Persuader

squealed.
    The food guys had ten plates with stuffed grape leaves all lined up on a counter. The leaves looked dark and oily and tough. I was hungry but I couldn't have eaten one. The way my teeth were right then would have made it impossible. I figured I would be eating ice cream for a week, thanks to Paulie.
    "Hold off with the food for five minutes, OK?" I said.
    Keast and Maden stared at the shotguns.
    "Your keys," I said.
    I dropped them next to the grape leaves. I didn't need them anymore. I had the keys Beck had given me. I figured I would leave by the front door and use the Cadillac. Faster. More comfortable. I took a knife from the wooden block. Used it to put a slit in the inside of my right-hand coat pocket, just wide enough to allow a Persuader's barrel down into the lining. I picked the gun I had killed Harley with and holstered it there. I held the other one two-handed. Took a breath. Stepped into the hallway. Keast and Maden watched me go. First thing I did was check the powder room. No point in getting all dramatic if Quinn wasn't even in the dining room. But the powder room was empty. Nobody on bathroom break.
    The dining room door was closed. I took another breath. Then another. Then I kicked it in and stepped inside and fired two Brennekes into the ceiling. They were like stun grenades. The twin explosions were colossal. Plaster and wood rained down. Dust and smoke filled the air. Everybody froze like statues. I leveled the gun at Quinn's chest.
    Echoes died away.
    "Remember me?" I said.
    Elizabeth Beck screamed in the sudden silence.
    I moved another step into the room and kept the muzzle on Quinn.
    "Remember me?" I said again.
    One second. Two. His mouth started moving.
    "I saw you in Boston," he said. "On the street. A Saturday night. Maybe two weeks ago."
    "Try again," I said.
    His face was completely blank. He didn't remember me. They diagnosed amnesia, Duffy had said. Certainly about the trauma, because that's almost inevitable. They figured he might be genuinely blank about the incident and the previous day or two.
    "I'm Reacher," I said. "I need you to remember me." He glanced helplessly at Beck.
    "Her name was Dominique," I said.
    He turned back to me. Stared at me. Eyes wide. Now he knew who I was. His face changed. Blood drained out and fury swarmed in. And fear. The .22 scars went pure white. I thought about aiming right between them. It would be a difficult shot.
    "You really thought I wouldn't find you?" I said.
    "Can we talk?" he said. Sounded like his mouth was dry.
    "No," I said. "You've already been talking ten extra years."
    "We're all armed here," Beck said. He sounded afraid. The three Arabs were staring at me. They had plaster dust stuck to the oil in their hair.
    "So tell everybody to hold their fire," I said. "No reason for more than one casualty here." People eased away from me. Dust settled on the table. A slab of falling ceiling had broken a glass. I moved with the crowd and turned and adjusted the geometry to herd the bad guys together at one end of the room. At the same time I tried to force Elizabeth and Richard and the cook together at the other. Where they would be safe, by the window.
    Pure body language. I turned my shoulder and inched forward and even though the table was between me and most of them they went where I wanted them. The little gathering parted obediently into two groups, eight and three.
    "Everybody should step away from Mr. Xavier now," I said.
    Everybody did, except Beck. Beck stayed right at his shoulder. I stared at him. Then I realized Quinn had a grip on his arm. He was holding it tight just above the elbow.
    Pulling on it. Pulling on it hard. Looking for a human shield.
    "These slugs are an inch wide," I said to him. "As long as I can see an inch of you, that won't work very well." He said nothing back. Just kept on pulling. Beck was resisting. There was fear in his eyes, too. It was a static little slow-motion contest. But I guessed Quinn was winning it. Inside ten seconds Beck's left shoulder was overlapping Quinn's right. Both of them were quivering with effort. Even though the Persuader had a pistol grip instead of a stock I raised it high to my shoulder and sighted carefully down the barrel.
    "I can still see you," I said.
    "Don't shoot," Richard Beck said, behind me.
    Something in his voice.
    I glanced back at him. Just a brief turn of my head. Just a flash. There and back. He had a Beretta in his hand. It was identical to the one in my