way inside. There were four vehicles on the equipment floor. Three fire trucks and an ambulance. The trucks were different sizes. One had a giant ladder that ran its whole length. One had a water cannon mounted on its roof. The other looked more like a regular delivery truck, painted red. They were all parked neatly between lines painted on the floor. Boots and helmets and other pieces of personal equipment were set out in parallel groups. Three sets of double doors in the wall to the left led to an inner area. Roberta and Veronica figured that’s where the offices and the kitchen and sleeping quarters would be. And the waiting area. The sisters could hear the rumble of voices and the frenzied commentary that accompanied some kind of televised sporting event.

Veronica took up a position where she’d be seen immediately if anyone came through the doors. Roberta hurried around the front of the ladder truck. She stretched up, opened its passenger door, and hauled herself into the cab. She ran her fingers along under the dashboard, below the banks of switches and dials. And found the edge of a stiff, waterproof pouch. It was held in place with Velcro. She pulled it free. Took a knife from her pocket and cut through the cable tie that held it closed. Shuffled through the papers inside, checking each in turn until she found the one she needed. She tooka breath. Focused on the information that was printed there. Committed it to memory. Then replaced the papers and fixed the pouch back in its place.

Roberta took the spot near the doors and Veronica crossed to the other side of the space. To where the ambulance was parked. She made her way between it and the wall and suddenly the sound of cheering and yelling became much louder. Just for a second. Two people had come out of the waiting area. A man and a woman. They were both wearing black and green uniforms. They spotted Roberta and changed direction.

“Help you?” the woman said. Her expression was hovering halfway between friendly and suspicious.

—

Veronica checked overher shoulder. Whoever had come out couldn’t see her so she continued until she was standing in front of a large notice board.

—

“Are you twoparamedics?” Roberta said.

The man and the woman both nodded.

“Fantastic. That’s why I’m here. I want to sign up. Start my training. So I came to find out what the score is. There’ll be forms to fill in, I’m sure. What about minimum educational requirements? How high is the bar?”

“Wait here,” the man said. “There’s a pack. It lays everything out. You can take it home. Study it. And if you’re really up for it, you can get the ball rolling.”

—

Veronica scanned thepages that had been tacked up on the board. Most were trivial or officious. Some were out of date. But the one she wanted was right in the center. A list of addresses with a history of callouts related to gun violence. There were fourteen, each with a set of checkmarks next to it. The idea was to warn the crews to take extra care if they were dispatched to one of those places. To call for police backup at the first sign of trouble. Veronica compared them for a moment, then memorized the three with the most marks.

—

The man returnedand held out a sheaf of photocopied pages for Roberta. He said, “Good luck,” but he didn’t stay to talk any more. Neither did the woman. They moved toward the far side of the ambulance. The same way Veronica had gone. And she was still there.

“Hold up!” Roberta took a big step forward. “This is amazing. Thank you. Let me just ask you one more thing. Are there any physical requirements? Do you have to run a mile in a certain time, or carrying some specific weight?”

—

Veronica dropped tothe ground and rolled under the ambulance.

—

“It’s all inthe book,” the man said. He kept going. The woman had barely slowed down.

—

Veronica rolled outon the near side of the ambulance. She got to her feet. Checked that no one had seen her. Then collected Roberta and strolled back to their SUV.

—

“It’s a mistake,”Walsh said. “It has to be. Charles Stamoran?”

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