The Sentinel (Jack Reacher #25) - Lee Child Page 0,75

walnut. His hands were shrivelled and the veins and tendons stood out like cords under his skin. His hair was thin and grey and tangled and it hung down past his shoulders. Technically he was wearing faded blue coveralls with some kind of corporate logo on the chest, but he was so skinny and the material was so stiff from the laundry it looked like the clothes had swallowed him.

‘Computers,’ Reacher said. ‘Which dumpster would they be in?’

‘Get back in your car,’ the guy said. ‘Leave. Right now. Or I’m calling 911.’

‘It’s no good calling 911. The police department’s phones are down. Haven’t you heard? And there’s no need. We’ll be happy to leave. Just as soon as we pick up something that got sent here by mistake. Something that belongs to us.’

‘If it’s here, it belongs to us. It says so in the contract with the town. You take something, you’re stealing it. Can’t have that.’ The guy ducked back into the cabin and reappeared a moment later holding a shotgun. A Benelli M1 Tactical. A nice weapon. Shipped in all the way from Italy. Capable of holding six 12-gauge cartridges. It looked brand new. ‘That’s why the company gives us these. And trains us how to use them.’

Reacher wasn’t entirely convinced that a recycling company would hand out military-grade weaponry to its employees. And he was certain that this particular employee had not gone through any kind of training. Not in the last thirty years, anyway. Given the state he was in, if the guy pulled the trigger the recoil would knock him on his ass. Break his collarbone, for sure. Maybe his whole shoulder. But if he pulled the trigger from that range, any damage the guy did to himself would be the least of Reacher’s worries. He was conscious of the captured Beretta in his waistband. The old guy’s movements had been pretty slow up to that point. Putting him out of action before he could bring the Benelli to bear would be pretty straightforward. But maybe a little premature at that stage. It was a little early to abandon diplomacy altogether.

Reacher started to move away from the minivan. Very slowly. Just in case negotiations failed.

‘Hold it,’ the guy said. He raised the shotgun to his shoulder. ‘I told you to get in the car. Not move away from it.’

The driver’s door opened and Sands climbed out. She had a black leather wallet in her hand. She held it out in front of her, at shoulder height, like a tiny shield. ‘Federal agents,’ she said. ‘Put the gun down.’

Diplomacy, Reacher thought. Or lying. It could be hard to tell them apart.

The old guy lowered the gun, but he didn’t let go of it.

‘What’s your name?’ Sands said.

The guy hesitated for a moment. ‘You can call me Polk.’

‘OK then, General. Here’s what we’re going to do. First, you’re going to answer a question. The electronic equipment that gets brought here from the town. What happens to it?’

‘It gets stored. Along with the ’tronics from our other clients. Then it gets taken away.’

‘Who by?’

The guy shrugged. ‘Whoever buys it, I guess. One year it’s one guy. The next year, someone else. I don’t get to pick.’

‘When do they take it? How often?’

‘Once a month. First Monday, usually. Unless they’re late. Which they sometimes are.’

‘So everything that came in the last three weeks is still here?’

‘Right. Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘Where?’

The guy gestured over his shoulder, to the cabin. ‘In there. Locked up.’

‘Show me.’ Sands started down the slope.

‘Hold it,’ the guy said. ‘You got a warrant? You can’t come in demanding to see stuff without one. I know my rights. We’ve had training.’

Sands continued until she was standing right in front of him. Reacher tracked her movement, keeping six feet to the right.

‘You want paperwork, huh?’ Sands tipped her head to the side. ‘I’m surprised. You don’t look much like a paperwork kind of guy. But that’s no problem. Not for me, anyway. Got a fax machine in there? I can get warrants. Subpoenas. Criminal records. Whatever I want. Assuming that’s a path you want to go down?’

The guy didn’t respond.

‘Anything in the system your bosses don’t know about?’ Sands said. ‘Yet?’

‘Assholes,’ the guy said. He ducked back into the cabin and replaced the Benelli in its rack, then led the way to the far end of the structure. He worked a lock. Pushed down on a handle, which took all his weight. Heaved open a pair of doors.