Page 28 of The Secret

“He won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Call it intuition. Call it anything you like, but I’m going back to work.”

Stamoran could hear the steel in her voice. He’d known her long enough to realize there was no point in arguing so he said, “All right. Back to work. But you’re going to need a guard detail.”

Kasluga dumped the black suit back on its rail. She said, “Already taken care of.”

—

The sky hadcleared by the time Reacher, Smith, and Neilsen left the bar. Neilsen went first, weaving slightly and almost tripping on cracks in the sidewalk a couple of times. Smith hung back. She stayed by Reacher’s side. She was tucked in a little closer to him than she had been before. Reacher put it down to the beer. When they arrived at the hotel, they saw that Walsh’s car was in the lot, two spaces away from Smith’s.

Neilsen’s room was also on the second floor, on the other side of Smith’s. He mumbled something that could have beengood night, took out his key, and dropped it on the floor. Reacher picked it up. He worked the lock, nudged Neilsen through the doorway, and tossed the key in after him. Reacher turned back and saw Smith standing in her own open doorway. She smiled, then said, “Sleep well.”

Chapter11

Reacher woke himself at 6:00a.m.the following morning. Two minutes later he heard footsteps in the hotel corridor. Someone treading slowly and carefully, trying not to make much sound. Then a note slid into view between the base of the door and the carpet. The footsteps padded away, faster than before. Reacher slid out of bed and looked through the spyhole in the door. He saw a woman’s back, distorted in the little lens. But clear enough to recognize. It was Amber Smith, and she was carrying her shoes.

Reacher picked up the piece of paper and unfolded it. Smith’s handwriting was jagged and bold. She said she couldn’t drive him to the office because she needed to make an early start. She was expecting an update on some hares she’d set running the day before. She thought something important was about to break. So she suggested Reacher hit up Neilsen for a ride instead of her and signed off with her initials.

Reacher tossed the note in the trash, took a shower, dressed, andheaded downstairs in search of breakfast. He ate two bagels with cream cheese, drank two cups of coffee, and left the hotel without setting eyes on Neilsen. It took him fourteen minutes to walk to the commandeered building, and when he arrived he found a security guard had been installed since the day before. He showed his ID then made his way down the corridor and unlocked the door to the room he’d been allocated.

Inside, Reacher saw that two things had changed overnight. A new page had emerged from the fax machine, and the light on the answering machine was no longer solid red. It was flashing. Three blinks and a pause, three blinks and a pause, like it was repeating S in Morse code. Reacher squeezed into the chair and turned one of the dials on the machine to Play Message(s). The first voice he heard belonged to Agent Ottoway, from Chicago. She had found someone who’d worked with Amber Smith a year or so ago. Smith had been a good agent, apparently, but had gone off the rails due to some kind of family tragedy. Reacher’s CIA friend was up next. He had learned that Kent Neilsen was once a rising star. He’d done enough stellar work to earn a lot of slack with his bosses, but the word was that he was rapidly approaching the end of that particular rope. People were rooting for him, but not many expected him to find his way back. Last was Reacher’s brother, Joe. His was the shortest message, which didn’t surprise Reacher. Joe simply said he couldn’t find any trace of a Gary Walsh at the Treasury Department, then advised caution before hanging up.

Reacher wasn’t too surprised by the first two reports. Not after what he’d seen and heard at the bar, and again after they left. Joe’s information was more troubling. He was a thorough guy. If Walsh’s record was there to be found, there was no way Joe would have missed it. Reacher would need to dig deeper. But not just then. Hehad work to do before the morning’s meeting. He picked up the new fax. It was from the army’s National Personnel Records Center. He set it on his desk next to the two reports that had come through the day before and began scanning the names, looking for connections that might unmask a murderer.

—

It was thedog that saved Lucy Adam’s life. Sophie. A golden retriever.

Lucy and Charlie ate breakfast together on their patio, tucked between the glass railings at the top of the cliff and the back of their house. Yogurt, fruit, coffee, and orange juice. Charlie would have preferred an omelet or something involving bacon and sausage, but given the struggles he’d been having recently getting his pants to fasten, he figured he needed to make some changes. He wasn’t happy about it. He was never at his sunniest in the mornings and his new diet did nothing to improve his mood. He scowled his way through the meal, hunched and grumpy and silent, and when Sophie dropped her toy at his feet he just kicked it away.

“Come on, girl.” Lucy stood up and glared at her husband. “Ignore Mr. Personality. Let’s go for a nice walk.”

Charlie waited for his wife to find her shoes and fetch the leash and disappear to the north along the cliff path, then he pushed his bowl away. He struggled out of his chair and went into the kitchen. He came back out a minute later with a bag of croissants in his hand but he didn’t sit down. He paused by the table, straining his ears. He thought he’d heard a voice. Then it came again. A little louder. From somewhere on the clifftop. It was female and it said just one word. “Help!”

Charlie dropped the pastries on the table and rushed toward therailing. He leaned over, looked down, and saw someone. A few feet below. A woman. Maybe in her late twenties. Slim and fit with dark hair. She was lying on one of the narrow, natural ledges that the wind and water had cut into the rock face over the last several millennia. She must have climbed up from the beach, far below. It wasn’t easy, but it could be done. Charlie had plotted a couple of different routes, years ago, when they had first bought the house. When he was much younger. And much lighter. There were some sketchy places, for sure, but they were all much lower down. The woman was safe where she was. There was no danger of falling from there. Not unless she rolled off deliberately. Charlie looked her over, scanning for injuries. As far as he could tell, there was nothing wrong. No blood on her head or seeping through her clothes. No limbs bent into unnatural positions. He said, “You need help?”

The woman said, “No. But you do.”

Something slammed into Charlie’s back. The force threw him against the railing. His hips crunched against the top edge and his torso jackknifed over it, leaving him bent double and scrabbling for grip. He tried to straighten up but he couldn’t move. A weight was pushing him. Two weights, he realized. A pair of hands planted squarely between his shoulder blades.

Roberta Sanson sat up. She said, “Only one person can help you now, Charlie. Yourself.” She took a piece of paper from her pocket and held it in front of Charlie’s face. “Read these names. Tell me whose is missing.”

Charlie said, “I can’t. I don’t have my glasses.”

Roberta shook her head and put the list away. “OK. Recite for me. The names of everyone connected to your research team. India, 1969.”

Charlie didn’t respond.

Roberta grabbed his wrists. Veronica took the pressure off his back, took hold of his ankles, and started to lift.

“No!” Charlie kicked and wriggled. He was trying to free himself but all he did was grind his pelvis against the narrow glass rim. “Let me go!”

Roberta said, “We will. As soon as you tell us the missing name. We’ll let you go and you’ll never see us again. I promise.”

Charlie was silent for a moment longer. The pain in his hip bones was becoming unbearable. He whimpered, then reeled off six names.

---