Page 31 of The Secret

Neilsen skipped the champagne and went straight to the whiskey. Reacher and Smith stuck to beer. Reacher waited until the food had arrived and the others were on their second drinks, then he said, “One of the names I gave Baglin was for an AWOL soldier. Nothing to do with the task force. I did it to save myself the trouble of tracking him down later.”

Neilsen drained his glass and set it down. “Why are you telling us about it? You were Mr. Cagey last night.”

“Because of something you said. About the importance of trusting each other. It’s even more important now.”

“Why?”

“I met a navy guy, years ago. He had this expression. He said if you don’t know which port you’re heading for, every wind is an ill wind.”

“Do you get that?” Smith said to Neilsen. “I don’t follow.”

Reacher said, “It’s like if you don’t know what you’re aiming for, you’re always going to miss. Like with this detail we’re assigned to. How can we draw valid conclusions when we don’t know what’s going on?”

Smith said, “Have you not been listening? Bioweapon research, dead scientists, revelations that could embarrass the country. That pretty much covers it, right?”

“Wrong. The dots don’t connect the way Baglin says they do. Think it through. Someone claims the United States did some secret research to find antidotes to bioweapons? So what? Why deny it? Of course we did it. We had to. It would be embarrassing if we hadn’t. It would be worse. It would be criminal.”

“You’re being too logical. We’re talking about the general public.Civilians. They’re weirded out by bioweapons. They think of people bleeding out of their eyeballs and babies with two heads.”

“That’s why we need antidotes.”

“Again, forget your logic. This is about emotion.”

“It’s about something we’re not seeing yet. Think about the last thing Baglin said today. He wants names of scientists from the sixties. Why? They can’t be behind a plan to find out what was done. They know, because they were the ones who did it.”

“I guess.”

“And there were a bunch of these bioweapon antidote projects. None of the others has been targeted. Why this one? What’s special about it?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“The tide is about to turn. I can feel it. If that last scientist buys the farm, or if some other kind of secret gets revealed, the whole focus is going to switch to blame. The thing itself won’t be the problem. Us not containing it will be the problem. And like Neilsen said, we all have some dings on our records right now. Do you have people lining up to go to bat for you? Because I don’t.”

“So what do we do?”

“We start by getting the truth about Project 192.”

“How? Turn inward? Do some digging? Twist some arms?”

“No. That’s not going to get the job done. If we’re going to save that scientist, and our own asses, we need to go off-base a little bit. Together. Hence, trust.”

There was silence for a moment, then Neilsen said, “Two of the names I gave were for my own reasons. Bad guys, sure enough. The world will be better with them behind bars. Or in unmarked graves. But they have nothing to do with the task force.”

Smith said, “Same goes for all six of mine. All murdering assholes, but nothing to do with the dead scientists.” She paused. “So.Project 192 was a joint army/CIA thing. Are you suggesting you and Neilsen lean on some people? Cut some corners? Break some rules? Is that what you mean?”

“No. There’s no point. We would only come across two kinds of people. Ones who don’t know anything. And ones who do know but won’t tell us. If we want accurate information about what our side was doing in the sixties, there’s only one place to get it. That’s where you come in.”

“The FBI?”

“No. The KGB.”

Chapter12

The odds were that theywould walk into a trap before the morning was out, and Roberta and Veronica Sanson knew it. There was only one name left on their list. Neville Pritchard. The last guy who had worked in the lab in India in ’69. Whoever was responsible for keeping him alive would know they were coming. Would focus their resouces. It would be crazy to expect anything less. The smart move would be to walk away. To be content with what they had already achieved. But there was a problem with that. Pritchard was the only one who knew the identity they needed to discover. The key to the secret they needed to unlock. So dumb move or not, they were going to take a trip to Pritchard’s house. Their decision was set in stone. But that didn’t mean they had to go in with their eyes closed.

Roberta and Veronica rendezvoused at first light at an abandoned gas station five miles outside Annapolis, as planned. Roberta was driving a white Toyota Corolla she had stolen at Washington National airport. Veronica was in a Dodge Caravan she had taken from an off-airport hotel at Dulles. Previously they had done theirdrive-bys together, but with the likely extra surveillance in mind they decided to keep both vehicles. Make two passes, one from each direction, then compare what they had seen.

Roberta went first, heading south toward Back Creek, sticking close to the speed limit and obeying every stop sign and red light she came to. Veronica followed, sometimes five cars behind, sometimes six, and when she was two streets away from Pritchard’s she coasted to the side of the road and stopped next to a stretch of tall, ancient hedge. Three minutes later she saw Roberta’s Toyota coming back toward her. She gave no sign that she recognized it. She sat for another minute then pulled out and made her way to Pritchard’s house. Drove past it, slowly enough to get a good look, quickly enough to not attract attention, then made for a stretch of scrubby grass that overlooked the water and pulled up alongside her sister. She wiped the interior of the van for prints, jumped down, and slid into the Toyota’s passenger seat.

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