Persuader

me, the seventh time we met. "Lives close by in Virginia. That's why he keeps his boat up in Baltimore, I guess."
    "How old is he?" I asked.
    "Forty," she said.
    "Have you seen his full record?" She shook her head. "Most of it is classified." I nodded. Tried to put the chronology together. A forty-year-old would have been eligible for the last two years of the Vietnam draft, at the age of eighteen or nineteen. But a guy who wound up as an intel light colonel before the age of forty had almost certainly been a college graduate, maybe even a Ph.D., which would have gotten him a deferment. So he probably didn't go to Indochina, which in the normal way of things would have slowed his promotion. No bloody wars, no dread diseases. But his promotion hadn't been slow, because he was a light colonel before the age of forty.
    "I know what you're thinking," Kohl said. "How come he's already two whole pay grades above you?"
    "Actually I was thinking about you in a bikini." She shook her head. "No you weren't."
    "He's older than me."
    "He went up like a bottle rocket."
    "Maybe he's smarter than me," I said.
    "Almost certainly," she said. "But even so, he's gone real far, real fast." I nodded.
    "Great," I said. "So now we're messing with a big star from the intel community."
    "He's got lots of contact with foreigners," she said. "I've seen him with all kinds of people. Israelis, Lebanese, Iraqis, Syrians."
    "He's supposed to," I said. "He's a Middle East specialist."
    "He comes from California," she said. "His dad was a railroad worker. His mom stayed at home. They lived in a small house in the north of the state. He inherited it, and it's his only asset. And we can assume he's been on military pay since college."
    "OK," I said.
    "He's a poor boy, Reacher," she said. "So how come he rents a big house in MacLean, Virginia? How come he owns a yacht?"
    "Is it a yacht?"
    "It's a big sailboat with bedrooms. That's a yacht, right?"
    "POV?"
    "A brand-new Lexus." I said nothing.
    "Why don't his own people ask these kind of questions?" she said.
    "They never do," I said. "Haven't you noticed that? Something can be plain as day and it passes them by."
    "I really don't understand how that happens," she said.
    I shrugged.
    "They're human," I said. "We should cut them some slack. Preconceptions get in the way. They ask themselves how good he is, not how bad he is." She nodded. "Like I spent two days watching the envelope, not the newspaper.
    Preconceptions."
    "But they should know better."
    "I guess."
    "Military Intelligence," I said.
    "The world's biggest oxymoron," she replied, in the familiar old ritual. "Like safe danger."
    "Like dry water," I said.
    "Did you enjoy it?" Elizabeth Beck asked me, ten years later.
    I didn't answer. Preconceptions get in the way.
    "Did you enjoy it?" she asked again.
    I looked straight at her. Preconceptions.
    "Sorry?" I said. Everything I had heard.
    "Dinner," she said. "Did you enjoy it?" I looked down. My plate was completely empty.
    "It was fabulous," I said. Everything I had seen.
    "Really?"
    "No question," I said. You haven't found anything useful.
    "I'm glad," she said.
    "Forget Hopper and Pasternak," I said. "And Raymond Chandler. Your cook is a genius."
    "You feeling OK?" Beck said. He had left half his meat on his plate.
    "Terrific," I said. Not a thing.
    "You sure?" I paused. No evidence at all.
    "Yes, I really mean it," I said.
    And I really did mean it. Because I knew what was in the Saab. I knew for sure. No doubt about it. So I felt terrific. But I felt a little ashamed, too. Because I had been very, very slow. Painfully slow. Disgracefully slow. It had taken me eighty-six hours. More than three and a half days. I had been every bit as dumb as Quinn's old unit. Something can be plain as day and it passes them by. I turned my head and looked straight at Beck like I was seeing him for the very first time.

CHAPTER 11
    I knew, but I calmed down fast during dessert and coffee. And I gave up on feeling terrific. Gave up on feeling ashamed, too. Those emotions were crowded out. I started to feel a little concerned instead. Because I started to see the exact dimensions of the tactical problem. And they were huge. They were going to force a whole new definition of working alone and undercover.
    Dinner ended and everybody scraped their chairs back and stood up. I stayed in the dining room. I left the Saab's headliner undisturbed. I was in no hurry. I could get to it later. There was no point risking