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“So let’s go right now.”

“Head for the restrooms,” she said. “There must be a door out to an alley. Work around behind the parked driver, cross the avenue one at a time with ten seconds between, form up and deploy weapons in the parking lot ten yards short of the fire exit.”

“Yes ma’am,” Reacher said.

There was indeed a rear door out to an alley. Evidently used for deliveries in and garbage out. They followed the alley past the rear doors of the other establishments on the block and came out on the side street. Turner went first. She walked to the corner and crossed the avenue, not fast, not slow, just normal. It was conceivable the driver would see her in his mirror, if he happened to glance up at the wrong moment. But he had been briefed about a couple. A lone figure would not be a visual trigger. He would glance away again.

Reacher crossed the avenue fifteen seconds later. Not fast, not slow, just walking. He looped around into the parking lot. The Sequoia Suites’ fire door was dead ahead. Turner was waiting ten yards short of it. She handed him a Glock with a suppressor already assembled. She took its twin out of her bag and left the bag on the ground. Unburdened, unencumbered, ready to go. No need for discussion. A two-person door breach into a room full of armed hostiles was basic training. They had each perfected the technique long ago. Different places, different eras, but the same results.

Reacher walked to the fire door. He hooked his fingernails under the metal lip and pulled. The door moved an eighth of an inch and clunked hard against something metal. He tried again. Same eighth of an inch, same metallic clunk.

Turner said, “Is this the part where we need the crowbar?”

“No,” Reacher said. “This is the part where we discover it’s locked.”

“Who locks a fire door?”

“The same folks who erase video and print master keys. They wanted to bottle us up. No escape route. They’re more thorough than I thought.”

“What’s our plan B?”

“We go in through the lobby. There’s no other way.”

“The driver will see us. We’ll lose our advantage.”

“We’ll be approaching from behind. We’ll persuade him to take no further part in the proceedings.”

“It’s a public street.”

“Perfect,” Reacher said. “He won’t make a sound. This is not an upstanding citizen. He won’t want to attract attention to himself. He won’t want a sympathetic passerby to call 911.”

—

The guy in the XXL jacket searched the places that were too high for the others to get to easily. The top of the wall cabinets in the kitchen, the way-backs of the top shelves in the closets, the HVAC vents in the ceiling. His two XL buddies tried the under-counter kitchen cupboards, the silverware drawers, the dresser drawers in the bedroom, the vanity unit in the bathroom. They looked in the refrigerator, in the freezer, even in the washing machine and the dryer. Five minutes gone, and still no luck.

—

Down on the nerd floor Saxby Cameron dialed Axel Brill’s private number. He said, “Something else came up. General Turner’s deputy commander is en route to Colorado right now. His travel booking shows D.C. to Denver, an Avis car rental reservation, and a room in the Summertown motel. Exactly the same as Bisley. The itinerary could have been copied and pasted.”

Brill asked, “What’s his name?”

“Colonel Dexter Elwood.”

“Is he an investigator?”

“They all are, bro. It’s like the army’s own FBI.”

“Bisley was mugged thirty miles from Summertown. I thought they bought that story.”

“They did,” Cameron said. “There’s zero in their system expressing any doubts whatsoever. I’m guessing this isn’t about Bisley himself. I think it’s about resuming his investigation. Same inquiry, replacement personnel.”

“Colonel is a senior rank, right?”

“I guess.”

“That’s not a good sign, bro.”

“He lands in about an hour.”