stared at Reacher and let the flame die. Ran a hand across his scalp. Reacher heard the loud rasp of the stubble passing under his palm in the still night air.
"I'm Dell Fowler," the guy said. "I'm chief of staff here."
A quiet voice. West Coast. Reacher looked back at him and nodded, slowly.
"You want to tell me what staff you're chief of?" he said.
"Loder didn't explain?" the guy called Fowler asked.
"Loder didn't explain anything," Reacher said. "He had his hands full just getting us here."
Fowler nodded and smiled a chilly smile.
"Loder's an idiot," he said. "He made five major mistakes. You're one of them. He's in all kinds of deep shit now. And so are you."
He gestured to one of the guards. The guard stepped forward and handed him a key from his pocket. The guard stood with his weapon ready and Fowler unlocked Reacher's chain. It clattered down the tree trunk to the ground. Metal on wood, a loud sound in the forest night. A dog padded near and sniffed. People moved in the trees. Reacher pushed away from the trunk and squeezed some circulation back into his forearm. All six guards took a pace forward. Weapons slapped back to the ready position. Reacher watched the muzzles and Fowler caught his arm and turned him. Cuffed his hands together again, behind his back. Nodded. Two guards melted away into the trees. A third jabbed the muzzle of his gun into Reacher's back. A fourth took up position to the rear. Two walked point out in front. Fowler fell in beside Reacher and caught his elbow. Walked him across toward a small wooden hut on the opposite edge of the clearing. Clear of the trees, the moonlight was brighter. Reacher could make out the writing on Fowler's shoulder flash. It read: Montana Militia.
"This is Montana?" he said. "Loder called it a brand-new country."
Fowler shrugged as he walked.
"He was premature," he said. "Right now, this is still Montana."
They reached the hut. The point men opened the door. Yellow light spilled out into the darkness. The guard with the weapon in Reacher's back used it to push him inside. Loder was standing against the far wall. His hands were cuffed behind him. He was guarded by another lean, bearded man with a machine gun. This guy was a little younger than the other grunts, neater beard. A livid scar running laterally across his forehead.
Fowler walked around and sat behind a plain desk. Pointed to a chair. Reacher sat down, handcuffed, six soldiers behind him. Fowler watched him sit and then transferred his attention across to Loder. Reacher followed his gaze. First time he'd seen Loder on Monday, he'd seen a degree of calm competence, hard eyes, composure. That was all gone. The guy was shaking with fear. His cuffs were rattling behind him. Reacher watched him and thought: this guy is terrified of his leaders.
"So, five mistakes," Fowler said.
His voice was still quiet. And it was confident. Relaxed. The quiet confident voice of a person very secure about his power. Reacher heard the voice die into silence and listened to the creak of boots on wood behind him.
"I did my best," Loder said. "She's here, right?"
His voice was supplicant and miserable. The voice of a man who knows he's in deep shit without really understanding exactly why.
"She's here, right?" he said again.
"By a miracle," Fowler replied. "You caused a lot of stress elsewhere. People had their work cut out covering for your incompetence."
"What did I do wrong?" Loder asked.
He pushed forward off the wall, hands cuffed behind him, and moved into Reacher's view. Glanced desperately at him, like he was asking for a testimonial.
"Five mistakes," Fowler said again. "One, you burned the pickup, and two, you burned the car. Way too visible. Why didn't you just put an ad in the damn paper?"
Loder made no reply. His mouth was working, but no sound was coming out.
"Three, you snarled this guy up," Fowler said.
Loder glanced at Reacher again and shook his head vigorously.
"This guy's a nobody," he said. "No heat coming after him."
"You should still have waited," Fowler said. "And four, you lost Peter. What exactly happened to him?"
Loder shrugged again.
"I don't know," he said.
"He got scared," Fowler said. "You were making so many mistakes, he got scared and he ran. That's what happened. You got any other explanation?"
Loder was just staring blankly.
"And five, you killed the damn dentist," Fowler said. "They're not going to overlook that, are they? This was supposed to