Jack and Joe: Hunt for Jack Reacher Series (The Hunt for Jack Reacher Series Book 6) (21 page)

“You always were a good guesser.”

I took that as confirmation. “So what does any of this have to do with Reacher?”

“Have you seen him?”

“He hasn’t walked up and introduced himself if that’s what you’re asking.”

For the first time, his comeback wasn’t quite so snappy. “Stay alert. He’s not the kind of guy who talks much. He’ll act first and sort later.”

“He was one of the best snipers in the world at one time. Even if he’s grown old and slow, he could still pull this one off, maybe. Did he shoot Summer?”

He paused. “Data downloaded from the satellites is inconclusive.”

So he had something more from the satellites than the photos I’d seen from Sheriff Taylor. Maybe even photos of the sniper. “He’s certainly capable.”

He didn’t deny the truth.

I said, “The shot wouldn’t have been too difficult for him, back in the day, at least. Summer was speeding, but she was traveling at a steady pace along a well-marked and predictable roadway. Some calculations would have been required, but I heard from Joe Reacher’s ex that Jack’s always been good with numbers.”

“This wasn’t the world’s longest or toughest sniper kill. Not even close.”

“What was the world’s longest sniper kill?” I asked.

“I haven’t checked the record books lately, but last I heard, it was still 2.47 kilometers.”

“Which is what?” I did a quick calculation in my head. “About a mile and a half? What kind of rifle? Accuracy International L115A3 Long-Range?”

“That’s a reasonable choice.”

Which meant yes. Lightweight, easy to transport, comes with a stand and a suppressor to reduce the noise and the flash.

I said, “It holds five rounds, too. Which means the shooter
could
get it wrong four times.”

A team of FBI agents could comb the countryside out there and never find any evidence, though. Too much time had passed. Too much contamination of the scene from weather and travelers. And the terrain was rough. Mountains, trees, mud, and all manner of possible ways the evidence was probably destroyed.

The bullet that hit Summer was never going to surface, either, and for many of the same reasons.

“Expensive gun. Costs about $35,000.” He paused. “Requires significant training to shoot, and a shooting range set up to handle practice with a gun like that.”

I nodded, but I was fairly sure he couldn’t see me. It was dark and smoky in here, for one thing. “It’s portable, but probably about fifteen pounds for the weapon alone. That’s pretty tough terrain out there. Any vehicles in the area at the time of the shot?”

“Not even any two-tracks to drive them on.”

“You figure it couldn’t have been a woman, then?”

“Not likely. We don’t have very many female snipers in the modern military. And the military is the most likely place to train one.”

“So he is a military-trained sniper with access to the best weapon for the job. He hiked into position, set up, shot to kill Summer, packed up, hiked out. And you never saw him and have no clue who he is.”

“That about sums it up.”

I said nothing.

After a long pause, he asked, “We’re sure she was killed with a sniper shot?”

“The local medical examiner says she was. He showed us what he says is a bullet hole in her skull.”

Another long pause. “You’ve seen plenty of bullet holes in skulls. Did it look like the real thing to you?”

I hesitated because, like I told Taylor, the bullet hole meant a premeditated kill of the coldest sort. Which was exactly the kind of thing Reacher
could
do. But it didn’t sit well with me.

For one thing, this wasn’t Reacher’s style, was it? Everything I’d seen and heard about him indicated he was a guy who deployed direct physical confrontation instead of hiding in the trees to shoot a woman from a distance and slinking off afterward.

The most likely answer is usually the right one, though. Unless we could come up with a more likely expert marksman who had roamed freely around Fort Bird, the Boss would default to Reacher. And he’d probably be right.

At this point, we had a lot of questions and not many answers. We had seven bodies. A sniper. A bullet with Reacher’s name on it. Finlay and Cooper still at war with each other for reasons neither would explain. And nobody was talking.

Which meant it was time to squeeze the most likely squawker.

CHAPTER 29

The unrelenting noise inside
The Lucky Bar
was still the best place for conversation. I moved my chair closer to Gaspar and leaned in toward his ear. “Do you have brothers?”

He nodded and held up one index finger. “Paulo.”

“Older or younger?”

“Younger by three years. You?”

I nodded and held up three fingers. “Older. Sisters?”

“Consuelo, Connie. Younger by five years. You?”

“One. Younger. Are you all protective of each other?”

“Very. You?”

I nodded, stood and waved him to his feet. “Let’s go.”

He followed me outside. The noise was still loud enough to cover conversation for another twenty yards, almost all the way to where he’d parked the Crown Vic. “Where are we going?”

“Fort Bird. We need some answers, don’t you think?”

“Tony Clifton is in a tough position here. You wouldn’t turn on your brothers, would you, Helga?”

I said nothing. Because it wouldn’t be easy to overlook the high level corruption and murder that was going on here, even if one of my brothers was responsible and even if bringing him to justice would break my mother’s heart.

Gaspar assumed the driving duties as usual. He took the county road this time because he hadn’t driven the route that would have been Reacher’s only choice back then and because we were in no hurry. About five miles down the road, he asked, “What did the Boss have to say?”

I shrugged. “The usual nothing. He figures the sniper is military trained. He’s got satellite photos of the guy. He doesn’t think it was Reacher, but he can’t tell. Probably because the guy’s covered from head to toe and as well camouflaged as the Army’s woodland ACUs can make him.”

Gaspar’s eyebrows raised and he glanced toward me. “He told you that?”

“Not in so many words. He asked me if I’d seen Reacher. I took that to mean that he hadn’t. And he was disappointed.”

“Any clue what we’re doing here yet?”

“Just guesses.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“I really wish I could. What do you think is going on?” I asked, more to let him talk than because I expected any flashes of brilliance. If he’d known anything brilliant, he’d have told me already.

Gaspar started with Fort Bird, where everything seemed to have started long ago, too. “Major Tony Clifton is using you. We can agree on that much, I assume.”

I nodded. “For what, though?”

Gaspar ticked off the list. “He knows his brother is being investigated for corruption. He knew Summer was doing the investigating. He knows about the Reacher connections between them all.”

I nodded. “Is Tony sending me after his brother because he’s trying to sink Matthew Clifton or save him?”

Gaspar’s eyebrows shot up. “Why would Tony Clifton think you could do either one?”

“What if he suspected that our Reacher file assignment is a ruse? The assignment does sound lame.” Because the only explanation we had to offer was a lie. Lies were always lame.

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Maybe he thought I was really meeting with Summer about the corruption case against his brother.”

Gaspar said, “That’s a reasonable assumption. The FBI was involved in a parallel investigation to Summer’s investigation into Matthew Clifton.”

“Yes, and that one resulted in a prison sentence for General Clifton’s classmate. Thomas O’Connor confirmed that.”

“Stands to reason that Matthew Clifton is next.”

“Okay. But either way, Tony Clifton had to have been relieved when Summer didn’t show up for your meeting, right? Because Summer’s prying and prodding and looking under rocks had been postponed a little while.”

I nodded. “Makes sense.”

“So why did he send you directly to Joe Reacher’s ex-wife, Lesley Browning? When he did that, he had to know you’d end up right in the thick of Summer’s investigation because of her husband’s involvement. Why would Tony want you to pick up where Summer dropped off?”

I shook my head. These questions had been giving me a stomachache since Summer no-showed on my first trip to Fort Bird. Gaspar was my secret weapon. He thought the way Reacher thought. It didn’t make me feel better to know that Gaspar had no answers, either.

Gaspar tapped his thumb on the steering wheel, thinking. “Did the Boss tell you the particulars of the corruption claims against General Clifton?”

I glared at him. Stupid question.

“Then why not call your pal Finlay and ask? He’d be delighted to be on your good side. Call him on the Boss’s phone so he’s sure to hear whatever Finlay says, too. That’ll piss him off.”

“Men are weird,” I said and he laughed. I pulled out the Boss’s phone and dialed Finlay’s private number. The one on the card he’d given me the first night we met. When he answered, I skipped the pleasantries. “Why is General Matthew Clifton being investigated by the Inspector General?”

“Cooper does enjoy leaving you in the dark and watching you claw your way out, doesn’t he?” The smirk in his voice probably matched the one on his face.

“Just answer the question.”

“Rumor is that he’s a little too close to his friends. He’s confused. He thinks he’s a politician instead of a General.”

“You’d think he’d know the difference. Generals are warriors. Politicians are a bunch of liars.” Cheeky, but I wasn’t kidding.

Finlay, the consummate politician who reported to the most important politician in the world, laughed. “General Clifton has been granting defense contracts to his old West Point classmates on a no-bid basis. Cronyism is an illegal violation of policy. He knows it. He’s been warned. And a couple of months ago, the FBI completed an investigation into one of his classmates, a retired Colonel now working for a defense contractor, which resulted in a conviction and a two-year jail sentence for taking kickbacks that O’Connor told you about.”

“O’Connor didn’t tell me that. All he said was ethics violations. Clifton is taking kickbacks?”

“We don’t think so. But the jury’s still out on that.”

“What’s his excuse? These guys always have a justification of some kind.”

“He hasn’t said for the record. But privately, he thinks the Army’s being gutted by a bunch of politicians who want the military to save the world and do it on a puny budget that will get his soldiers killed.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I said.

“Priorities, Otto. We’re not made of money. We have budgets and we have to make hard choices sometimes.”

“Oh, I see. Hiring another twelve staffers for a Senator is more important than keeping soldiers alive who are willing to put their boots on the ground. Sending a bunch of Secret Service dudes to a Brazil brothel is a wise use of money, too. Oh, all that wasted foreign aid food and drugs rotting in the sunshine in Africa? Perfect thing to do with the budget. Let’s print more money to do all of that. I get it, Finlay.”

“I don’t think you do.” Now his tone was steel. “I’m doing you a favor here. You asked me. I’m telling you what you don’t know and apparently can’t find out.” He paused for an audible deep breath. “It’s not smart to bite the hand that feeds you, Otto. You’d do well to remember that.”

What I heard next was nothing but dead air, but I imagined I could hear the Boss laughing his ass off. Which did nothing to help my mood.

I dropped the secure cell into my pocket. Fort Bird was four miles ahead, according to the GPS in the Crown Vic, so I made the report of the conversation succinct: “The Army is making an example of General Clifton and he doesn’t like it.”

Gaspar rubbed his palm over his face and groaned. “God, I hate sanctimonious jerks. Why can’t people just do what they’re supposed to do for once?”

“If they did, Chico, we’d be out of a job.”

“I guess that means Finlay didn’t tell you who killed Summer, either.”

“Crap. He pissed me off and I forgot to ask.”

The Boss’s secure cell vibrated in my pocket and I almost ignored it. But this time, I fished it out and answered. “Otto.”

“He’s not there. You’re wasting time.”

He meant Tony Clifton. The Boss always knew where we were going and why. “Where is he, then?”

“Fort Herald. Tickets waiting for you at the airport. Get out there while there’s still time.”

“Only if you tell me who killed Eunice Summer.”

His silence was total, but he didn’t hang up. It wasn’t the first time I’d been insubordinate. And it wouldn’t be the last, the way this assignment was going. But I wasn’t planning to walk into an ambush without at least one solid answer to something important that I wanted to know.

Finally, he said, “I’ll send you the satellite images. You tell me.”