Die Trying

drop off a tall cliff. They ran for the woods. Brogan stepped out of the hut. Stood in a bar of sunshine and tried to lift his revolver. His arm wouldn’t work. It hung uselessly.
    “Decoy,” Reacher said. “They thought I’d go in after him. He was waiting behind the door with his gun. I knew he was the bad guy. But they had me fooled for a moment.”
    McGrath nodded slowly. Stared at the government-issue .38 in Brogan’s hand. Remembered his own being confiscated. He raised the Glock and wedged his wrist against a tree. Sighted down the barrel.
    “Forget it,” Reacher said.
    McGrath kept his eyes on Brogan and shook his head.
    “I’m not going to forget it,” he said quietly. “Bastard sold Holly out.”
    “I meant forget the Glock,” Reacher said. “That’s a hundred yards. Glock won’t get near. You’d be lucky to hit the damn hut from here.”
    McGrath lowered the Glock and Reacher handed him the M-16. Watched with interest as McGrath sighted it in.
    “Where?” Reacher asked.
    “Chest,” McGrath said.
    Reacher nodded.
    “Chest is good,” he said.
    McGrath steadied himself and fired. He was good, but not really good. The rifle was still set to burst fire, and it loosed three rounds. The first hit Brogan in the upper left of his forehead, and the other two stitched upward and blasted fragments off the door frame. Good, but not very. But good enough to do the job. Brogan went down like a marionette with the strings cut. He just telescoped into the ground, right in front of the doorway. Reacher took the M-16 back and sprayed the trees on the edge of the clearing until the magazine clicked empty. Reloaded and handed the Glock back to McGrath. Nodded him east through the forest. They turned together and walked straight into Joseph Ray. He was unarmed and half dressed. Blood dried on his face like brown paint. He was fumbling with his shirt buttons. They were done up into the wrong holes.
    “Women and children are going to die,” he said.
    “You all got an hour, Joe,” Reacher said back to him. “Spread the word. Anybody wants to stay alive, better head for the hills.”
    The guy just shook his head.
    “No,” he said. “We’ve got to assemble on the parade ground. Those are our instructions. We’ve got to wait for Beau there.”
    “Beau won’t be coming,” Reacher said.
    Ray shook his head again.
    “He will be,” he said. “You won’t beat Beau, whoever you are. Can’t be done. We got to wait for him. He’s going to tell us what to do.”
    “Run for it, Joe,” Reacher said. “For Christ’s sake, get your kids out of here.”
    “Beau says that they have to stay here,” Ray said. “Either to enjoy the fruits of victory, or to suffer the consequences of defeat.”
    Reacher just stared at him. Ray’s bright eyes shone out. His teeth flashed in a brief defiant smile. He ducked his head and ran away.
    “Women and children are going to die?” McGrath repeated.
    “Borken’s propaganda,” Reacher said. “He’s got them all convinced compulsory suicide is the penalty for getting beat around here.”
    “And they’re standing still for it?” McGrath asked.
    “He controls them,” Reacher said. “Worse than you can imagine.”
    “I’m not interested in beating them,” McGrath said. “Right now, I just want to get Holly out.”
    “Same thing,” Reacher said.
    They walked on in silence, through the trees in the direction of the Bastion.
    “How did you know?” McGrath asked. “About Brogan?”
    Reacher shrugged.
    “I just felt it,” he said. “His face, I guess. They like hitting people in the face. They did it to you. But Brogan was unmarked. I saw his face, no damage, no blood. I figured that was wrong. The excitement of an ambush, the tension, they’d have worked it off by roughing him up a little. Like they did with you. But he was theirs, so he just walked in, handshakes all around.”
    McGrath nodded. Put his hand up and felt his nose.
    “But what if you were wrong?” he said.
    “Wouldn’t have mattered,” Reacher said. “If I was wrong, he wouldn’t have been standing behind the door. He’d have been down on the floor with a bunch of broken ribs, because all that thumping around would have been for real.”
    McGrath nodded again.
    “And all that shouting,” Reacher said. “They paraded along, real slow, with the guy shouting his head off. They were trying to attract my attention.”
    “They’re good at that,” McGrath said. “Webster’s