Nothing to Lose

around with nothing to do, which is why the shack was overcrowded. But Reacher didn’t expect the grunts to be unhappy about it. Or about anything. They had been in Iraq, and now they weren’t. The only question in his mind was whether their officer had been in Iraq with them. If he had, he might be reasonable. If he hadn’t, he might be a royal pain in the ass.
    Vaughan drove past the base and U-turned and came back and parked facing the right way, tight on the shoulder, close to but not blocking the gate. Like she would outside a fire station. Respectful. Unwilling to put a foot wrong in the dance that had to be coming.
    Two guys came out of the guard shack immediately. They were the same two Reacher had seen before. Morgan, the bespectacled specialist with the squint lines, and his partner, the silent private first class. Reacher kept his hands clearly visible and slid out of the truck. Vaughan did the same thing on her side. She introduced herself by name, and as an officer with the Hope PD. Morgan saluted her, in a way Reacher knew meant the MPs had run her plate the first time around, despite his best efforts, and that they had found out what her husband had been, and what he was now.
    Which will help, he thought.
    Then Morgan turned and looked straight at him.
    “Sir?” he said.
    “I was an MP myself,” Reacher said. “I did your lieutenant’s job about a million years ago.”
    “Sir, which unit?”
    “The 110th.”
    “Rock Creek, Virginia,” Morgan said. A statement, not a question.
    Reacher said, “I went there a couple of times, to get my ass kicked. The rest of the time, I was on the road.”
    “On the road where?”
    “Everywhere you’ve ever been, and about a hundred other places.”
    “Sir, that’s interesting, but I’m going to have to ask you to move your vehicle.”
    “At ease, Corporal. We’ll move it as soon as we’ve talked to your lieutenant.”
    “On what subject, sir?”
    “That’s between him and us,” Reacher said.
    “Sir, I can’t justify disturbing him on that basis.”
    “Move along, soldier. I’ve read the manual, too. Let’s skip a few pages, to where you’ve already determined that this is important.”
    “Is this about the missing Marine private?”
    “Much more interesting.”
    “Sir, it would help me to have fuller particulars.”
    “It would help you to have a million dollars and a date with Miss America, too. But what are the chances, soldier?”

    Five minutes later Reacher and Vaughan were inside the wire, inside one of the six green metal buildings, face-to-face across a desk with a one-striper called Connor. He was a small lean man. He was maybe twenty-six years old. He had been to Iraq. That was for sure. His BDUs were beat up and sandblasted and his cheekbones were burned shiny. He looked competent, and probably was. He was still alive, and he wasn’t in disgrace. In fact he was probably headed for a captain’s rank, pending paperwork. Medals too, maybe. He asked, “Is this an official visit from the Hope PD?”
    Vaughan said, “Yes.”
    “You’re both members of the department?”
    Vaughan said, “Mr. Reacher is a civilian adviser.”
    “So how can I help?”
    Reacher said, “Long story short, we know about the DU salvage at Thurman’s plant.”
    Connor said, “That bothers me a little.”
    Reacher said, “It bothers us a little, too. Homeland Security rules require us to maintain a register of chemically sensitive sites within twenty miles.” He said it as if it was true, which it might have been. Anything was possible, with Homeland Security. “We should have been told.”
    “You’re more than twenty miles from the plant.”
    “Twenty exactly to downtown,” Reacher said. “Only fifteen to the town limit.”
    “It’s classified,” Connor said. “You can’t put it in a register.”
    Reacher nodded. “We understand that. But we should have been made aware of it, privately.”
    “Sounds like you are aware of it.”
    “But now we want to verify some details. Once bitten, twice shy.”
    “Then you need to speak to the Department of Defense.”
    “Better if we don’t. They’ll wonder how we got wind of it. Your guys talking will be their first guess.”
    “My guys don’t talk.”
    “I believe you. But do you want to take a chance on the Pentagon believing you?”
    Connor said, “What details?”
    “We think we’re entitled to know when and how the scrap DU gets transported out, and what route is