Bad Luck and Trouble

wrists came free and she pushed herself up into a kneeling position. Reacher gave her the knuckleduster and his Glock and swapped the SIG from his left hand to his right.
    After that, it got a whole lot easier.
    Dixon did the smart thing, which was to ignore the knuckleduster and haul herself across the cabin like a mermaid to Lamaison’s pockets, where she found a wallet and another SIG and O’Donnell’s switchblade. Two seconds later her feet were free, and five seconds after that O’Donnell was free. Both of them had been tied up for hours, and they were stiff and cramped and their hands were shaking pretty badly. But they didn’t have difficult tasks ahead of them. There was only the pilot to subdue. O’Donnell grabbed the guy’s collar in one fist and jammed a SIG’s muzzle up under his chin. There was no chance of him missing with a contact shot, however badly his hands were shaking. No chance at all. The pilot understood that. He stayed passive. Reacher stuck his SIG in Lamaison’s ear and leaned the other way, toward the pilot, and asked, “Height?”
    The pilot swallowed and said, “Three thousand feet.”
    “Let’s take it up a little,” Reacher said. “Let’s try five thousand feet.”

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    The climb took the Bell out of its slow rotation and the open door flapped around for a moment and then slammed itself shut. The cabin went quiet. Almost silent, by comparison. O’Donnell still had his gun to the pilot’s head. Reacher still had Lamaison arched backward in his seat. Lamaison had his hands on Reacher’s forearm, hauling downward, but listlessly. He had gone strangely passive and inert. Like he sensed exactly what was threatened, but couldn’t believe it was really going to happen.
    Like Swan couldn’t, Reacher thought. Like Orozco couldn’t, and Franz couldn’t, and Sanchez couldn’t.
    He felt the Bell top out and level off. Heard the rotor bite stationary air, felt the turbines settle to a fast urgent whine. The pilot glanced in his direction and nodded.
    “More,” Reacher said. “Let’s do another two hundred and eighty feet. Let’s make it a whole mile.”
    The engine noise changed and the rotor noise changed and the craft moved upward again, slowly, precisely. It turned a little and then came back to a hover.
    The pilot said, “One mile.”
    Reacher asked, “What’s below us now?”
    “Sand.”
    Reacher turned to Dixon and said, “Open the door.”
    Lamaison found some new energy. He bucked and thrashed in his seat and said, “No, please, please, no.”
    Reacher tightened his elbow and asked, “Did my friends beg?”
    Lamaison just shook his head.
    “They wouldn’t,” Reacher said. “Too proud.”
    Dixon moved back in the cabin and grabbed Lennox’s seat harness in her left hand. Held on tight and groped for the door release with her right. She was smaller than Lennox had been and for her it was more of a stretch. But she got there. She clicked the release and pushed off hard with spread fingertips and the door swung open. Reacher turned to the pilot and said, “Do that spinning thing again.” The pilot set up the slow clockwise rotation and the door opened up all the way and pinned itself back against its hinge straps. Shattering noise and cold night air poured in. The mountains showed black on the horizon. Beyond them the glow of Los Angeles was visible, fifty miles away, a million bright lights trapped under air as thick as soup. Then that view rotated away and was replaced by desert blackness.
    Dixon sat down on Parker’s folded seat. O’Donnell tightened his hold on the pilot’s collar. Reacher twisted Lamaison’s neck up and back with his forearm hard against his throat. Pulled him upward against the limits of the harness. Held him there. Then he reached over and used the SIG’s muzzle to hit the harness release. The belts came free. Reacher pulled Lamaison backward all the way over the top of the seat and dumped him on the floor.
    Lamaison saw his chance, and he took it. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and scrabbled his heels on the carpet, trying to get his feet under him. But Reacher was ready. Readier than he had ever been. He kicked Lamaison hard in the side and swung an elbow that caught him on the ear. Wrestled him facedown on the floor and got a knee between his shoulder blades and jammed the SIG against the top of his spine. Lamaison’s head was up and Reacher knew he was staring out into the void. His feet were drumming on