Page 67 of The Secret

Kasluga folded her arms.

“Or I could shoot you in the head and call him myself.”

Kasluga said, “You could. But I wouldn’t recommend it. He’d send every SWAT team on the Eastern Seaboard to storm this place. The only way he’ll come is if I call. We talked about situations like this. Made a plan. We have a code.”

“So go ahead.”

“I will. On three conditions.”

“You’re in no position to negotiate.”

“I’m in the best position. Strength. I have something you need. Something you can’t achieve your goal without.”

The sisters looked at one another, then Roberta said, “Conditions?”

“First, you can’t hurt Charles. He’s a good man. He didn’t kill your father intentionally, I’m sure. It must have been part of something bigger. Part of his job. Defending the United States. You’ve got to find some way for him to make amends that doesn’t involve violence.”

“OK.”

“Second, I don’t want to be hung upside down again. I don’twant my hands tied, or my feet. If I’m going to be a Judas goat I’m at least going to do it with a little dignity.”

“Done.”

“Third, I need the bathroom. Which means I need to get my purse from your car.”

—

Stamoran slammed hiscar door in Reacher’s face but before the window had wound all the way up his car phone began to ring. He picked it up and Reacher heard the first couple of snippets of his conversation. He said, “Susie? My God. Have they hurt you? Where…?”

Reacher ran to his car. He jumped in, fired it up, and reversed rapidly out of the way. Stamoran’s car lurched forward then took a right, as tight as the great heavy barge could manage. Reacher jammed his into Drive and chased after it. Return to unit be damned. He could worry about explanations later.

—

When Reacher sawStamoran’s car arrive at what he assumed was their objective his heart sank. It was some kind of old industrial building on the bank of the river, to the east of the city. It was a generous single story high, like it had been designed for machines, not people. The walls looked solid. They were well maintained. There were no windows. No skylights in the roof. And worse still, there was only one way in. A double door. It was made of solid-looking wood. And it was closed. There was no view inside.

Outside, there were no surveillance teams. No support vehicles with additional troops or armor or weapons or ventilators. And there were no helicopters in the air. It was your basic nightmarescenario. Disaster was written all over it. No competent commander would let his troops within a hundred miles of the place. There was no way an entry should be attempted without knowing the occupants’ numbers and weapons and disposition and morale. Even then any assault would need to be carefully planned and launched at an optimum time with suitable decoys and diversions.

The only saving grace was that Stamoran was still in his car. It looked like he was arguing with his bodyguards. Then Reacher’s heart sank further. Stamoran got out. Alone. He started walking toward the door. He was reckless as well as ruthless, Reacher thought. And then he was inside.

The bodyguards jumped out the moment Stamoran disappeared. They ran to the entrance. One opened the door. The other covered him. The first guy went inside. The second followed. The door swung shut.

Reacher heard a gunshot. A second. Then silence.

—

Reacher leaned onthe gas and his car lurched forward. He steered past Stamoran’s and swerved around the Sansons’ Suburban. He kept going until he was as close to the entrance as he could get. Then he slid out. Drew his gun. Ducked low and weaved across the last of the open ground until he got to the door. He slipped inside and right away he saw the bodyguards. They were sprawled on the ground in the entranceway. There was no need for him to check their vitals. Neither of them had enough of their heads left. Big chunks of their skulls had been blasted away and blood and bone and shiny gray slime lay glistening on the wall and floor. Someone inside the building liked to do their wet work up close and personal. That was clear.

Reacher took cover behind four blue water tanks that were fixedto the floor. The space was surprisingly bright given the absence of windows. There were lines of giant lights running along the ceiling. They threw weird shadows through the forest of blue and red pipes that sprouted up and branched out at all different heights and angles. There was a constant, low throbbing sound from some kind of nearby equipment. The air was heavy and stale and had a slight odor of oil and chlorine.

Reacher listened. He heard nothing so he left his cover, darted forward, and took up a more advanced position behind a long gray equipment cabinet. Then he heard more shots. There were three this time. They were loud and echoey in the enclosed space and it sounded like they’d been fired close together. There was the rattle of metal against concrete. A gun had fallen. Then a solid, heavy thump. A body had hit the ground. Then two more thumps, similar but lighter. A second body. And a third.

A woman’s voice shrieked, “Charles!”

The echo died and silence returned. Reacher risked peering around the cabinet. At twelve o’clock he saw Susan Kasluga. She was standing with a rope around her waist, secured to a pillar. Her purse was at her feet. Her hands were empty. Her eyes were wide and desperate.

Charles Stamoran was at two o’clock. He was lying on the ground, on his back, his right leg folded under his body. His shirt was soaked with blood. His hands were empty, but a Ruger pistol was lying on the ground in front of him.

A woman was on the ground at four o’clock. She would be in her late twenties. She was slim and her dark hair was pulled back tight. She had a Sig Sauer pistol in her hand, but she wasn’t moving. A bullet had hit her in the forehead. It had left a gaping hole there like a third, sightless eye.

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