Die Trying

smart thing to have. Two heads, better than one. Two pairs of hands. Four trigger fingers. Useful. But his rule was: stick to the job in hand. It had worked for him many times over the years. It was a rule which had served him well. Should he bend that rule? Or not? He stopped and stood concealed in the forest while the ambush squad marched by on the road. Listened to the sound of their footsteps die away. Stood there and thought about the guy some more and forced himself toward a tough decision.

    GENERAL GARBER WATCHED the whole thing happen, too. He was a hundred and fifty yards south of the ambush. West side of the road, behind a rocky outcrop, exactly three hundred yards south of where Reacher had been. He had waited three minutes and then followed McGrath in through the ravine. Garber was also a reasonably fit man, but a lot older, and it had cost him a lot to keep pace with McGrath. He had arrived at the rocky outcrop and collapsed, out of breath. He figured he had maybe fifteen or twenty minutes to recover before the rendezvous took place. Then his plan was to follow behind the three agents and see what was going to happen. He didn’t want anybody making mistakes about Jack Reacher.
    But the rendezvous had never happened. He had watched the ambush and realized a lot of mistakes had been made about a lot of things.

    “YOU’RE GOING TO die,” Borken said.
    McGrath was jammed between two soldiers on the back seat of the jeep. He was bouncing around because the road was rough. But he couldn’t move his arms, because the seat was not really wide enough for three people. So he put the shrug into his injured face instead.
    “We’re all going to die,” he said. “Sooner or later.”
    “Sooner or later, right,” Borken said. “But for you, it’s going to be sooner, not later.”
    Borken was twisted around in the front seat, staring. McGrath looked past him at the vast blue sky. He looked at the small white clouds and thought: Who was it? Who knew? Air Force operational personnel, he guessed, but that link was ludicrous. Had to be somebody nearer and closer. Somebody more involved. The only possibilities were Johnson or his aide, or Webster himself, or Brogan, or Milosevic. Garber, conceivably. He seemed pretty hot on excusing this Reacher guy. Was this some military police conspiracy to overthrow the Joint Chiefs?
    “Who was it, Borken?” he asked.
    “Who was what, dead man?” Borken asked back.
    “Who’s been talking to you?” McGrath said.
    Borken smiled and tapped his finger on his temple.
    “Common cause,” he said. “This sort of issue, there are a lot more people than you think on our side.”
    McGrath glanced back to the sky and thought about Dexter, safe in the White House. What had Webster said he’d said? Twelve million people? Or was it sixty-six million? >
    “You’re going to die,” Borken said again.
    McGrath shifted his focus back.
    “So tell me who it was, before I do,” he said.
    Borken grinned at him.
    “You’ll find out,” he said. “It’s going to be a big surprise.”
    The jeep pulled up in front of the courthouse. McGrath twisted and looked up at it. There were six soldiers standing guard outside the building. They were fanned into a rough arc, facing south and east.
    “She in there?” he asked.
    Borken nodded and smiled.
    “Right now she is,” he said. “I may have to get her out later.”
    The walkie-talkie on his belt burst into life. A loud burst of static and a quick distorted message. He pressed the key and bent his head down. Acknowledged the information without unclipping the unit. Then he pulled the radio transmitter from his pocket. Flipped it open and pulled up the short antenna. Pressed the send button.
    “Webster?” he said. “You lied to me. Twice. First, there were three of your agents down there with you. We just rounded them all up.”
    He listened to the response. Kept the radio tight against his ear. McGrath could not hear what Webster was saying.
    “Doesn’t matter anyway,” Borken said. “They weren’t all on your side. Some people in this world will do anything for money.”
    He paused for a response. Apparently there was none.
    “And you bullshitted me,” Borken said. “You weren’t going to fix the line at all, were you? You were just stringing me along.”
    Webster was starting a reply, but Borken cut him off.
    “You and Johnson,” he said. “You can get off the bridge now. The Marines stay there. We’re watching. You