The Affair: A Reacher Novel

the scrub. Like a spear. I rocked it loose and pulled it out and turned it over and saw the plate hanging from a single black bolt.
    It was an Oregon plate. It featured a drawing of a salmon behind the number. Some kind of a wildlife initiative. Protect the natural environment. The tags were current and up to date. I memorized the number and reburied the bent bumper in its hole. Then I walked on, to where the bulk of the wreck had burned against the trees.
    By bright daylight I agreed with Pellegrino. The car had been blue, a light powdery shade like a winter sky. Maybe it had started life that way, or maybe it had faded a little with age. But either way I found enough unblemished paint to be sure. There was an intact patch inside what had been the glove box. There was an overspray stripe under melted plastic trim inside one of the doors. Not much else had survived. No personal items. No paperwork of any kind. No discarded material. No hairs, no fibers. No ropes, no belts, no straps, no knives.
    I wiped my hands on my pants and walked back the way I had come. The two guys and their truck had gone. I guessed the silent mastermind had woken up first. The beta dog. I had hit him less hard.I guessed he had hauled his buddy into the truck and taken off, slow and shaky. No harm done. No major harm, anyway. Nothing permanent. For him, at least. The other one would have a headache, for six months or so.
    I stood on the spot where they had gone down and saw another black car coming toward me from the west. Another town car, fast and purposeful, wallowing and wandering a little on the uneven road. It had a good wax shine and black window glass. It blew past me at speed, thumped up, pattered over the rail line, thumped down again, and rushed onward toward Kelham. I turned and watched it, and then I turned back and started walking again. No particular place to go, except I was hungry by that point, so I headed for Main Street and the diner. The place was empty. I was the only customer. The same waitress was on duty. She met me at the hostess station and asked, “Is your name Jack Reacher?”
    I said, “Yes, ma’am, it is.”
    She said, “There was a woman in here an hour ago, looking for you.”

Chapter
21
    The waitress was a typical eyewitness. She was completely unable to describe the woman who had been looking for me. Tall, short, heavy, slender, old, young, she had no reliable recollection. She hadn’t gotten a name. She had formed no impression of the woman’s status or profession or her relationship to me. She hadn’t seen a car or any other mode of transportation. All she could remember was a smile and the question. Was there a new guy in town, very big, very tall, answering to the name Jack Reacher?
    I thanked her for the information and she sat me at my usual table. I ordered a piece of pie and a cup of coffee and I asked her for coins for the phone. She opened the register and gave me a wrapped roll of quarters in exchange for a ten dollar bill. She brought my coffee and told me my pie would be right along in a moment. I walked across the silent room to the phone by the door and split the roll with my thumbnail and dialed Garber’s office. He answered the phone himself, instantly.
    I asked, “Have you sent another agent down here?”
    “No,” he said. “Why?”
    “There’s a woman asking for me by name.”
    “Who?”
    “I don’t know who. She hasn’t found me yet.”
    “Not one of mine,” Garber said.
    “And I saw two cars heading for Kelham. Limousines. DoD or politicians, probably.”
    “Is there a difference?”
    I asked, “Have you heard anything from Kelham?”
    “Nothing about the Department of Defense or politicians,” he said. “I heard that Munro is pursuing something medical.”
    “Medical? Like what?”
    “I don’t know. Is there a medical dimension here?”
    “With a potential perpetrator? Not that I’ve seen. Apart from the gravel rash question I asked before. The victim is covered in it. The perp should have some too.”
    “They’ve all got gravel rash. Apparently there’s some crazy running track there. They run till they drop.”
    “Even Bravo Company right after they get back?”
    “Especially Bravo Company right after they get back. There’s some serious self-image at work there. These are seriously hard men. Or so they like to think.”
    “I got the license plate off the wreck. Light blue car, from Oregon.” I recited the number from memory, and I heard him