Die Trying

own feet, McGrath would just tell him to kick it over toward him. Drop it too near McGrath’s feet, and it wouldn’t work. This guy was an experienced agent. From the look of his shooting stance, Reacher was expecting at least a basic level of competence from him.
    McGrath glanced down. Hesitated. He clearly didn’t want Reacher near him. He didn’t want him stepping nearer to nudge the rifle on toward him. So he slid his own foot forward to drag the weapon back close. He was maybe ten inches shorter than Reacher, all told. Aiming the Glock at Reacher’s head from six feet away, he was aiming it upward at a fairly steep angle. As he slid his foot forward, he decreased his effective height by maybe an inch, which automatically increased the upward slope of his arms by a proportionate degree. And as he slid his foot forward, it brought him slightly closer to Reacher, which increased the upward angle yet more. By the time his toe was scrabbling for the weapon, his upper arms were near his face, interfering with his vision. Reacher waited for him to glance down again.
    He glanced down. Reacher let his knees go and fell vertically. Lashed back upward with his forearm and batted the Glock away. Swiped a wide arc with his other arm behind McGrath’s knees and dumped him flat on his back in the dirt. Closed his hand over McGrath’s wrist and squeezed gently until the Glock shook free. He picked it up by the barrel and held it the wrong way around.
    “Look at this,” he said.
    He shook his cuff back and exposed the crusted weal on his left wrist.
    “I’m not one of them,” he said. “They had me handcuffed most of the time.”
    Then he held the Glock out, butt first, offering it again. McGrath stared at it, and then stared back into the clearing. He ducked his head left and right to take in the bodies. Glanced back at Reacher, still confused.
    “We had you down as a bad guy,” he said.
    Reacher nodded.
    “Evidently,” he said. “But why?”
    “Video in the dry cleaner’s,” McGrath said. “Looked just like you were snatching her up.”
    Reacher shook his head.
    “Innocent passerby,” he said.
    McGrath kept on looking hard at him. Quizzically, thinking. Reacher saw him arrive at a decision. He nodded in turn and accepted the Glock and laid it on the forest floor, exactly between them, like its positioning was a symbol, a treaty. He started fumbling at his shirt buttons. Cut ends of rope flailed at his wrists and ankles.
    “OK, can we start over?” he said, embarrassed.
    Reacher nodded and stuck out his hand.
    “Sure,” he said. “I’m Reacher, you’re McGrath. Holly’s Agent-in-Charge. Pleased to meet you.”
    McGrath smiled ruefully and shook hands limply. Then he started fumbling at the knots on his wrist, one-handed.
    “You know a guy called Garber?” McGrath asked.
    Reacher nodded.
    “Used to work for him,” he said.
    “Garber told us you were clean,” McGrath said. “We didn’t believe him.”
    “Naturally,” Reacher said. “Garber always tells the truth. So nobody ever believes him.”
    “So I apologize,” McGrath said. “I’m sorry, OK? But just try and see it my way. You’ve been public enemy number one for five days.”
    Reacher waved the apology away and stood up and helped McGrath to his feet. Bent back down to the dirt and picked up the Glock and handed it to him.
    “Your nose OK?” he asked.
    McGrath slipped the gun into his jacket pocket. Touched his nose gently and grimaced.
    “Bastard hit me,” he said. “I think it’s broken. Just turned and hit me, like they couldn’t wait.”
    There was a noise in the woods, off to the left. Reacher caught McGrath’s arm and pulled him deeper into the forest. Pushed through the brush and got facing east. He stood silently and listened for movement. McGrath was taking the ropes off his ankles and winding himself up to ask a question.
    “So is Holly OK?” he said.
    Reacher nodded. But grimly.
    “So far,” he said. “But it’s going to be a hell of a problem getting her out.”
    “I know about the dynamite,” McGrath said. “That was the last thing Jackson called in. Monday night.”
    “It’s a problem,” Reacher said again. “One stray round, and she’s had it. And there are a hundred trigger-happy people up here. Whatever we do, we need to do it carefully. Have you got reinforcements coming in? Hostage Rescue?”
    McGrath shook his head.
    “Not yet,” he said. “Politics.”
    “Maybe that’s good,”