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Hennessy was slow to react to it all. By the time he had both hands on his MP5 Reacher had his gun pointed at the center of his face.

“At ease, sergeant,” he said.

Game over. One handgun round expended, two rifle rounds, plus as many as Turner had fired, which could have been half a magazine, judging by the state of the right-hand guy’s body. It was chewed up. The day crew leader. Not anymore.

Behind him he heard Turner running in. In the corner of his eye he saw Elwood hustling over from the far building. Amanda had gone silent and looked bewildered. Julia was leaning forward, her mouth open, a silent scream, not making a sound. The helicopter pilot was staring out his window. Turner ran past Reacher, straight to Julia. Elwood arrived at a steady jog and took Hennessy’s MP5 off his shoulder and his pistol from its holster.

“Thank you, colonel,” Reacher said. “Fine work, earlier. We’re in your debt.”

“To you too,” Elwood said. “That was some fast draw. Just like the movies.”

“Except I missed,” Reacher said. “I got him in the throat. I was aiming between his eyes. I prefer instant brain death in a hostage situation.”

“No harm, no foul.”

“You and the general should drive Mrs. Bisley and the baby over to the diner. Get them something to eat and drink. Calm them down and bring them back here in an hour. I need Mrs. Bisley thinking straight by then, so take care of her. Park out front. They don’t need to see back here again.”

Elwood pointed with his thumb at Hennessy.

He said, “What about this guy?”

“I promised him a run at me,” Reacher said. “I’m a man of my word.”

—

Reacher watched the pickup drive away. Silence clamped down. No sound, except random ticks and clicks as the metal buildings cooled, as the sun fell away. Reacher pointed to the gap where he and Turner had hidden out.

“You lead the way,” he said.

Hennessy froze a beat. Then he started walking, slow and uncertain. Reacher fell in behind, with the pistol. They made it to the mouth of the gap.

“Keep going,” Reacher said.

Hennessy walked on into the shadow.

“Keep going,” Reacher said.

Hennessy kept going. He passed Reacher’s shotgun, propped on the fence. He saw the furrow in the gravel, and the bloodstain. He saw the dead guy. The chair-borrower.

“Your lookout,” Reacher said. “Very poor performance. You should be ashamed.”

Hennessy stopped.

“Keep going,” Reacher said.

Hennessy moved on again. Three paces, four.

“Stop there,” Reacher said. “Turn around.”

Hennessy turned around.

Now Reacher was level with the dead guy. He picked up the fallen MP5 and tossed it over the fence. It fell on the gravel, six feet inside. He took the pistol out of the dead guy’s holster and tossed it too.

“Take your jacket off,” Reacher said.

“Why?”

“You’re going to toss it over the fence. I bet you have a knife in the pocket. It’s for your own good, really. You know what happened to the last guy who pulled a knife on me.”