Page 52 of The Secret

Smith took a sip of her drink, then said, “There’s one other thing to take away from this. We can forget about talking to Susan Kasluga. She either knows about this, or she doesn’t. And if she knows, she’s not going to say a word. Not with her husband’s neck on the block.”

—

Neilsen took exaggeratedcare navigating the exit from the bar and then stayed a few yards ahead of the others. He was swaying slightly as he walked but he made it back to the hotel without injuring himself. They all rode up to the second floor together in the elevator. Then they made their way along the corridor, Neilsen in front again, and when they got close to his door he pulled out his keys. And dropped them. Reacher started to lean down to retrieve them but Neilsen waved him off.

“Go,” he said. “It’s only a door. I’ve got this.”

Smith let herself into her room and Reacher continued to his. He shrugged off his jacket and put it on a hanger. Then he heard a tap on the door. Light, but insistent. He turned, checked the peephole, and opened it. Smith was standing in the corridor. She was barefoot. She’d shed her purse. Her key was in one hand. Her gun was in the other.

She said, “My room’s been searched. Has yours?”

Reacher gestured for her to come in. He took a look around. His duffel was on the floor beneath the hangers. Maybe an inch closer to the door than where he’d left it. His spare clothes were laid out on the second queen bed. Maybe not quite as straight. In the bathroom, his toothbrush was standing in the glass by the sink. It was leaning a little. Not quite as vertical as it had been.

He said, “A couple of things have moved, I guess. But searched? I don’t know. Housekeeping could have done it.”

Smith shook her head. “Not with me. Things have been disturbed inside my suitcase. That’s deliberate.”

“You haven’t unpacked?”

“I repack every morning. It’s SOP for me. I need to leave in a hurry, I grab my bag and go. No time wasted.”

Reacher shrugged. He figured there was nothing in his room valuable enough to come back for in a pinch. He said, “You check with Neilsen?”

Smith shook her head. “I came to you first.”

They hurried back out into the corridor and Reacher tapped on Neilsen’s door. There was no answer. He knocked again, a little louder. There was no response. He banged, loud enough that he half expected other guests to come out and yell at him, but still Neilsen did not make a sound.

“What do you think?” Smith said. “Passed out?”

Reacher said, “Probably. But we should make sure. I’ll get a passkey.”

—

Reacher used thestairs both ways and was back outside Neilsen’s room a couple of minutes later. He had a key on an extra-large brass fob in his hand. He worked the lock. Pushed the door. And saw Neilsen’s feet. Still in his shoes. Sticking out through the bathroomdoorway. Reacher moved in closer. Smith followed. Neilsen was facedown on the floor. He wasn’t moving. His head was by the shower tray. There was a smear of blood on the white porcelain and a neat round puddle on the tiles. It was like Neilsen had rested his cheek on a scarlet dinner plate. Reacher leaned down and pressed two fingers against his carotid. He held them there for a full minute. Then he turned to Smith and shook his head.

“Seriously?” There was fury on Smith’s face. “The same day he finds out who was running a top secret government program he falls and winds up dead? How stupid do they think we are?” She crouched down and brushed a strand of hair away from Neilsen’s open, unseeing eyes. Her voice was suddenly soft, almost on the edge of breaking. “You know, this is worse. Stalin was right. The thousand deaths in India is just a number next to the body of one person you knew.”

Reacher was thinking about something else. About how the killer must have been waiting in the room when they said good night to Neilsen.Goodbye, as it turned out. About how he was going to find whoever sent that person. And when he did, how they were going to get more than a tap on the head.

—

Reacher and Smithmoved out of the bathroom and closed the door to the corridor. They didn’t want any onlookers gathering around.

Reacher said, “How are your acting skills?”

Smith said, “Not great. Why?”

“It’s time to sharpen them up. We need to play dumb. Do everything by the book. Make sure whoever had Neilsen killed thinks his knowledge died with him.”

“You mean Stamoran.”

“Looks that way. So here’s the story. We didn’t see Neilsen tonight. He didn’t come to the bar. We had dinner, came back, found our rooms had been turned over, knocked on his door, and when he didn’t answer we got worried. Because of his drinking. We borrowed the passkey, checked, and found him dead. That’s all. Agreed?”

“I guess. But what about the bar? The server saw us together.”

“I’ll talk to her. Remind her about the story of the golden goose. Make sure she gets the reference.”

“So we should call the police?”

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