One Shot

kidding.”
    “I’m a businessman, not a psycho.”
    “Christ’s sake, Gunny, I’ll be taking a knife to a gunfight? Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”
    “All I’ve got,” Cash said again.
    “Great.”
    “You can take a gun from the first one you cut. Face it, if you don’t get close enough to cut one of them you aren’t going to win anyway.”
    Reacher said nothing.

    They waited. Midnight. Twelve-thirty. Yanni fiddled with her cell phone and made a call. Reacher ran through the plan one more time. First in his head, then out loud, until everyone was clear. Details, dispositions, refinements, adjustments.
    “But we might still change everything,” he said. “When we get there. No substitute for seeing the actual terrain.”

    They waited. One o’clock. One-thirty. Reacher started to allow himself to think about the endgame. About what would come after the victory. He turned to Franklin.
    “Who is Emerson’s number two?” he asked.
    “A woman called Donna Bianca,” Franklin said.
    “Is she any good?”
    “She’s his number two.”
    “She’ll need to be there. Afterward. It’s going to be a real three-ring circus. Too much for one pair of hands. I want you to bring Emerson and Donna Bianca out there. And Alex Rodin, of course. After we win.”
    “They’ll be in bed.”
    “So wake them up.”
    “
If
we win,” Franklin said.

    At one forty-five people started to get restless. Helen Rodin stepped over and squatted down next to Reacher. She picked up the knife. Looked at it. Put it back down.
    “Why are you doing this?” she asked.
    “Because I can. And because of the girl.”
    “You’ll get yourself killed.”
    “Unlikely,” Reacher said. “These are old men and idiots. I’ve survived worse.”
    “You’re just saying that.”
    “If I get in OK, I’ll be safe enough. Room-to-room isn’t hard. People get very scared with a prowler loose in the house. They hate it.”
    “But you won’t get in OK. They’ll see you coming.”
    Reacher dug in his left-hand pocket and came out with the shiny new quarter that had bothered him in the car. Handed it to her.
    “For you,” he said.
    She looked at it. “Something to remember you by?”
    “Something to remember tonight by.”
    Then he checked his watch. Stood up.
    “Let’s do it,” he said.

CHAPTER 16
    They stood for a moment in the shadows and the silence on the parking apron below Franklin’s lighted windows. Then Yanni went to get the Sheryl Crow CD from her Mustang. She gave it to Cash. Cash unlocked the Humvee and leaned inside and put it in the player. Then he gave the keys to Franklin. Franklin climbed into the driver’s seat. Cash got in next to him with his M24 across his knees. Reacher and Helen Rodin and Ann Yanni squeezed together in the back.
    “Turn the heater up,” Reacher said.
    Cash leaned to his left and dialed in maximum temperature. Franklin started the engine. Backed out into the street. Swung the wheel and took off west. Then he turned north. The engine was loud and the ride was rough. The heater kicked in and the fan blew hard. The interior grew warm, and then hot. They turned west, turned north, turned west, turned north, lining up with the grid that would run through the fields. The drive was a series of long droning cruises punctuated by sharp right-angle corners. Then they made the final turn. Franklin sat up straight behind the wheel and accelerated hard.
    “This is it,” Yanni said. “Dead ahead, about three miles to go.”
    “Start the music,” Reacher said. “Track eight.”
    Cash hit the button.
    Every day is a winding road.
    “Louder,” Reacher said.
    Cash turned it up. Franklin drove on, sixty miles an hour.
    “Two miles,” Yanni called. Then: “One mile.”
    Franklin drove on. Reacher stared out the window to his right. Watched the fields flash past in the darkness. Random scatter from the headlights lit them up. The irrigation booms were turning so slowly they looked stationary. Mist filled the air.
    “High beams,” Reacher called.
    Franklin flicked them on.
    “Music all the way up,” Reacher called.
    Cash twisted the knob to maximum.
    EVERY DAY IS A WINDING ROAD .
    “Half a mile,” Yanni yelled.
    “Windows,” Reacher shouted.
    Four thumbs hit four buttons and all four windows dropped an inch. Hot air and loud music sucked out into the night. Reacher stared right and saw the dark outline of the house flash past, isolated, distant, square, solid,