The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25) - Lee Child Page 0,16

see if it’s actually dangerous.’

Speranski took the phone away from his ear and fought the urge to smash it into a million pieces. This was the worst part of working in the field. Having to deal with spineless cretins who hid behind their desks all day. Who never put their own necks on the line and then gambled with the lives of the people who did. And then were too timid to take a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to turn the tables on the enemy even when it was handed to them on a plate.

He lifted the phone to his ear again. ‘You need to get back to them. Right now. Convince them that watching and waiting is not an option. The item may never surface. That’s true. And if it does, it may not be dangerous. That’s also true. But neither of those things matters. If the FBI doesn’t find it here, what will they do? Give up? No. They’ll keep on hunting. At the source. Until they’re successful. Which could be before the mission is complete. Which would be a disaster. And even if it was afterwards, it would be the end of … the agent concerned. Which, obviously, I will never allow to happen.’

‘I understand. And I agree. But the Center is worried about exposure. About attracting attention. Tipping our hand.’

‘Tell them there’s no danger of that happening. The interference was a one-off. A fluke. A drifter, some kind of ex-military cop read the situation and stepped in. He won’t do it again. He’s been told to leave town.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I’ve operated in this town for more than fifty years. I have contacts.’

‘Are they reliable?’

‘This is coming direct from the police department.’

‘OK. That’s good. But what if the drifter doesn’t leave town?’

‘Then I’ll take local action.’

‘Like you did with the journalist?’

‘Exactly like that.’

‘All right. I’ll talk to them. Try to get them to start surveillance up again, at least.’

‘That’s not enough. We have to take Rutherford, and fast. They don’t understand what it takes to whip up the hysteria. I’ve used everything. Local press. Whisper campaigns. A whole army of bots on social media. It’s holding for now, but it can’t last. The bubble will burst. Something else will happen and take the spotlight. Rutherford needs to disappear while everyone in town still hates him.’

Rutherford led the way to his favourite diner. It was on the ground floor of an office building on the main street, three blocks from the coffee shop. Reacher wasn’t encouraged by the exterior but he had to admit that the designer had done a credible job with the inside. The colour scheme was pure fifties with plenty of chrome, and the booths along both sides of the room all had their own mini jukebox. There was an old-fashioned pay phone on the back wall, and a line of Formica-covered four-tops down the centre. The side walls were covered with giant paintings of cars. They were all convertibles. Cadillacs and Chevys. Turquoise and pink. Speeding down scenic highways or parked by snow-topped mountains and sparkling lakes with happy nuclear families spilling out with picnic sets and footballs.

There were no other customers in the place so they helped themselves to a booth midway along the right-hand wall. It was below a turquoise Chevrolet, where Reacher could keep an eye on the doors to the street and the kitchen. A moment later a waitress emerged. She smiled at Reacher as she approached but her expression cooled when she saw who his dining companion was. Reacher ordered two cheeseburgers and coffee. Rutherford ordered one, then they sat in silence until the waitress delivered their mugs.

‘Did you see the way she looked at me?’ Rutherford pushed his mug away.

‘I’ve made myself unpopular in certain circles from time to time,’ Reacher said. ‘But to have a whole town mad at you? That’s quite an achievement. What did you do?’

‘Nothing.’

‘OK.’ Reacher took a swig of coffee. ‘What didn’t you do?’

‘I guess my big sin is that I didn’t do enough to avoid catching the blame for the mess the town’s in.’

Reacher’s mind jumped to the traffic signals and the police computers. ‘Are you the town treasurer? Some kind of municipal accountant?’

‘No.’ Rutherford rocked back on his bench. ‘Why would you think I was?’

‘Nothing in the town is working. Usually that’s because bills haven’t been paid.’

Rutherford smiled for the first time since Reacher had met him. ‘If only that was the problem. That could easily be fixed. The town’s situation is