Make Me (14 page)

Next availability was eight in the morning. No choice. They took it. Chang had an open return, which she used, and Reacher bought his own seat. The clerk told them boarding would start about forty minutes prior, at about twenty past seven in the morning, and until then there was an airport hotel five minutes away by bus.

They walked instead, with Reacher carrying Chang’s suitcase rather than rolling it, because he figured the cast-concrete sidewalks would be tough on its wheels. The hotel was a chain, crisp and white on the outside, warm and beige on the inside, with green neon announcing its name and function. There was a small crowd in the lobby. Maybe nine people, not exactly in line for the desk, mostly just standing around, either talking on cell phones, or looking frustrated, or both.
Two equipment failures earlier in the day had caused chaos
. Reacher was not a frequent flier, but he recognized the signs.

The clerk at the reception desk beckoned them closer. She was a young woman in a fitted jacket, with a scarf around her neck. There was some kind of secret urgency in her gesture. She said, “Sir, madam, I have one room left. If you need it, you should probably grab it now.”

Chang said, “Only one room?”

“Yes, ma’am, because the airlines had a problem today.”

“Is there another hotel?”

“Not in the airport.”

Reacher said, “We’ll take the room.”

Chang looked at him, and he said, “We’ll figure it out.”

He paid, and got a key card in exchange. Fifth floor, room 501, elevators to the left, room service until eleven, breakfast extra, free wifi. Behind them two couples had lined up, about to be disappointed. Reacher and Chang rode up to five and found the room. It was beige and mint green inside, and adequate in every respect. But Chang was quiet about it. Reacher said, “You can use it.”

She said, “What will you do?”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something.” He carried her bag inside, and left it by the bed. He gave her the key card, and said, “We should go get dinner. Before the waifs and strays take all the tables.”

“Let me freshen up. I’ll meet you in the restaurant.”

“OK.”

“Do you need to freshen up? You could use the bathroom first, if you like.”

Reacher glanced in the mirror. Recent haircut, recent shave, recent shower, new clothes. He said, “This is about as good as it gets, I’m afraid.”

—

The restaurant was
on the ground floor, separated from the reception area by the elevator lobby. It was a pleasant space, with drapes and carpet and blond wood, compromised only a little by stain-proof and scuff-proof and vinyl-coated finishes on every surface. It was capacious, but almost full. Reacher waited at the hostess lectern, and was led to a table for two near a window. There was no real view. Just yellow lights, and a parking lot full of snowplows, mothballed for the summer.

Chang arrived eight minutes later, face washed, hair brushed, wearing a new T-shirt. She sat down opposite Reacher, looking good, energetic again, clearly invigorated by the simple comfort of running water. But then her face changed, as if suddenly she saw the other side of the equation, which was whatever she had, he didn’t.

He said, “Don’t worry about it.”

She said, “Where will you sleep?”

“I could sleep right here.”

“In a dining chair?”

“I was in the army thirteen years. You learn to sleep pretty much anywhere.”

She paused a beat, and said, “What was the army like?”

“Pretty good, overall. I have happy memories and no real complaints. Apart from the obvious.”

“Which was?”

“The same as yours, I’m sure. The fantastic cascade of bullshit coming down from senior officers with nothing better to do.”

She smiled. “There was some of that.”

“Is that why you left?”

She stopped smiling.

She said, “No, not exactly.”

He said, “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“I don’t know if I want to.”

“What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

She paused a beat, and breathed in, and breathed out, and said, “You first.”

“They were shedding numbers, and therefore picking and choosing. My record was mixed, and right then some particular guy had it in for me. Given those two circumstances, it wasn’t exactly a huge surprise my file ended up in the out tray.”

“What particular guy?”

“He was a light colonel. A fat guy, with a desk job. Public relations, in Mississippi. I was there, with a bad thing going on, and he got all uptight about something ridiculous, and I was mildly impatient with him, verbally, to his face, and he took offense. And got his revenge, simply because the timing worked in his favor. I had gotten away with much worse before, when they weren’t shedding numbers.”

“Couldn’t you fight it?”

“I could have called in some IOUs. But the damage was done. It was a zero-sum game. If I won, the colonel would lose, and all the other colonels wouldn’t like that. None of them would want me near them. I would have ended up guarding a radar hut in the far north of Alaska. In the middle of winter. It was a lose-lose proposition. Plus it burst the bubble for me. They really didn’t want me there. I finally realized. So I didn’t fight it. I took an honorable discharge and walked away.”

“When was this?”

“A long time ago.”

“And you’re still walking.”

“That’s too profound.”

“You sure?”

“Deep down I’m very shallow.”

She didn’t answer. A waitress came by, and they ordered. When she left, Reacher said, “Your turn.”

“For what?” Chang said.

“Your story.”

She paused another beat.

“Same as yours, in a way,” she said. “A lose-lose proposition. But of my own making. I let myself get backed into a corner. I didn’t see it coming.”

“Didn’t see what?”

“Someone broke into my house. They took nothing, searched nothing, broke nothing, and left nothing. Which I didn’t understand at the time. I was working on a money-laundering issue. There was a lot of cash and a mazy chain of shell corporations, like always, but I had the guy. But it was a hard case to prove. Almost impossible, in fact. I was leaning toward forgetting it. There’s no point in recommending a prosecution if there’s no realistic way of winning it. And then the guy came to see me. I was literally on the point of telling him the file was about to be closed. But he spoke first, and he was two steps behind. He told me if I didn’t drop it right away he would claim I had taken a bribe, back at the beginning, to look the other way, but then later on I had changed my mind and stabbed him in the back. And kept the money anyway. He figured my work would be tainted, or even excluded, and he would walk.”

“People can say all kinds of things. How could he prove it?”

“He had set up a bank account for me in the Caribbean, in my name, and he wired the bribe money to it. It was right there, large as life. Real money, and a lot of it. It would corroborate everything he was claiming.”

“Except he opened the account, not you. There must be records.”

“He told me it was a woman who broke into my house. She took nothing, searched nothing, broke nothing, and left nothing. But she used my land line. She opened the account for me, right there in my house, and it’s all over my phone bill. Which left me between a rock and a hard place. How could I prove I didn’t make that call? I figured maybe the foreign bank would have a recording, or the NSA, but two women’s voices might be hard to tell apart on a long-distance line, especially if she was trying to sound like me, which she probably was, because this was a very organized guy. He knew my Social Security Number, for instance, and my mother’s maiden name. That’s my security question, apparently.”

“So what did you do?”

“What he told me to. I dropped the case. Right away. I closed his file. But I was going to anyway. I think.”

“Where is the guy now?”

“Still in business.”

“What happened to the bribe money?”

“It disappeared. I traced it, like he knew I would. I found it in a shell corporation in the Dutch Antilles. Apparently I had purchased a minority position in a financial vehicle, as a long-term investment. He was the majority stockholder. We were tied together forever.”

“So what next?”

“I fessed up. I laid it all out for my SAC. I could see he wanted to believe me, but the Bureau doesn’t run on faith. And from that point on I would have been useless as an active agent. My testimony would have been automatically suspect, even years later. I would have been a defense counsel’s wet dream. As in, Special Agent, please tell us about the bribe you can’t prove you didn’t take. So I would have joined you in that radar hut in Alaska. In the middle of winter. It was a lose-lose. So I resigned.”

“That’s tough.”

“You win some, you lose some.”

“No, you win plenty, and then you lose one. No second chance.”

“I’m not unhappy doing what I’m doing.”

“But?”

“I don’t know how much longer we can keep on doing it. It doesn’t feel like a job for life.”

“It might have been, for Keever.”

“That’s very blunt.”

“What was his story?”

“Was?”

“OK, is.”

“I heard he was facing a third reprimand. The Bureau is very cautious, and he had a habit of rushing in regardless. No plan, no back-up. He was putting cases in jeopardy, they said. As well as himself and his fellow agents. A third strike would have qualified him for Alaska, too. That radar hut would have been getting crowded. So he resigned, ahead of the hearing. I guess he thought it was the only dignified thing to do. And before you say it, sure, I agree, that’s probably what he did in Mother’s Rest. He rushed in, regardless. He didn’t wait for back-up.”

The waitress came by, with their plates of food, and with refills for their drinks. When she was gone Reacher said, “But Keever called for back-up. He got that far. We know that. Why call and not wait?”

Chang said, “Impatience? Urgency?”

“Maybe they got to him first. While he was waiting. Maybe he didn’t rush in.”

“That sounds like a public service message on behalf of hotheads everywhere.”

“We don’t know what happened.”

“I wish he’d rushed out.”

“Always a sound policy.”

“I bet you never did.”

“More times than I can count. Which is why I’m still here, having dinner with you. The chaotic universe. Darwinism in action.”

She paused, and said, “May I ask you a question?”

He said, “Sure.”

“Are we having dinner?”

“That’s what it said on the menu. Lunch was different, and this sure ain’t breakfast.”

“No, I mean having dinner, as opposed to grabbing road food.”

“As in candlelight and piano music?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Violin players and guys selling roses?”

“If appropriate.”

“Like a date?”

She said, “Broadly, I suppose.”

He said, “Honest answer?”

“Always.”

“Suppose we had found Keever yesterday, maybe stepping off the train, or fallen over in a wheat field somewhere, with a sprained ankle, somewhat hungry and thirsty but otherwise OK, then yes, for sure I would have asked you out to dinner, and if you had accepted, then we’d be having that dinner right about now, so I guess this half-qualifies.”

“Only half?”

“We didn’t find Keever. So it’s still partly road food.”

“But you would have asked me out to dinner?”

“Absolutely.”

“Why?”

“You’re the sort of person I like to have dinner with.”

She was quiet for a long moment, five or six seconds, right to the edge of discomfort, and then she said, “I would have said yes, for the same reason.”

“Outstanding.”

“So keep it straight in your mind. We’re having dinner. Not grabbing road food. That’s a fact, not a question.”

“Then why did you ask me?”

“To make sure you knew.”

—

No dining chairs
were required that night for Reacher. They ate dessert and drank coffee, slowly, relaxed, not rushing at all, both of them choosing to trust the inevitable, and then Chang signed the check, and stood up, and Reacher stood up with her, and she linked her arm in his, like they were an old couple from way back, and they walked out together, slowly, relaxed, not rushing at all, and they waited for the elevator, and rode up to five, and opened the room.

Then it got a little less slow, and a little less relaxed, and a little more rushed. Chang was warm and fragrant, and smooth, and long-limbed, and young but not a kid, and she was strong enough to push back, and she was solid enough not to worry about. Reacher liked her a lot, and she seemed to like him back. Afterward they talked for a spell, and then she fell asleep, and then he did too, the best way he knew.

Chapter
24

Boarding started right on time
at twenty past seven in the morning. Chang rolled her bag down the air bridge, and Reacher followed it, all the way to the cheap seats about two-thirds into the plane. Chang put her bag in the overhead and took the window seat. Reacher took the aisle. He said, “How well do you know LA?”

She said, “Well enough to find the newspaper building.”

“Maybe he works from home.”

“In which case he won’t meet us there. I’m sure his address is a secret, if not his cell phone number. He’ll pick a coffee shop in the neighborhood.”

“Works for me. But which neighborhood? Do you know them all?”

“I suppose we’ll have to rent another car. We should get GPS.”

“Unless he’s in the office and willing to meet us there. We could take a cab.”

“We’ll get in too early. He won’t be there yet.”

“OK, we’ll call his cell when we land and we’ll let him make the decision for us. Coffee shop or office. Rental car or cab.”

“If he agrees to see us at all.”

“Two hundred deaths. That’s a story.”

“Which he’s already heard, according to you. When Keever’s client called him. Who seems not to have made much of an impression.”

“There’s a difference between hearing and listening. And that’s our problem. I doubt if Westwood even knows what he’s got. He didn’t listen, and his notes don’t seem to mean much. It’s going to be like picking a lock with spaghetti.”