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“All of which would cost a billion dollars and break down half the time. Whereas binoculars cost a grand a pair and there’s nothing to go wrong.”

“Wait,” Elwood said. “I think this is him. Must be.”

Reacher moved his field of view up the street and saw an odd white vehicle coming toward him. It looked like a regular small SUV, but with extra swellings and warts and protuberances and other weird parts bolted on all over. Radar and cameras and GPS receivers, presumably, plus whatever else was required to make the thing work. There was no one in the driver’s seat. No one at the wheel. Just an indistinct figure in the back. The strange little car hissed along, tracking the curb at an unvarying distance. It slowed imperceptibly as it approached its preprogrammed destination. It rolled to a gentle stop exactly level with Lazarus Lorenzo’s shingle.

The passenger climbed out. Reacher leaned forward. The passenger was about forty, probably six feet tall, probably a hundred and eighty pounds. He had thick dark hair going gray. He had dark eyes, and a suntanned face. He was clean shaven. He had prominent cheekbones and a sulky, pouty mouth. He was wearing tailored flat-front chinos and a blue button-down shirt under a dark blue sport coat. No necktie, brown shoes.

“That’s Hugo,” Reacher said.

The guy walked up the path and in through the door.

Chapter 25

Reacher and Elwood left their binoculars on the windowsill and headed back to the reception area to find the woman in the satin scrubs. She was waiting there. She said, “He has arrived.” A statement, not a question.

“Thirty-four minutes,” Reacher said. “You were very accurate.”

“He is very predictable.”

“When will he leave?”

“Six o’clock,” she said. “Unless something calls him away earlier, like it did yesterday.”

“How often does that happen?”

“Almost never. Yesterday was the first time in many months.”

“Exactly six o’clock?”

“Without fail.”

“Does he take a taxi home?”

“Yes, a car with no driver comes to get him.”

“Always?”

“Without exception.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“I have no interest in where he lives.”

Reacher’s burner phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and said, “Excuse me, I need to take this call,” like he had seen on daytime TV. He stepped out through the arch to the hallway. He answered and Turner said, “I’m on my way to the airport. ETA in San Francisco is eight in the evening local time.”

“How was the meeting?”

“I’ll tell you when I see you. Did Elwood get there OK?”

“He’s with me right now.”

“You getting along?”

“Not a cross word.”

“Any news?”

“We had eyes on Hugo for about fifteen seconds. He’s in his office now. I have a plan for how to grab him up.”