Page 108 of Chain Reaction

“Hennessy got a broken leg in the process.”

“I still don’t remember. But that sounds more like O’Donnell, not me. He was a legbreaker. Or Neagley, of course, if she got mad. Any of them, really. They were all capable people. They could all go to Georgia to pick up a brawler from a bar. Why would I do it myself?”

“Because JSOC got sensitive.”

“My people were better at sensitive than I was.”

“You signed the paperwork.”

“I signed anything they put in front of me. It was too boring to read it all.”

“Why wouldn’t they sign it themselves?”

Reacher paused a beat.

“Maybe because JSOC got sensitive,” he said. “Maybe my guys figured JSOC would expect me to do it personally, so they were saving me from myself. Or making it my fault if something went wrong. Or both. Either way I have no recollection. What happened to Hennessy?”

“Nothing. No charges. Either someone in his chain of command protected him, or the guy in the bar was an asshole who deserved it. Or both. Either way, Hennessy’s leg healed and he went back to active duty.”

“How old is he now?”

“Old enough. An Army Ranger and then a mercenary. A soldier, man and boy. You need to take care with him.”

“No big deal,” Reacher said. “It takes him eighteen hours to get his ass in gear. He won’t see me coming, and he won’t live long enough to know my name. So it can’t get personal, even if he does remember who signed his papers all those years ago. Plus you and Elwood will be there. It will be a level playing field.”

“It will be six of them against three of us.”

“Exactly. A level playing field. Or you could leave Elwood home, if you want. That would keep us on our toes. Might add an element of challenge.”

“When are we going?”

“First we need to figure out how to get enough firepower delivered to Colorado without the Chief of Staff finding out.”

“I have an idea about that,” she said. “In fact I have an integrated suite of three complementary ideas.”

“No wonder you get promoted so often.”

“But it would be better if you handle the first part yourself.”

“Because I’m deniable?”

“I shouldn’t get too close to it.”

“Why buy a dog and bark yourself?”

She smiled.

“I’ll call you with the details,” she said.

—

Reacher got out of the car and Turner drove away and left him on the sidewalk. She had a straight shot up the highway to the Pentagon. He had nothing to do and several hours to do it in. He set out walking, as always. His default habit. Looking around, seeing what there was to see. Every place had something to offer. In Crystal City most of what he saw was busy people, hustling here, hustling there, running the world. Some were young, in chinos and blazers or summer dresses. Some were older, in heels and sleeveless black and pearls, or seersucker suits and bow ties and pale fedoras worn at considered angles.

He kept to the main streets and looked for lunch. He found a deli with counter service. He went in and claimed a stool. The menu was on the wall. Every item had a political name. He chose a Taft, from the griddle section, which seemed to be a three-quarter-pound burger with special sauce, three types of cheese, and two fried eggs. Plus fries and onion rings. No doubt named for William Howard Taft, the fattest president in history. Six inches shorter than Reacher, but a hundred pounds heavier. The server carried the plate with both hands. Too much for a single wrist. She came back with his coffee separately. The Taft made for a fine meal. He followed it with peach pie and ice cream and more coffee. Then his phone rang in his pocket. Turner.

“I made a couple of calls,” she said. “You need to go see a sergeant named Orla Kennedy. She has most of what we’ll need.”

“Now?” he said.