Reacher would bet there were vibration sensors in the ground that would trip if anyone got too close to the fence. Alarms that would trigger if the voltage in the fences dropped. Dogs that would be released if the power failed, or got sabotaged. The entrances would all be secured. The one for visitors and staff would be like an airport with X-ray machines and metal detectors. The vehicle gates would have an airlock arrangement so that the trucks and vans could be held between the layers of fence on their way in or out. Inside the buildings the service ducts would be too narrow for anyone to crawl in or climb up. They would have movement sensors and mesh screens, anyway. The doors and gates in the secure areas would all be centrally controlled, with no keypads for inmates to learn or guess the codes for, like you see in the movies. And if all else failed, there were the watchtowers. Two would be sufficient. The prison had four. A guard in each one with a rifle could cover the whole interior of the stockade plus five hundred feet beyond the perimeter, assuming an adequate level of equipment and training.
The area in front of the prison was laid out in a semicircle. There were swathes of grass and neat, colorful flower beds all following the same curve. They looked incongruous, like a bizarre attempt to copy the formal gardens of a European chateau. The only things missing were the fountains. But Reacher knew the real purpose was not aesthetic. It was to maintain a clear field of fire from the two central towers in the event of a breakout. Or an attempt to break in.
There was a broad paved strip around the outside of the semicircle. It was wide enough for vehicles to park in. The left was the staff area. It was half-full. Mainly with pickups. Older American models. Some were not in great shape. There were a few sedans sprinkled among them. Mainly domestic, from the cheaper end of the range. Then at the far side, separated by half a dozen empty spaces, there were three newer vehicles. A Dodge Ram in silver with chrome wheels and a shiny tread-plate tool chest slung across its load bed. A BMW sedan, larger than the one Reacher had encountered in Colorado, but also black. Its license plate read MC1. And a Mercedes, in white, with MC2 on its plate.
The visitors’ parking was to the right. There was only one car in that whole area. A VW Bug. It was metallic green. It had two soft tires. Its running board was hanging off on one side. It wasn’t clear if it had been parked or abandoned.
Hannah opened the driver’s door and turned to Reacher. “You ready? We’ve been here too long. We should go.”
Reacher nodded and climbed in alongside her. There was nothing more to see. But he was left thinking he knew how an epidemiologist must feel after staring at a sample from a patient with a baffling new disease. On the surface everything looked normal, but he knew there was something wrong. He just didn’t know what. Yet.
Bruno Hix was sitting at his desk. He was staring at his computer screen. And his own face was staring back.
The image was magnified. Hix’s mouth was gaping open. His eyes were half-shut. He looked drunk. Or demented. Or worse, ugly. Hix stamped his foot. Getting two video streams to play side by side was harder than he’d expected. One at a time was fine. But both together he just couldn’t figure out. He had called the prison’s IT expert but the guy had already quit for the day. He was at home, preparing dinner for his cats. He was supposedly coming back but he was taking his sweet time. A person could crawl faster. Hix was not happy. He needed to have a word with Riverdale. It was time for some staff changes. And soon.
Hix’s office door opened. Slowly.
Hix turned and said, “Where the…”
He saw Brockman framed in the doorway.
“Oh,” Hix said. “It’s you. Is there news?”
Brockman nodded.
Hix said, “Good news?”
Brockman said, “Just news.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Harold called. He got to the construction site. Our guys were not there.”
“They deserted their post? What happened? Were they threatened? Bribed?”
“They just disappeared. Brad’s Explorer was there, parked in exactly the same place Harold saw it earlier. But there was no sign of Brad or Wade.”
“So what happened?”
“No idea. Harold spoke to the driver of the pilot vehicle. He said there had been a weird incident. He said he was heading east, as usual, and he came across a truck blocking the road. He didn’t see the plate but it was the same model as the one Reacher stole. The same color.”
“Did he see Reacher?”
“It sounds like it. Here’s what Harold said happened. The pilot stopped, assuming the truck was trying to turn around for some reason. He figured it would get out of the way, sooner or later. But the other drivers got antsy. They surrounded the truck. Tried to push it. And got nowhere, naturally. It was just some crazy mass hysteria thing. They were still trying when a huge guy showed up from the opposite side.”
“Reacher?”
“Well, he chased these other drivers away. Ten of them. And he kicked another guy’s ass, apparently. Draw your own conclusion. Then he got in the truck and drove off.”
“What did Harold do?”
“He figured Brad and Wade had gotten knocked out and the guy was dumping them like he’d done with Pep and Tony at the truck stop. The roadblock was for cover. So Harold searched for them. He found nothing. But he’s still trying.”
“So we still don’t know where our guys are?”
“No.”
“And Reacher?”
“We don’t know where he is, either.”
“Well, obviously he got past the roadblock. He could be in town anytime. He could already be here. Call Harold. Tell him to come back. Right now.”
“What about Brad and Wade?”
“What about them? They had one job. They failed. We’re better off without them.”
Hannah had been using her phone to do some more research while Reacher was scoping out the prison. About food, this time. The next thing on their agenda.
She had found the place people said sold the best burgers in town. She suggested they head straight there, get some carryout, and take it to their hotel. That wasn’t an approach Reacher favored. He preferred to show up and see how a place looked for himself. He appreciated a good diner. And he was totally opposed to anything that smacked of running and hiding. Reacher was wired to move toward danger. To confront it. To defeat it, or die trying. It was baked into his DNA. But he could tell that Hannah was approaching her limit. She knew people were looking for them. The same group of people who had tried to kill her. It was reasonable for her to want to get off the street. To be out of sight as quickly as possible. It would have been cruel to force her to do otherwise, so Reacher didn’t argue.
The burger place was four blocks north of Main Street in a building that used to be a gas station. Its original pumps were still there, now repurposed as decorations with neon lights. The forecourt had been turned into a parking area. The tables were in the main building, behind large, curved windows and under an extravagant gull-wing roof.
The drive-through counter was where the old night-service window had been. Hannah pulled up next to it. She ordered, paid, and had a paper sack full of food in her hand inside three minutes. She had gotten one burger with a single patty, mushrooms, and truffle aioli for herself and two doubles with American cheese and nothing green for Reacher. She waited another minute for their two large coffees to come out then moved toward the exit. She entered the hotel’s address into the map on her phone and a robot voice told her to proceed to the route. Reacher didn’t find that advice helpful.