Running Blind (The Visitor)

up. Inside was a standard-issue motel room. Narrow entryway, bathroom on the right, closet on the left, queen bed, table and two chairs, bland decor.
    Poulton stayed out in the corridor. “Be ready in ten.”
    The door sucked shut. There was no handle on the inside. Not quite a standard-issue motel room. There was a view of the woods from the window, but the window didn’t open. The frame was welded shut and the handle had been removed. There was a telephone on the nightstand. He picked it up and heard a dial tone. Hit 9 and heard more. He dialed Jodie’s private office line. Let it ring eighteen times before trying her apartment. Her machine cut in. He tried her mobile. It was switched off.
    He put his coat in the closet and unclipped his toothbrush from his pocket and propped it in a glass on the bathroom vanity. Rinsed his face at the sink and pushed his hair into some kind of shape. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and waited.

9
    EIGHT MINUTES LATER he heard a key in the lock and looked up and expected to see Poulton at the door. But it wasn’t Poulton. It was a woman. She looked about sixteen. She had long fair hair in a loose ponytail. White teeth in an open, tanned face. Bright blue eyes. She was wearing a man’s suit, extensively tailored to fit. A white shirt and a tie. Small black shoes with low heels. She was over six feet tall, long-limbed, and very slim. And completely spectacular. And she was smiling at him.
    “Hi,” she said.
    Reacher made no reply. Just stared at her. Her face clouded and her smile turned a little embarrassed.
    "So you want to do the FAQs right away?”
    “The what?” "The FAQs. Frequently asked questions.”
    “I’m not sure I have any questions.”
    “Oh, OK.”
    She smiled again, relieved. It gave her a frank, guileless look.
    “What are the frequently asked questions?” he asked.
    “Oh, you know, the stuff most new guys around here ask me. It’s really, really tedious.”
    She meant it. He could see that. But he asked anyway.
    “What kind of stuff?” he said.
    She made a face, resigned.
    “I’m Lisa Harper,” she said. “I’m twenty-nine, yes really, I’m from Aspen, Colorado, I’m six feet one, yes really, I’ve been at Quantico two years, yes I date guys, no I dress like this just because I like it, no I’m not married, no I don’t currently have a boyfriend, and no I don’t want to have dinner with you tonight.”
    She finished with another smile and he smiled back.
    “Well, how about tomorrow night?” he said.
    She shook her head. “All you need to know is I’m an FBI agent, on duty.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Watching you,” she said. “Where you go, I go. You’re classified SU, status unknown, maybe friendly, maybe hostile. Usually that means an organized-crime plea bargain, you know, some guy ratting out his bosses. Useful to us, but not reliable.”
    “I’m not organized crime.”
    “Our file says you might be.”
    “Then the file is bullshit.”
    She nodded, and smiled again. “I looked Petrosian up separately. He’s a Syrian. Therefore his rivals are Chinese. And they never employ anybody except other Chinese. Implausible they’d use an American WASP like you.”
    “You point that out to anybody?”
    “I’m sure they already know. They’re just trying to get you to take the threat seriously.”
    “Should I take it seriously?”
    She nodded. Stopped smiling.
    “Yes, you should,” she said. “You should think very carefully about Jodie.”
    “Jodie’s in the file?”
    She nodded again. “Everything’s in the file.”
    “So why don’t I have a handle on my door? My file shows I’m not the guy.”
    “Because we’re very cautious and your profile is very bad. The guy will turn out to be very similar to you.”
    “You a profiler too?”
    She shook her head. The ponytail moved with it. “No, I’m operational. Assigned for the duration. But I listen carefully. Listen and learn, right? So let’s go.”
    She held the door. It closed softly behind him as they walked to a different elevator. This one had buttons for five basement floors in a line beneath 3, 2, and 1. Lisa Harper pressed the bottom button. Reacher stood beside her and tried not to breathe in her scent. The elevator settled with a bump and the door slid back on a gray corridor bright with fluorescent light.
    “We call this the Bunker,” Harper said. “It used to be our nuclear shelter. Now it’s BS.”
    “That’s for damn sure,” Reacher