The Affair: A Reacher Novel

recover.”
    “You left something there?”
    “I thought I was heading right back.”
    “What did you leave?”
    “My toothbrush.”
    “That’s not important.”
    “Will the DoD reimburse me?”
    “For a toothbrush? Of course not.”
    “Then I have a right to recover it. They can’t have it both ways.”
    He said, “Reacher, if you draw one iota more attention to this thing there won’t be anything I can do to help you. Right now some very senior people are holding their breath. We’re one inch away from news stories about a senator’s son dating a three-time killer. Except neither one of them can afford to say anything about it. Not him, for one reason, and not her, for another. So we’ll probably get away with it. But we don’t know yet. Not for sure. Right now it’s still in the balance.”
    I said nothing.
    He said, “You know she’s good for it, Reacher. A man with your instincts? She was only pretending to investigate. I mean, did she get anywhere with it? And she was playing you like a violin. First she was trying to get rid of you, and when you wouldn’t go, she switched to keeping you close. So she could monitor your progress. Or the lack of it. Why else would she even talk to you?”
    I said nothing.
    He said, “The bus is long gone, anyway. To Memphis. You’d have to wait until tomorrow now. And you’ll see things differently tomorrow.”
    I asked, “Is Neagley still on the post?”
    He said, “Yes, she is. I just made a date to have a drink with her.”
    “Tell her she’s taking the bus home. Tell her I’m taking the company car.”
    He asked, “Do you have a bank account?”
    I said, “How else would I get paid?”
    “Where is it?”
    “New York. From when I was at West Point.”
    “Move it to somewhere nearer the Pentagon.”
    “Why?”
    “Involuntary separation money comes through quicker if you bank in Virginia.”
    “You think it will come to that?”
    “The Joint Chiefs think war is over. They’re singing along with Yoko Ono. There are big cuts coming. Most of them will fall on the army. Because the Marines have better PR, and because the Navy andthe Air Force are a whole different thing altogether. So the people right above us are making lists, and they’re making them right now.”
    “Am I on those lists?”
    “You will be. And there will be nothing I can do to stop it.”
    “You could order me not to go back to Mississippi.”
    “I could, but I won’t. Not you. I trust you to do the right thing.”

Chapter
70
    I met Stan Lowrey on my way off the post. My old friend . He was locking his car just as I was unlocking the Buick.
    I said, “Goodbye, old pal.”
    He said, “That sounds final.”
    “You may never see me again.”
    “Why? Are you in trouble?”
    “Me?” I said. “No, I’m fine. But I heard your job is vulnerable. You might be gone when I get back.”
    He just shook his head and smiled and walked on.
    The Buick was an old lady’s car. If my grandfather had had a sister, she would have been my great aunt, and she would have driven a Buick Park Avenue. But she would have driven it slower than me. The thing was as soft as a marshmallow and twice as buttery inside, but it had a big motor. And government plates. So it was useful on the highway. And I got on the highway as soon as I could. On I-65, to be precise. Heading south, down the eastern edge of a notional corridor, not down the western edge through Memphis. I would be approaching from a side I had never seen before, but it was a straighter shot. And therefore faster. Five hours, I figured. Maybe five and a half. I would be in Carter Crossing by ten-thirty at the latest.
    * * *
    I went south all the way through Kentucky in the last of the daylight, and then it got dark pretty quickly as I drove through Tennessee. I hunted around for a mile and found the switch and turned on my headlights. The broad road took me through the bright neon of Nashville, fast and above the fray, and then it took me onward through open country, where it was dark and lonely again. I drove like I was hypnotized, automatically, not thinking anything, not noticing anything, surprised every time I came to by the hundred-mile bites I had been taking out of the journey.
    I crossed the line into Alabama and stopped at the second place I saw, for gas and a map. I knew I would need to head west off an early Alabama exit and I needed a map with local details to show me where. Not the kind of large-scale plan you can buy