It looked like a penknife, maybe three and a half inches long. A curved handle. He clicked a button and a speckled brown blade snapped outward.
"This is entirely ceramic," he said. "Same basic stuff as a bathroom tile. Harder than anything except a diamond. Certainly harder than steel, and sharper than steel. And it doesn't trigger a metal detector. That woman could have been carrying this thing. She could have slit Armstrong open from his belly button to his chin with it. Or cut his throat. Or stuck it in his eye."
He passed the weapon over. Froelich took it and studied it.
"Made by a firm called Boker," Reacher said. "In Solingen, Germany. They're expensive, but they're relatively available."
Froelich shrugged. "OK, so you bought a knife. Doesn't prove anything."
"That knife was in the ballroom Thursday night. It was clutched in that woman's left hand, in her pocket, with the blade open, all the time she was shaking Armstrong's hand and pulling him close. She got his belly within three inches of it."
Froelich stared at him. "Are you serious? Who was she?"
"She was a party supporter called Elizabeth Wright, from Elizabeth, New Jersey, as it happens. She gave the campaign four thousand bucks, a grand each in her name, her husband's, and her two kids'. She stuffed envelopes for a month, put a big sign in her front yard, and operated a phone tree on Election Day."
"So why would she carry a knife?"
"Well, actually, she didn't."
He stood up and walked to the connecting door. Pulled his half open and knocked hard on the inner half.
"OK, Neagley," he called.
The inner door opened and a woman walked in from the next room. She was somewhere in her late thirties, medium height and slim, dressed in blue jeans and a soft gray sweatshirt. She had dark hair. Dark eyes. A great smile. The way she moved and the tendons in her wrists spoke of serious gym time.
"You're the woman on the video," Froelich said.
Reacher smiled. "Frances Neagley, meet M. E. Froelich. M. E. Froelich, meet Frances Neagley."
"Emmy?" Frances Neagley said. "Like the television thing?"
"Initials," Reacher said.
Froelich stared at him. "Who is she?"
"The best Master Sergeant I ever worked with. Beyond expert-qualified on every kind of close-quarters combat you can think of. Scares the hell out of me, certainly. She got cut loose around the same time I did. Works as a security consultant in Chicago."
"Chicago," Froelich repeated. "That's why the check went there."
Reacher nodded. "She funded everything, because I don't have a credit card or a checkbook. As you already know, probably."
"So what happened to Elizabeth Wright from New Jersey?"
"I bought these clothes," Reacher said. "Or rather, you bought them for me. And the shoes. Sunglasses, too. My version of Secret Service fatigues. I went to the barber. Shaved every day. I wanted to look plausible. Then I wanted a lone woman from New Jersey, so I met a couple of Newark flights at the airport here on Thursday. Watched the crowd and latched onto Ms. Wright and told her I was a Secret Service agent and there was a big security snafu going on and she should come with me."
"How did you know she was headed to the rally?"
"I didn't. I just looked at all the women coming out of baggage claim and tried to judge by how they looked and what they were carrying. Wasn't easy. Elizabeth Wright was the sixth woman I approached."
"And she believed you?"
"I had impressive ID. I bought this radio earpiece from Radio Shack, two bucks. Little electrical cord disappearing down the back of my neck, see? I had a rented Town Car, black. I looked the part, believe me. She believed me. She was quite excited about the whole thing, really. I brought her back to this room and guarded her all evening while Neagley took over. I kept listening to my earpiece and talking into my watch."
Froelich switched her gaze across to Neagley.
"We wanted New Jersey for a reason," Neagley said. "Their driver's licenses are the easiest to forge, you know that? I had a laptop and a color printer with me. I'd just gotten through making Reacher's Secret Service ID for him. No idea if it was anything like the real thing, but it sure looked good. So I made up a Jersey license with my picture and her name and address on it, printed it out, laminated it with a thing