as political bullshit you could still like the fragment that was left. You could like it a lot.
"You in security too?" Armstrong asked him.
"Adviser," Reacher said.
"Well, you guys do a hell of a great job. Glad to have you aboard."
There was a tiny sound from Froelich's earpiece and she took off down the street and made her way toward Wisconsin Avenue. Merged into the traffic stream and headed south and east for the center of town. The sun had disappeared again and the city looked gray through the deep tint in the windows. Armstrong made a little sound like a happy sigh and looked out at it, like he was still thrilled with it. Under the raincoat he was immaculate in a suit and a broadcloth shirt and a silk tie. He looked larger than life. Reacher had five years and three inches and fifty pounds on him but felt small and dull and shabby in comparison. But the guy also looked real. Very genuine. You could forget the suit and the tie and picture him in a torn old plaid jacket, out there splitting logs in his yard. He looked like a very serious politician, but a fun guy, too. He was tall and wired with energy. Blue eyes, plain features, unruly hair flecked with gold. He looked fit. Not with the kind of polish a gym gives you, but like he was just born strong. He had good hands. A slim gold wedding ring and no others. Cracked, untidy nails.
"Ex-military, am I right?" he asked.
"Me?" Neagley said.
"Both of you, I should think. You're both a little wary. He's checking me out and you're checking the windows, especially at the lights. I recognize the signs. My dad was military."
"Career guy?"
Armstrong smiled. "You didn't read my campaign bios? He planned on a career, but he was invalided out before I was born and started a lumber business. Never lost the look, though. He always walked the walk, that's for sure."
Froelich came off M Street and headed parallel with Pennsylvania Avenue, past the Executive Office Building, past the front of the White House. Armstrong craned to look out at it. Smiled, with the laugh lines deepening around his eyes.
"Unbelievable, isn't it?" he said. "Out of everybody who's surprised I'm going to be a part of that, I'm the most surprised of all, believe me."
Froelich drove straight past her own office in the Treasury Building and headed for the Capitol dome in the distance.
"Wasn't there a Reacher at Treasury?" Armstrong asked.
Hell of a memory for names, too, Reacher thought.
"My elder brother," he said.
"Small world," Armstrong said.
Froelich made it onto Constitution Avenue and drove past the side of the Capitol. Made a left onto First Street and headed for a white tent leading to a side door in the Senate Offices. There were two Secret Service Town Cars flanking the tent. Four agents out on the sidewalks, looking cautious and cold. Froelich drove straight for the tent and eased to a stop tight against the curb. Checked her position and rolled forward a foot to put Armstrong's door right inside the canvas shelter. Reacher saw a group of three agents waiting inside the tunnel. One of them stepped forward and opened the Suburban's door. Armstrong raised his eyebrows, like he was bemused by all the attention.
"Good meeting you both," he said. "And thanks, M.E."
Then he stepped out into the canvas gloom and shut the door and the agents surrounded him and walked him down the length of the tent toward the building. Reacher glimpsed uniformed Capitol security people waiting inside. Armstrong stepped through the door and it closed solidly behind him. Froelich pulled away from the curb and eased around the parked cars and headed north in the direction of Union Station.
"OK," she said, like she was very relieved. "So far so good."
"You took a chance there," Reacher said.
"Two in two hundred eighty-one million," Neagley said.
"What are you talking about?"
"Could have been one of us who sent the letters."
Froelich smiled. "My guess is it wasn't. What did you think of him?"
"I liked him," Reacher said. "I really did."
"Me too," Neagley said. "I've liked him since Thursday. So now what?"
"He's in there all day for meetings. Lunch in the dining room. We'll take him home around seven o'clock. His wife is home. So we'll rent them a video or something. Keep them locked up tight all evening."
"We need intelligence," Reacher said. "We don't know what exact form this demonstration might take. Or where it