The Affair: A Reacher Novel

phone rang on the wall, with the first good news of the day.

Chapter
77
    It was Munro on the phone, and he wanted to tell me he had had a cup of coffee. Or more specifically he wanted to tell me he had talked to the steward who had brought him the cup of coffee. The conversation had been on the subject of the day’s upcoming festivities, and Munro said the stewards expected to be very busy until after dinner, but no later than that, because the mess bar would be deserted all evening, because the last time the senator visited he had hosted everybody in town, at Brannan’s bar, because politically it seemed more authentic, and no doubt the old guy would do the same thing again.
    “OK,” I said. “That’s good. Riley will come to me after all. And his father. What time will dinner finish?”
    “Scheduled to be over by eight o’clock, according to the steward.”
    “OK,” I said again. “I’m sure father and son will leave the base together. I want you on them from the moment they drive through the gate. But unobtrusively. Can you do that?”
    “Could you?”
    “Probably.”
    “Then what makes you doubt I could?”
    “Innate skepticism, I suppose,” I said. “But whatever, keep your ear to the ground until eight tonight, and use this phone number as a contact if you need me. I’ll be in and out of this diner all day long.”
    “OK,” Munro said. “I’ll see you later. But whether or not you’ll see me is a different question altogether.”
    I hung up with Munro, and I asked the waitress to answer the phone for me if it rang again. I asked her to write down the callers’ names on her order pad. Then it was all about waiting. For information, and for face to face encounters, and for decisive conclusions. I stepped out to the Main Street sidewalk and stood in the sun. Across the street the guy from the shirt store was doing the same thing. Taking a break, and tasting the air. On my left two old guys were on a bench outside the pharmacy, four hands piled on two canes between two sets of knees. Apart from the four of us the town was deserted. No hustle, no bustle, no traffic.
    All quiet.
    Until the goon squad from Kelham showed up.
    There were four of them in total. They were Kelham’s own local version of Senate Liaison, I guessed, preparing the ground the same way a Secret Service advance team prepares the ground ahead of a presidential visit. They came out of the mouth of the alley beyond the two old guys on the bench. I guessed they had just called on the Brannan brothers and alerted them to what was going to happen that night. Maybe they had made invoicing arrangements. In which case I wished the Brannan brothers the very best of luck. I imagined billing a Senate office was a long and frustrating experience.
    The four guys were all officers. Two lieutenants, a captain, and a light colonel in the lead. He was fiftyish and fat. He was the kind of soft staff officer who looks ludicrous in battledress uniform. Like a civilian at a fancy dress party. He stopped on the sidewalk and put his knuckles on his hips. He looked all around. He saw me. I was in battledress uniform too. On the face of it, I was one of his. He spoke over his shoulder to a lieutenant behind him. Too far to hear his voice, but I could read his lips. He said,
Tell that man to get his ass over here double-quick
. I guessed he would want to know why I wasn’t back onthe base, getting myself ready for hundred-percent participation in the hoopla.
    The lieutenant’s eyesight was not as good as mine. He approached most of the way full of one kind of body language, which changed fast when he got close enough to read my rank insignia. He stopped a respectful four feet away and saluted and said, “Sir, the colonel would like a word with you.”
    Normally I treat lieutenants well. I was one myself, not so very long ago. But right then I wasn’t in the mood for nonsense. So I just nodded and said, “OK, kid, tell him to step right up.”
    The kid said, “Sir, I think he would prefer it if you went to him.”
    “You must be confusing me with someone who gives a shit what he prefers.”
    The kid went a little pale and blinked twice and about-turned and headed back. He must have spent the walk time translating my response into acceptable terms, because there was no instant explosion. Instead the colonel paused a beat and then set off waddling in my direction. He stopped three feet away, and I saluted him very smartly, just to keep him