Die Trying

nodded.
    “Twin blows,” he said. “In the war against the world government. Attack the old system with a surprise move, like Pearl Harbor. At the same time as setting up a brand-new system for converts to flock to. One bird with two stones.”
    He stopped talking. Too tired to continue. Too dispirited. Garber was staring at him. Real pain in his face. The beating of the engines was so loud it sounded like total silence.
    “The declaration of independence was only half of it,” McGrath said. “Double decoy. We were supposed to be focused up there, worried about Holly, worried about a suicide pact, going crazy, while they bombed the Fed behind our backs. I figured San Francisco because of Kendall, remember? I figured Borken would target the nearest branch to where his old man’s farm was.”
    Webster nodded.
    “Hell of a plan,” he said. “Holiday weekend, agents on leave, big strategic decisions to make, everybody looking in the wrong place. Then the whole world looking at the bombing while Borken secures his territory back up there.”
    “Where is the Fed in Minneapolis?” Johnson asked urgently.
    Webster shrugged vaguely.
    “No idea,” he said. “I’ve never been to Minneapolis. I imagine it’s a big public building, probably in a nice spot, parks all around, maybe on the river or something. There’s a river in Minneapolis, right?”
    Holly nodded.
    “It’s called the Mississippi,” she said.
    “No,” Reacher said.
    “It damn well is,” Holly said. “Everybody knows that.”
    “No,” Reacher said again. “It’s not Minneapolis. It’s San Francisco.”
    “Mississippi goes nowhere near San Francisco,” Holly said.
    Then she saw a giant smile spreading across Reacher’s face. A final gleam of triumph in his tired eyes.
    “What?” she said.
    “San Francisco was right,” he said.
    Webster grunted in irritation.
    “We’d have passed him already,” he said. “Miles back.”
    Reacher thumbed his mike. Shouted up to the pilot.
    “Turn back,” he said. “A big wide loop.”
    Then he smiled again. Smiled and closed his eyes.
    “We did pass him,” he said. “Miles back. Right over his damn head. They painted the truck green.”
    The Night Hawk swung away into a high banked loop. The passengers swung their gaze from window to window as the landscape rotated below.
    “There was paint in the motor pool,” Reacher said. “I tripped over the cans. Probably camouflage base coat. They slapped it on this morning. Damn stuff is probably still wet.”
    They saw a Kenworth they had passed minutes ago. It was snuffling along a thousand feet below. Then a long stretch of empty pavement. Then a white pickup. More empty road. Then a dark green panel truck, speeding south.
    “Down, down,” Reacher was calling through.
    “Is that it?” McGrath asked.
    The gap between the panel truck and the pickup in front was lengthening. The truck was falling back. There was nothing behind it, all the way to the horizon. The Night Hawk was losing height. It was dropping toward the truck the way an eagle heads for a baby rabbit.
    “Is that it?” McGrath asked again.
    “That’s it,” Reacher said.
    “It sure is,” Holly whooped.
    “You positive?” McGrath asked.
    “Look at the roof,” Holly told him.
    McGrath looked. The roof was streaked with dark green paint, but he could see it was peppered with tiny holes. Like somebody had fired a shotgun right through it.
    “We stared at those damn holes for two whole days,” Holly said. “I’ll remember them the rest of my life.”
    “There are a hundred and thirteen of them,” Reacher said. “I counted. It’s a prime number.”
    Holly laughed and leaned over. Smacked a joyous high five with him.
    “That’s our truck,” she said. “No doubt about it.”
    “Can you see the driver?” McGrath asked.
    The pilot tilted down and rocked sideways for a close look.
    “It’s Stevie,” Holly shouted back. “For sure. We’ve got him.”
    “This thing got weapons?” Webster asked.
    “Two big machine guns,” the pilot called through. “But I’m not going to use them. That I can’t do. Military can’t get involved in law enforcement.”
    “Can you fly this thing straight and level?” Reacher asked him. “Fifty miles an hour? Maybe sixty? Without asking too many questions?”
    The pilot laughed. It came through the headsets tinny and distorted.
    “I can fly this thing any old way you want me to,” he said. “With the General’s