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She grabbed her stuff and opened the door.
“I’ll miss you,” she said.
“I’ll miss you too,” he said.
He watched her walk away, until she was lost to sight.
The cab driver said, “She’s a keeper.”
“I wish.”
“Where to, man?”
“Back to Palo Alto,” Reacher said. “On Route 82 from Menlo Park.”
—
Up on the glossy, glassy executive floor Axel Brill’s flip phone rang. The concierge. Who said, “We have a problem.”
Brill said, “What kind of a problem?”
“They weren’t answering their phones. So I had to walk over there. They told me Turner and the big man came back. They removed her phone from its hiding place and secured it. Then they left. Now they’re in the wind.”
“How is any of that even possible?”
“One guy is dead and one is on his way to the hospital with broken bones in his face. That’s how.”
“I’m paying you a lot of money.”
“Well, now you need to pay me more.”
“More?”
“You’re messing with the U.S. Army. This is next level.”
“How much more?”
“Double at least,” the concierge said. “Maybe three times as much. Who knows? Your targets could be special forces. Army Rangers or something. I need to go shopping in a different talent pool.”
“They’re CSA Section G-99.”
“Who are?”
“Turner and Elwood.”
“Section what? What is that?”
“I have no idea, bro. But my business partner informs me it’s like the army’s own FBI. A bunch of special agents. Turner is the boss.”
“How does your business partner know who they are?”
“He does all kinds of magic.”
“Are you inside their system?”
“You think I would tell you?”
“We have attorney-client privilege. No one can make me testify.”
