Page 62 of The Secret

“You can’t do it,” Walsh said. “He’s the Secretary of Defense.”

“And that puts him above the law?”

“No. That puts him behind a bunch of bodyguards. You can’t just walk up to him and start making accusations. And how would you find him? They don’t print his schedule in thePost.”

“I’ll wait outside his house. Then it doesn’t matter where he’s heading. And I’ve got an idea that will take care of his security detail.”

“You can’t—”

“In a non-harmful way. And don’t worry. I’ll be acting alone. If there’s any blowback, it won’t touch either of you.”

—

The conversation rambledon for another ten minutes then Walsh finished his water and stood up to go. He paused on the way to the door and pulled an envelope out of his satchel. He set it down on the counter near the minibar and said, “Here’s that information you asked for. About Susan Kasluga. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Smith got up and went to use the bathroom. She was gone long enough for Reacher to start worrying that she’d had too much to drink. When she finally did come out she went back to the couch but she wouldn’t meet Reacher’s eye. She rocked back and forth for a moment then curled forward until her face was almost pressed against her knees. She wrapped her arms around her head and Reacher saw her whole torso begin to heave. He heard her sob, deep and hard and raw.

Reacher didn’t know what to say. The best he could come up with was, “Amber? Are you OK?”

Smith didn’t respond for a minute then she straightened up and wiped her cheeks and said, “The other night at the bar, you asked if I was married. I said no. Which is true. If you go with the whole till-death-do-you-part thing.”

“Your husband died?”

“His name was Philip. He was killed. By a KGB agent. Danil Litvinov. Who’s now back in Moscow. Where I can’t get to him.”

“That’s why you fed all those agents’ names to Baglin?”

She nodded, which set another plump tear careening down her cheek. “It happened a year ago. Everyone says that’s long enough. That I should move on. My mom. My sister. My friends. I figured they might be right. Told myself the next guy I meet who I like…But the only one I can think about is Philip. I’m stuck. I don’t know what to do. My personal life’s turned to stone. My professional life’s turned into a disaster. I…I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

Reacher sat on the couch next to her and put his arm around her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You can’t put a clock on these things. They take as long as they take. And they’re no one else’s business. Maybe one day you’ll feel ready to move on. Maybe you won’t. Either way, you’re not doing anything wrong. The asshole who killed your husband was the one who did wrong.”

Smith leaned against Reacher’s chest. He felt her start to sob again, silently this time, then after ten minutes her body went slack. Reacher picked her up and carried her to the bed. He laid her down and folded the comforter over so that she was covered up. Then he went to the other half of the suite and picked up the phone. He called the duty sergeant at his base and gave an order for his ClassA uniform to be delivered to his hotel before 6:00a.m.that morning.Then he lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. He wondered what kind of machine down in the bowels of the building would have made a record of his call. And he wondered if that sort of record would ever be used as a clue if he was found bled out on a bathroom floor.

Chapter23

Four hours later, at 5:00a.m.,Roberta and Veronica Sanson coasted down the ramp that led to AmeriChem’s parking garage. Roberta stopped at the barrier and entered the override code she’d found in the pouch in the fire truck the day before. Nothing happened for a long moment. Her pulse spiked. There was no guarantee that the fire department kept its emergency access information up to date. If they couldn’t get the vehicle into the garage their whole plan would be left in tatters. But she needn’t have worried. The barrier rose and she drove through. She parked the Suburban as far away from the elevators as possible. Then they settled down to wait.

—

Susan Kasluga didn’tread in the car on the way to the office that morning. It was unlike her to waste twenty minutes when she could be doing something productive—ten minutes, at that hour—but shewas exhausted. She was stressed. She hadn’t slept because she’d been waiting for a phone call that never came, and she had a grueling session ahead of her with Serge, the media coach. She was going to announce her new, groundbreaking merger deal in the next few days, with her in the starring role, and she needed to be at the top of her game to prepare. Needed to be. But knew she wasn’t. And now that she had lost the chance to sleep, the only thing she wanted to do was shut her eyes.

—

Roberta and Veronicawatched the Town Car enter the garage. It stopped at the bottom of the ramp and the two bodyguards got out. They made a show of scanning the area, then Susan Kasluga joined them and they headed to the elevator. Roberta and Veronica waited ten minutes after the shiny door closed, just in case, then Veronica dribbled some chloroform onto a rag. Roberta fired up the engine, drove toward the ramp, and stopped next to the Town Car. Veronica climbed out. She gestured for the chauffeur to lower his window. He did, and she leaned in and clamped the rag over his mouth and nose. When he stopped struggling Roberta helped her wrestle his body around the side of the car and into the trunk. They gagged him, tied his wrists and ankles, and Veronica took his place behind the wheel. She drove up the ramp. Roberta followed in the Suburban. Ten minutes later they drove back down, together. The Town Car was now on the top deck of a public garage three blocks away.

Veronica used the chauffeur’s security pass to activate the elevator then hit the button for the twentieth floor. They rode up, stepped out into an empty corridor, and Veronica led the way to Susan Kasluga’s corner suite. Roberta opened the door to the outer office. Veronica moved aside in case the assistant worked the same hoursas her boss. She didn’t. The only people there were the two guards. One was sitting behind the desk, playing with the trolls. The other was sprawling on a two-person couch.

Roberta stepped through the doorway and said, “Fellas, thank goodness we’ve found you. We’ve got a problem. Two guys, Middle Eastern–looking, clean shaven, carrying backpacks. They just went in the men’s room by the elevators. Come on.”

Roberta darted back into the corridor. The guards followed. She led the way to the bathrooms then stood aside. The guard who’d been sprawling said, “Thanks, ladies. We can take it from here.”

The guards pushed the door to the men’s room and rushed inside. Roberta and Veronica went in after them. The first guy spun around. He said, “I told you. We can handle this.”

Roberta said, “Can you? Can you handle him?” She nodded toward the far corner of the room.

The guy turned to look and Roberta punched him in the side of the head. One hit was all it took. He went down like a switch had been thrown. Veronica took a two-step approach with the other guard. First she kicked him in the balls. Then when he doubled over she drove her elbow down into the base of his neck. Twice the number of blows, but the same end result.

—

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