The Hard Way

at his desk, but he wasn’t doing anything productive. Just swinging his chair back and forth through a tiny arc and staring at the twin photographs in front of him. His two wives. One lost. Maybe both lost.
    “Did the FBI find the guys?” Reacher asked. “The first time, with Anne?”
    Lane shook his head.
    “But you knew who they were.”
    “Not at the time,” Lane said.
    “But you found out later.”
    “Did I?”
    “Tell me how.”
    “It became a threshold question,” Lane said. “Who would do such a thing? At first I couldn’t imagine anyone doing it. But clearly someone had, so I revised the threshold of possibilities downward. But then everyone in the world seemed to be a possibility. It was beyond my understanding.”
    “You surprise me. You move in a world where hostage-taking and abduction aren’t exactly unknown.”
    “Do I?”
    “Foreign conflicts,” Reacher said. “Irregular forces.”
    “But this was domestic,” Lane said. “This was right here in New York City. And it was my wife, not me or one of my men.”
    “But you did find the guys.”
    “Did I?”
    Reacher nodded. “You’re not asking me if I think it could be the same people all over again. You’re not speculating. It’s like you know for sure it isn’t.”
    Lane said nothing.
    “How did you find them?” Reacher asked.
    “Someone who knew someone heard some talk. Arms dealers, up and down their network.”
    “And?”
    “There was a story about four guys who had heard about a deal I had done and concluded that I had money.”
    “What happened to the four guys?”
    “What would you have done?”
    “I would have made sure they couldn’t do it again.”
    Lane nodded. “Let’s just say I’m completely confident that this isn’t the same people doing it again.”
    “Have you heard any new talk?” Reacher asked.
    “Not a word.”
    “A rival in this business?”
    “I don’t have rivals in this business. I have inferiors and junior partners. And even if I did have rivals, they wouldn’t do something like this. It would be suicide. They would know that sooner or later our paths would cross. Would you risk antagonizing a bunch of armed men you’re likely to stumble across under the radar somewhere in the back of beyond?”
    Reacher said nothing.
    “Will they call again?” Lane asked.
    “I think they will.”
    “What will they ask for?”
    “Ten,” Reacher said. “That’s the next step. One, five, ten, twenty.”
    Lane sighed, distracted.
    “That’s two bags,” he said. “Can’t get ten million dollars in one bag.”
    He showed no other outward reaction. Reacher thought:
One plus five already gone, plus one promised to me, plus ten more. That’s seventeen million dollars. This guy is right now looking at a running total of seventeen million dollars, and he hasn’t even blinked yet.
    “When will they call?” Lane asked.
    “Drive time plus argument time,” Reacher said. “Late afternoon, early evening. Not before.”
    Lane kept on swinging his chair through its tiny arc. He lapsed into silence. Then there was a quiet knock at the door and Gregory stuck his head in the room.
    “I got what we need,” he said, to Reacher, not to Lane. “The building on Spring Street? The owner is a bankrupt developer. One of his lawyer’s people is meeting us there in an hour. I said we were interested in buying the place.”
    “Good work,” Reacher said.
    “So maybe you should revise what you said about a mirror on a stick.”
    “Maybe I should. Maybe I will one day.”
    “So let’s go.”

----

    They were met at the 72nd Street curb by another new BMW 7-series sedan. This one was black. This time the driver stayed behind the wheel and Gregory and Reacher climbed in the back. The woman who was watching the building saw them go, and she noted the time.

CHAPTER 10
    THE GUY FROM the bankrupt developer’s lawyer’s office was a reedy paralegal of about thirty. His suit pockets were bagged out from all the keys he carried. Clearly his firm specialized in distressed real estate. Gregory gave him an OSC business card and introduced Reacher as a contractor whose opinion he valued.
    “Is the building habitable?” Gregory asked. “I mean, as of right now?”
    “You worried about squatters being in there?” the reedy guy asked back.
    “Or tenants,” Gregory said. “Or anybody.”
    “There’s nobody in there,” the guy said. “I can assure you of that fact. No water, no power, no gas, capped