Die Trying

Reacher. Something in his face. Reacher saw what it was. His eyes widened in surprise. Loder was pleading with him to give him a kicking, so that Borken wouldn’t.
    “Loder, lie down again,” Borken said.
    Loder squirmed his hips away from the wall and dropped his shoulders to the floor. Wriggled and pushed until he was lying flat on his back. Borken nodded to the nearest guard.
    “In the face,” he said.
    The guard stepped over and used the sole of his boot to force Loder’s head sideways, so his face was presented to the room. Then he stepped back and kicked out. A heavy blow from a heavy boot. Loder’s head snapped backward and thumped into the wall. Blood welled from his nose. Borken watched him bleed for a long moment, mildly interested. Then he turned back to Reacher.
    “Loder’s one of my oldest friends,” he said.
    Reacher said nothing.
    “Begs two questions, doesn’t it?” Borken said. “Question one: why am I enforcing such strict discipline, even against my old friends? And question two: if that’s how I treat my friends, how the hell do I treat my enemies?”
    Reacher said nothing. When in doubt, just keep your mouth shut.
    “I treat my enemies a hell of a lot worse than that,” Borken said. “So much worse, you really don’t want to think about it. You really don’t, believe me. And why am I being so strict? Because we’re two days away from a unique moment in history. Things are going to happen which will change the world. Plans are made and operations are under way. Therefore I have to bring my natural caution to a new pitch. My old friend Loder has fallen victim to a historical force. So, I’m afraid, have you.”
    Reacher said nothing. He dropped his gaze and watched Loder. He was unconscious. Breathing raggedly through clotting blood in his nose.
    “You got any value to me as a hostage?” Borken asked.
    Reacher thought about it. Made no reply. Borken watched his face and smiled. His red lips parted over small white teeth.
    “I thought not,” he said. “So what should I do with a person who’s got no value to me as a hostage? During a moment of great historical tension?”
    Reacher stayed silent. Just watching. Easing his weight forward, ready.
    “You think you’re going to get a kicking?” Borken asked.
    Reacher tensed his legs, ready to spring.
    “Relax,” Borken said. “No kicking for you. When the time comes, it’ll be a bullet through the head. From behind. I’m not stupid, you know. I’ve got eyes, and a brain. What are you, six-five? About two-twenty? Clearly fit and strong. And look at you, tension in your thighs, getting ready to jump up. Clearly trained in some way. But you’re not a boxer. Because your nose has never been broken. A heavyweight like you with an unbroken nose would need to be a phenomenal talent, and we’d have seen your picture in the newspapers. So you’re just a brawler, probably been in the service, right? So I’ll be cautious with you. No kicking, just a bullet.”
    The guards took their cue. Six rifles came down out of the slope and six fingers hooked around six triggers.
    “You got felony convictions?” Borken asked.
    Reacher shrugged and spoke for the first time.
    “No,” he said.
    “Upstanding citizen?” Borken asked.
    Reacher shrugged again.
    “I guess,” he said.
    Borken nodded.
    “So I’ll think about it,” he said. “Live or die, I’ll let you know, first thing in the morning, OK?”
    He lifted his bulky arm and snapped his fingers. Five of the six guards moved. Two went to the door and opened it. A third went out between them. The other two waited. Borken stood up with surprising grace for a man of his size and walked out from behind the desk. The wooden floor creaked under his bulk. The four waiting guards fell in behind him and he walked straight out into the night without a backward glance.

    HE WALKED ACROSS the clearing and into another hut. Fowler was waiting for him, the headphones in his hand.
    “I think somebody went in there,” he said.
    “You think?” Borken said.
    “The shower was running,” Fowler said. “Somebody went in there who knows about the microphones. She wouldn’t need another shower. She just had one, right? Somebody went in there and ran the shower to mask the talking.”
    “Who?” Borken asked.
    Fowler shook his head.
    “I don’t know who,” he said. “But I can try to find out.”
    Borken nodded.
    “Yes, you can do that,” he said. “You can try to find