Page 47 of The Secret

Smith said, “So, Reacher, what do you think? Do we tell Baglin? Or not?”

Reacher said, “I think there’s another dimension we need to consider before we decide. A thousand people were killed. Innocent people. Their deaths have been swept under the rug. Feels like there could be a moral obligation here, too. We know what happened. We’ve seen the pictures. Would it be right to turn a blind eye?”

“It would be right to let sleeping dogs lie. No crime has been committed. No one has profited. Justice has not been cheated. We can’t bring the dead back to life. What happened was that sabotage led to an accident. The saboteur is dead. The victims’ families have been compensated. So we should focus on the problem in front of us. Not on digging up the past. Especially when the past is buried in a minefield.”

Smith said, “I’m not so sure. I agree with Reacher. We need to think about it more. I mean, what if it wasn’t sabotage?”

Neilsen said, “What else could it be? The Agency didn’t rain on its own parade. You can be sure of that. And it wasn’t the KGB. You said so yourself.”

Reacher said, “It could have been negligence. Or corner cutting. Or something that was just inherently dangerous. Look at thelocation they chose. American lives weren’t at risk. If it was safe, why didn’t they do it in New York or California?”

Smith nodded. “We need more data before we make a decision. We should start with Morgan Sanson’s family. He had a wife. Four kids. What kind of a guy was he? Happy? Depressed? Did he keep a diary? Is it true he was in dispute with the chemical company?”

Reacher said, “Good. Can you make a start on tracking them down? In the meantime we should talk to Neville Pritchard. If the structure was the same as the site in Sri Lanka that Flemming looked at, Pritchard could have been on point for Typhon as well as 192. He could tell us who his control was in the States.”

Neilsen said, “Are you forgetting? Pritchard’s missing.”

“Then we’ll find him.”

“How?”

“I need to see his house. Figure out where he went.”

“You can’t. His whole neighborhood will be swarming with agents in case he comes back.”

“I don’t need to physically go there. A satellite photo will be good enough. The CIA has those, right?”

“Maybe.”

“I need you to get a copy of the latest one for the area.”

Neilsen shrugged. “I can try.”

“I’ll need a map, too. Maryland and the surrounding states.”

Smith said, “I have one in my car.”

Neilsen said, “We’re wasting our time. Even if we find him, he won’t talk.”

Reacher said, “Sure he will. If we ask nicely.”

—

Roberta and VeronicaSanson figured that a Ford Explorer would fit the bill. The kind of vehicle that outdoorsy people use for towingtrailers and carrying bikes and transporting kids and dogs. Versatile, but not flashy. So they stole one, twenty years old or so, from the parking lot at a Walmart, five miles outside of town. Then they turned north and west and drove for another thirty miles until they found the entrance to the Whispering Pines campsite and backwoods resort.

The site covered a hundred acres. It was mainly forest, but there were a couple of ponds for fishing, some rocks for scrambling, and plenty of tracks for walking and trails for riding. In the center there was a cluster of buildings known as The Oasis. There was an office. A store that sold food and basic maintenance items for RVs. A restroom block. And a shower block. Spread out to the east were the full service RV plots with hookups for power, fresh water, and drainage. Roberta and Veronica ignored those. They were too close together. Too near the buildings that would attract other people. Maybe nosy people. Maybe people with good memories. Instead they drove around the site looking for remote plots. The more isolated and inaccessible the better. Any time there was a choice, they took the smaller, less obvious road.

After twenty minutes of circling around and crisscrossing back and forth, Veronica spotted a glint of white paint through a distant stand of trees. Roberta continued for a quarter of a mile then pulled off the road. They jumped down from the Ford and made their way back on foot. They slowed right down as they approached the gap Veronica had glimpsed the vehicle through. They crept close. Took a good look. It was definitely a promising candidate. An RV. White with green and brown stripes. A dated, angular shape. Windows dotted along the side and a sleeping pod bulging clumsily out over the cab. It was sitting low on its springs. So it was heavy. With tanks full of water, like they were sure Pritchard’s would be.

They worked their way around through the undergrowth so thatthey could approach the RV from the front. They figured that Pritchard—or someone else if this wasn’t Pritchard’s vehicle—would be in the living accommodation in the back. Not lurking in the cab. Roberta crept ahead. Veronica followed. They closed in, staying low, placing each foot carefully, steering clear of dead branches and dried-up twigs. When they were ten yards out they split up, with Roberta on the left, Veronica on the right. They covered another five yards. Then Roberta stood up and ran straight forward.

“No, no, no,” she yelled. “Don’t you dare.”

She had spotted a hosepipe like the one they’d found in the garage Pritchard had been using in his neighbor’s yard. Only this one wasn’t attached to a water inlet. It was connected to the RV’s tailpipe. It hung down from there, ran along the ground, then went up and in through a neat hole in the bottom corner of the main door.

Veronica caught up with her sister. The vehicle’s engine wasn’t running. Roberta laid her hand on the hood. She shook her head and said, “Stone cold.” Then she took off her sweater and wrapped it around her head. She took hold of the door handle and pulled. The door swung open. A faint gray-blue mist drifted out from the interior. Roberta hesitated for a moment then climbed inside. She found a kitchen area with a tiny sink, a single burner cooktop, and a mini-fridge. A flimsy table with a bench seat on either side. A narrow door that opened into a basic bathroom. And a couch at the very back of the space. It took up the RV’s whole width. Neville Pritchard was sprawled out on it. His eyes were open, unfocused, completely still. Everything in the place was coated with a thin, oily film. Including Pritchard’s skin, which made him look more like a ghost than a man.

Roberta jumped down onto the ground outside and broke the news to Veronica.

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