the right age and available and motivated? It's a statistically irrelevant fraction. So don't sweat it. You've got an impossible job. You're required to leave him vulnerable. Because he's a politician. He's got to do all this visible stuff. We would never have dreamed of letting anybody do what Armstrong does. Never in a million years. It would have been completely out of the question."
Froelich turned around and faced the room. Swallowed once and nodded vaguely into the middle distance.
"Thanks," she said. "For trying to make me feel better. But I've got some thinking to do, don't I?"
"Perimeters," Reacher said. "Keep the perimeters to a half-mile all around, keep the public away from him, and keep at least four agents literally within touching distance at all times. That's all you can do."
Froelich shook her head.
"Can't do it," she said. "It would be considered unreasonable. Undemocratic, even. And there are going to be hundreds of weeks like this one over the next three years. After three years it'll start to get worse because they'll be in their final year and they'll be trying to get reelected and everything will have to be looser still. And about seven years from now Armstrong will start looking for the nomination in his own right. Seen how they do that? Crowd scenes all over the place from New Hampshire onward? Town meetings in shirtsleeves? Fund-raisers? It's a complete nightmare."
The room went quiet. Neagley peeled off the windowsill and walked across the room to the credenza. Took two thin files out of the drawer the photographs had been in. She held up the first.
"A written report," she said. "Salient points and recommendations, from a professional perspective."
"OK," Froelich said.
Neagley held up the second file.
"And our expenses," she said. "They're all accounted for. Receipts and all. You should make the check payable to Reacher. It was his money."
"OK," Froelich said again. She took the files and clasped them to her chest, like they offered her protection from something.
"And there's Elizabeth Wright from New Jersey," Reacher said. "Don't forget her. She needs to be taken care of. I told her that to make up for missing the reception you'd probably invite her to the Inauguration Ball."
"OK," Froelich said for the third time. "The Ball, whatever. I'll speak to somebody about it."
Then she just stood still.
"This is a disaster," she said again.
"You've got an impossible job," Reacher said. "Don't beat up on yourself."
She nodded. "Joe used to tell me the same thing. He said, in the circumstances, we should consider a ninety-five percent success rate a triumph."
"Ninety-four percent," Reacher said. "You've lost one President out of eighteen since you guys took over. Six percent failure rate. That's not too bad."
"Ninety-four, ninety-five," she said. "Whatever, I guess he was right."
"Joe was right about a lot of things, the way I recall it."
"But we've never lost a Vice President," she said. "Not yet."
She put the files under one arm and stacked the photographs on the credenza and butted them around with her fingertips until they were neatly piled. Picked them up and put them in her bag. Then she glanced at each of the four walls in turn, like she was memorizing their exact details. A distracted little gesture. She nodded at nothing in particular and headed for the door.
"Got to go," she said.
She walked out of the room and the door sucked shut behind her. There was silence for a spell. Then Neagley stood up straight at the end of one of the beds and clamped the cuffs of her sweatshirt in her palms and stretched her arms high above her head. She tilted her head back and yawned. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders. The hem of her shirt rode up and Reacher saw hard muscle above the waistband of her jeans. It was ridged like a turtle's back.
"You still look good," he said.
"So do you, in black."
"Feels like a uniform," he said. "Five years since I last wore one."
Neagley finished stretching. Smoothed her hair and pulled the hem of her shirt back down into place.
"Are we done here?" she asked.
"Tired?"
"Exhausted. We worked our butts off, ruining that poor woman's day."
"What did you think of her?"
"I liked her. And like I told her, I think she's got an impossible job. And all in all, I think she's pretty good at it. I doubt if anybody else could do it better. And I think she kind of knows that too, but it's burning her up that she's forced to settle for