Running Blind (The Visitor)

marching.
    He stopped suddenly a yard from the cop’s right headlight. Just stood on the sidewalk with his neck craned, looking up at Scimeca’s house. The cop buzzed the passenger window down. He didn’t know what to say. Some local citizen, he’d call, Sir, step this way , with enough tone in there to cancel out the sir . But this was a padre and a bird colonel. Practically a gentleman.
    “Excuse me?” he called.
    The colonel looked around and stepped the length of the fender. Bent down. He was tall. He put one hand on the Crown Vic’s roof and the other on the door. Ducked his head and looked straight in through the open window.
    “Officer,” he said.
    “Help you?” the cop asked.
    “I’m here to visit with the lady of the house,” the padre said.
    “She’s not home, temporarily,” the cop said. “And we’ve got a situation here.”
    “A situation?”
    “She’s under guard. Can’t tell you why. But I’m going to have to ask you to step inside the car and show me some ID.”
    The colonel hesitated for a second, like he was confused. Then he straightened up and opened the passenger door. Folded himself into the seat and put his hand inside his jacket. Came out with a wallet. Flipped it open and pulled a worn military ID. Passed it across to the cop. The cop read it over and checked the photograph against the face next to him. Handed it back and nodded.
    “OK, Colonel,” he said. “You can wait in here with me, if you like. I guess it’s cold out there.”
    “It sure is,” the colonel said, although the cop noticed he was sweating lightly. Probably from the fast walk up the hill, he figured.
    "I’M NOT GETTING anyplace,” Harper said.
    The plane was on descent. Reacher could feel it in his ears. And he could feel abrupt turns. The pilot was military, so he was using the rudder. Civilian pilots avoid using the rudder. Using the rudder makes the plane slew, like a car skids. Passengers don’t like the feeling. So civilian pilots turn by juicing the engines on one side and backing off on the others. Then the plane comes around smoothly. But military pilots don’t care about their passengers’ comfort. It’s not like they’ve bought tickets.
    “Remember Poulton’s report from Spokane?” he said.
    “What about it?”
    “That’s the key. Something big and obvious.”
    SHE MADE THE left off the main road and the right into her street. The cop was back in the way again. Somebody was in the front seat next to him. She stopped on the crown of the road, ready to turn in, hoping he’d take the hint and move, but he just opened his door and got out, like he needed to talk to her. He walked across, stiff from sitting, and placed his hand on the roof of her car and bent down. She opened her window and he peered in and glanced at the shopping bags on the backseat.
    “Get what you need?” he asked.
    She nodded.
    “No problems?”
    She shook her head.
    “There’s a guy here to see you,” he said. “A padre, from the Army.”
    “The guy in your car?” she said, like she had to say something, although it was pretty obvious. She could see the collar.
    “Colonel somebody,” the cop said. “His ID is OK.”
    “Get rid of him,” she said.
    The cop was startled.
    "He’s all the way from D.C.,” he said. “His ID says he’s based there.”
    “I don’t care where he’s based. I don’t want to see him.”
    The cop said nothing. Just glanced back over his shoulder. The colonel was getting out of the car. Easing up to his full height on the sidewalk. Walking over. Scimeca left her motor running and opened her door. Slid out and stood up and watched him coming, pulling her jacket tight around her in the cold.
    “Rita Scimeca?” the padre asked, when he was close enough.
    “What do you want?”
    “I’m here to see if you’re OK.”
    “OK?” she repeated.
    “With your recovery,” he said. “After your problems. ”
    “My problems ?”
    “After the assault.”
    “And if I’m not OK?”
    “Then maybe I can help you.”
    His voice was warm and low and rich. Infinitely believable. A church voice.
    “The Army send you?” she asked. “Is this official?”
    He shook his head.
    “I’m afraid not,” he said. “I’ve argued it with them many times.”
    She nodded. “If they offer counseling, they’re admitting liability.”
    “That’s their view,” the colonel said. “Regrettably. So this is a private mission. I’m acting against strict orders, in secret. But