argument. Finally the driver shook her head and pointed towards Rutherford’s Beetle. She put her hands on her hips and waited until the knocked-out guy returned to the Toyota. He opened its trunk, took something out, and carried it to the VW. Around to its rear. He knelt down and stuck one hand beneath the car. Reacher’s first thought was: Bomb. Then he reconsidered. The box was too small to hold much explosive. It had to be something else. The guy gave up on the underneath and slipped the device into the hollow in the centre of the Beetle’s chunky rear fender. The driver pulled out her phone. She checked the screen and nodded. A tracker, Reacher realized. A smart tactic. A mark in the merit column.
Reacher watched the Toyota leave the garage, then turned his attention to the Suburban. It was fifty-fifty in his mind whether it was there as backup, in which case it would leave, or if it would wait and tail Rutherford anyway in case there was a problem with the tracker. Ten minutes passed. There was no sign of movement. Reacher had conceived the exercise as a way to observe his enemies in action. To gauge their competence and decision-making. Now their caution offered him another opportunity. The chance to shake things up a little.
A sign which read Back in Five Minutes was peeping out of the heap of clutter next to the monitor. Reacher fished it out, set it on the countertop, then picked up his bag and headed for the main door. He walked down the street, past Marty’s car, took the alley Rutherford had cut through, and turned to approach the Suburban head on. He was thirty yards away when the guys inside it spotted him. The driver was the first to notice. He nudged the passenger in the ribs. Reacher saw them both stiffen. He kept on walking. Slow and easy. Arms loose and well away from his sides. He didn’t want any misunderstandings. He drew level with the passenger window then stopped and pulled what he hoped was a friendly, non-threatening smile. The passenger looked at him for a long second then lowered the window.
‘What do you want?’ the guy said.
‘First, I want to apologize for yesterday,’ Reacher said. ‘I stumbled into something I didn’t understand. I had no idea what was going on and just acted on instinct. I hope your buddies are OK. Anyway, since then I had a long talk with a very interesting guy. He set me straight on a few things. Like what I need to do if I want to leave this town in one piece. So here’s the deal. I know where Rutherford is and I’m willing to hand him to you on a plate. But you’ll have to move fast. There’s not much time. He set up his doorman to pass on a story about him driving to the airport, but the truth is he’s got a guy lined up to smuggle him out of the country. A private plane. False papers. Disguises. The whole nine yards. Meet me in the coffee shop in five minutes and I’ll explain everything. Just don’t be late. This is a one-time thing. Dawdle and he’ll slip through your fingers for good. Only it won’t be my fault this time.’
Reacher strolled to the next cross street and as soon as he was out of sight of the Suburban he broke into a run. He looped around towards the main entrance to Rutherford’s building and then ducked back into the alley. He eased the pair of dumpsters apart and settled into the gap he had created to wait. He figured the Suburban guys wouldn’t tell anyone what they’d heard right away. It was too crazy. They’d want to debate it between themselves first. For at least a minute. They probably wouldn’t believe what Reacher had said, but could they afford to ignore it? Probably not. They’d decide they had to follow up. But they’d have to report in first. To whoever was pulling their strings. Then it would be crunch time. If Reacher had oversold the story they might abandon the garage. Drive around and park near the coffee shop. He hoped he hadn’t been that convincing. In which case a more sensible response would be for the guys to split up. For one of them to stay on station in the Suburban on the grounds that Reacher’s tale was most likely a ploy. And for the