Page 33 of The Secret

Roberta thought,Why would they think I’d expect Pritchard to be in custody? None of the others were.

Another guy appeared at the top of the stairs.

Roberta thought,Wait. Maybe Pritchard’s not in custody? She darted forward. The guy closest to her stayed still. He let her get close. Which was a mistake. She shaped up like she was going to throw another punch but instead she smashed the side of her foot into the guy’s knee. Weight wasn’t on her side but she did have strength and momentum, and they were enough. The guy shrieked and fell sideways. He bounced off the wall and whimpered and tried to wrap his arms around his injured leg. Roberta kicked him in the side of his head. Hard. After that he was still and quiet.

Maybe Pritchard ran? Got a tip-off? Heard about the others?

The third guy took a step toward Roberta. He raised his gun. Aimed it at her chest. She grabbed his wrist with her left hand.Twisted, to stress his elbow. Crashed her right forearm into it, shattering the joint. Punched him in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. Punched him under the jaw to rattle his brain. Then she let go of his wrist, took a half step back, swung her leg up and around, gaining speed and power all the way, and kicked him in the temple. She wasn’t exceptionally tall but she was flexible and she was fast. The guy was out cold before he hit the floor.

Maybe they assumed I know his location. Maybe they don’t know it themselves? I’ll have to be careful how I play this. There are still four cars outside…

The fourth guy was already at the bottom of the stairs. He turned to face Roberta. He raised his gun but stayed well out of her reach. He said, “I’ve got to thank you, miss. These fellas are never going to live this down. Getting their asses handed to them by a girl? The fun I’m going to have? Priceless. But today’s fun is over. You’re a skinny little thing but no one could miss you from this range. Especially not me, because I’m a hell of a good shot. So give it up. Turn around. Hold your hands out behind your back.”

Roberta was still for a few seconds like she was weighing up words of such profundity she could barely grasp their full meaning. Then her head slumped forward, her shoulders sagged, and she turned so that she was facing away from the guy. He wasted no time. He didn’t want her changing her mind or pulling any tricks so he stepped in close, wrapped a PlastiCuff around her wrists and pulled it tight. He leaned in so close that Roberta could feel his breath on her neck and said, “That really was quite a performance. I never saw that coming, I’ll be honest. Was it you who put an end to the other five guys, too?”

Roberta said, “They never saw it coming, either. But then men have a long history of underestimating women, don’t you? If you didn’t, maybe more of you would be alive.”

“Maybe so. Maybe not. Either way, it’s time to go.” He pushed Roberta toward the door. “There’s someone who wants to talk with you.”

“I’m not saying a word. Not unless you tell me something first. I have to know. Did you find it? Was it here? Or was Pritchard lying?”

“The hell you talking about?”

“Pritchard’s black book. With the dates and the times and the places, all written down. It’s what I came here for.”

“Bullshit. You came to kill Pritchard, like you did the others. You admitted it. Only you’re behind the curve. You didn’t know Pritchard’s gone. You don’t know where he is.”

“I know exactly where he is. He’s where I left him.”

The guy spun Roberta around. “You have him?”

Roberta winked at the guy.

He said, “He’s alive?”

“For the time being. Until his book is safely in my hands. You know how much money I could make off of that thing? A king’s ransom. We could split it…”

“Where is he?”

“Safe. For now. But if I don’t get back to him sometime soon, that could change.”

“Tell me where.”

“How can I make this clearer? No.”

The guy glared at Roberta. “You don’t get how this works, do you?” He touched the muzzle of the gun against her chin, held it there for a moment, then slid it down over her neck. He kept it going, across her chest, between her breasts, over her stomach, all the way to the tops of her thighs. “This operation is being run from the top. The very top. I could tear you into a dozen pieces and they’d give me a separate medal for every one of them. And if I felt like doing anything else to you before then, nobody would ever be thewiser. Same goes for my buddies, when they wake up. I don’t think you’re top of their Christmas card lists. Do you?”

Roberta’s eyes opened wide. Her voice shot up an octave. She said, “Go back to town. Head east on 450, then north on 2. Just past mile marker 17 you’ll see a boathouse on the right. It’s blue. He’s in there. In a sail locker. Tied up and gagged.”

The guy patted Roberta on the cheek. He said, “See, that wasn’t hard.” He took his radio and repeated her directions, then said, “Go. All cars. Everything’s under control in here. I’ll take her for questioning, myself. Out.”

Roberta waited until the sound of the cars’ engines had faded into the distance. She said, “Under control?” Then she sprang forward and drove her knee into the guy’s groin. She put every ounce of strength and fury into it. She would have left the ground without his bulk to stop her. He screamed. His knees buckled. He toppled forward, clutching himself. He puked, spat, rolled onto his side, and settled into a drawn-out, shrill howl. Roberta looked at him and said, “There you go. Underestimating a woman, again. Will you never learn?”

Chapter13

Amber Smith dropped the carin a loading zone a block from the Soviet defector’s café. She climbed out, Reacher and Neilsen joined her on the sidewalk, and together they walked the rest of the way. The place they were looking for was called the Tsar’s Tearoom. It took up the first floor of a small, low-rise office building on the edge of a fashionable part of town. A red awning jutted out over its entrance and its facade was covered with garish paintings of onion domes and fairy-tale cathedrals and double-headed eagles. It was a look. There was no doubt about that. Reacher was no design expert but he was pretty sure it wasn’t a good one.

Smith went in first. There was a waiting area near the door with green velvet armchairs lined up along the wall. A coat check closet. A lectern for a maître d’. And plenty of tables. Four-tops in the center of the space, neatly set out like squares on a chessboard, and rectangular six- and eight-tops around the edge, all laid with white tablecloths and shiny silver cutlery and delicate cups and saucers. Reacher shook his head. The owner wasn’t re-creating a slice of hispast. He hadn’t experienced anything like this in the Soviet Union. That was for damn sure. What he was selling was pure fantasy.

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