Never Go Back

quivering with rage.
    Reacher said, ‘Good of you to drop by, colonel.’
    Morgan said, ‘What you just did will cost the Pentagon more than thirty million dollars.’
    ‘Money well spent.’
    ‘It will be a court martial all its own.’
    ‘Possibly,’ Reacher said. ‘But yours, not mine. I don’t know where you’ve served before, colonel, but this isn’t amateur hour any more. Not here. Not with this unit. You had two men you knew to be in danger, and you absented yourself for two whole hours. You left no word about where you were going, and your phone was switched off. That’s completely unacceptable.’
    ‘Those men are in no danger. They’re poking around with some trivial inquiry.’
    ‘They missed two consecutive radio checks.’
    ‘Probably goofing off, like the rest of this damn unit.’
    ‘In Afghanistan? Doing what? Hitting the bars and the clubs? Checking out the whorehouses? Spending the day at the beach? Get real, you idiot. Radio silence out of Afghanistan is automatically bad news.’
    ‘It was my decision.’
    ‘You wouldn’t recognize a decision if it ran up and bit you on the ass.’
    ‘Don’t speak to me like that.’
    ‘Or what?’
    Morgan said nothing.
    Reacher asked, ‘Did you cancel the search?’
    Morgan didn’t answer.
    Reacher said, ‘And you haven’t told me we’re looking in the wrong place, either. Therefore I was right. Those guys are lost on the border in the tribal areas. You should have done this twenty-four hours ago. They’re in real trouble.’
    ‘You had no right to interfere.’
    ‘I’m back in the army, I’m assigned to this unit, and I hold the rank of major. Therefore I wasn’t interfering. I was doing my job, and I was doing it properly. Like I always used to. You should pay some attention and pick up some pointers, colonel. You’ve got maybe a dozen people in the field, exposed and vulnerable, and you should be thinking about nothing else, all day and all night. You should leave a precise contact number at all times, and you should have your cell switched on, and you should be prepared to answer it, no matter what else you’re doing.’
    Morgan said, ‘Have you finished?’
    ‘I’ve barely even started.’
    ‘You understand you’re under my command?’
    Reacher nodded. ‘Life is full of anomalies.’
    ‘Then listen up, major. Your orders have changed. From now on you are confined to your quarters. Go straight back to your motel and stay there until you hear from me again. Do not leave your room at any time for any reason. Do not attempt to communicate with anyone from this unit.’
    Reacher said nothing.
    Morgan said, ‘You are dismissed, major.’
    The duty officer was still in the ground-floor corridor. Leach was still behind the reception desk. Reacher came down the stairs and shrugged at them both. Part apologetic, part rueful, partly the universal military gesture: same old shit . Then he headed out the door and down the stone steps to the cold midday air. The sky was clearing. There was some bright blue up there.
    Reacher walked the rest of the hill and turned on the three-lane. A bus passed him by. Heading out, not in. Onward, and away. He walked on, down a slight dip, up a slight rise. He saw the motel ahead of him, on the right, maybe a hundred yards distant.
    He stopped.
    The car with the dented doors was in the motel lot.

THIRTEEN
    THE CAR WAS easily recognizable, even at a distance. Make, model, shape, colour, the slight deformation in the driver’s side sheet metal. It was alone in the lot, level with where Reacher guessed his room must be. He moved three paces forward, on a diagonal to the edge of the sidewalk, to improve his angle, and he saw four men coming out of his door.
    Two of them were as easily identifiable as the car. They were the guys from the night before. One hundred per cent certain. Shape, size, colouring. The other two men were new. Nothing special about the first of them. Tall, young, dumb. As bad as his two pals.
    The fourth man was different.
    He looked a little older than the others, and he was a little bigger than the others, which made him close to Reacher’s own size. Six-four, maybe, and two-forty. But all muscle. Huge thighs, small waist, huge chest, like an hourglass, like a cartoon drawing. Plus big knotted shoulders, and arms propped away from his sides by the sheer bulk of his pectorals and his triceps. Like a world champion male gymnast, except more than twice the size.
    But it was his