Die Trying

Wimbledon Cup. For snipers. Open to anybody, but a Marine always wins it, except one year Reacher won it.”
    “So why didn’t he serve as a sniper?” McGrath asked.
    The aide shrugged.
    “Beats me,” he said. “Lots of puzzles in this record. Like why did he leave the service at all? Guy like this should have made it all the way to the top.”
    Johnson had a picture in each hand and he was staring closely at them.
    “So why did he leave?” Brogan asked. “Any trouble?”
    The aide shook his head. Scanned the paper.
    “Nothing in the record,” he said. “No reason given. We were shedding numbers at the time, but the idea was to cull the no-hopers. A guy like this shouldn’t have been shaken out.”
    Johnson switched the photographs into the opposite hands, like he was looking for a fresh perspective.
    “Anybody know him real well?” Milosevic asked. “Anybody we can talk to?”
    “We can dig up his old commander, I guess,” the aide said. “Might take us a day to get hold of him.”
    “Do it,” Webster said. “We need information. Anything at all will help.”
    Johnson put the photographs down and slid them back to McGrath.
    “He must have turned bad,” he said. “Sometimes happens. Good men can turn bad. I’ve seen it myself, time to time. It can be a hell of a problem.”
    McGrath reversed the photographs on the shiny table and stared at them.
    “You’re not kidding,” he said.
    Johnson looked back at him.
    “Can I keep that picture?” he said. “The first one?”
    McGrath shook his head.
    “No,” he said. “You want a picture, I’ll take one myself. You and your daughter standing together in front of a headstone, this asshole’s name on it.”

27
    FOUR MEN WERE dragging Loder’s body away and the crowd was dispersing quietly. Reacher was left standing on the courthouse steps with his six guards and Fowler. Fowler had finally unlocked the handcuffs. Reacher was rolling his shoulders and stretching. He had been cuffed all night and all morning and he was stiff and sore. His wrists were marked with red weals where the hard metal had bitten down.
    “Cigarette?” Fowler asked.
    He was holding his pack out. A friendly gesture. Reacher shook his head.
    “I want to see Holly,” he said.
    Fowler was about to refuse, but then he thought some more and nodded.
    “OK,” he said. “Good idea. Take her out for some exercise. Talk to her. Ask her how we’re treating her. That’s something you’re sure to be asked later. It’ll be very important to them. We don’t want you giving them any false impressions.”
    Reacher waited at the bottom of the steps. The sun had gone pale and watery. Wisps of mist were gathering in the north. But some of the sky was still blue and clear. After five minutes, Fowler brought Holly down. She was walking slowly, with a little staccato rhythm as her good leg alternated with the thump of her crutch. She walked through the door and stood at the top of the steps.
    “Question for you, Reacher,” Fowler called down. “How far can you run in a half hour with a hundred and twenty pounds on your back?”
    Reacher shrugged.
    “Not far enough, I guess,” he said.
    Fowler nodded.
    “Right,” he said. “Not far enough. If she’s not standing right here in thirty minutes, we’ll come looking for you. We’ll give it a two-mile radius.”
    Reacher thought about it and nodded. A half hour with a hundred and twenty pounds on his back might get him more than two miles. Two miles was probably pessimistic. But he thought back to the map on Borken’s wall. Thought about the savage terrain. Where the hell would he run? He made a show of checking his watch. Fowler walked away, up behind the ruined office building. The guards slung their weapons over their shoulders and stood easy. Holly smoothed her hair back. Stood face up to the pale sun.
    “Can you walk for a while?” Reacher asked her.
    “Slowly,” she said.
    She set off north along the middle of the deserted street. Reacher strolled beside her. They waited until they were out of sight. They glanced at each other. Then they turned and flung themselves together. Her crutch toppled to the ground and he lifted her a foot in the air. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck.
    “I’m going crazy in there,” she said.
    “I’ve got bad news,” he said.
    “What?” she said.
    “They had a helper in Chicago,” he said.
    She stared up at him.
    “They were only gone five days,”