Without Fail

Armstrong himself had a smudge of Froelich’s blood on the side of his face. He looked deflated. Like this whole White House thing was no longer fun.
    “What’s the situation?” he asked.
    “Two casualties,” Stuyvesant said quietly. “The sentry on the warehouse roof, and M.E. herself. They both died at the scene.”
    Armstrong’s wife turned away like she had been slapped.
    “Did you get the people who did it?” Armstrong asked.
    “The FBI is leading the hunt,” Stuyvesant said. “Just a matter of time.”
    “I want to help,” Armstrong said.
    “You’re going to help,” Reacher said.
    Armstrong nodded. “What can I do?”
    “You can issue a formal statement,” Reacher said. “Immediately. In time for the networks to get it on the evening news.”
    “Saying what?”
    “Saying you’re canceling your holiday weekend in North Dakota out of respect for the two dead agents. Saying you’re holing up in your Georgetown house and going absolutely nowhere at all before you attend a memorial service for your lead agent in her hometown in Wyoming on Sunday morning. Find out the name of the town and mention it loud and clear.”
    Armstrong nodded again.
    “OK,” he said. “I could do that, I guess. But why?”
    “Because they won’t try again here in D.C. Not against the security you’re going to have at your house. So they’ll go home and wait. Which gives me until Sunday to find out where they live.”
    “You? Won’t the FBI find them today?”
    “If they do, that’s great. I can move on.”
    “And if they don’t?”
    “Then I’ll find them myself.”
    “And if you fail?”
    “I don’t plan to fail. But if I do, then they’ll show up in Wyoming to try again. At Froelich’s service. Whereupon I’ll be waiting for them.”
    “No,” Stuyvesant said. “I can’t allow it. Are you crazy? We can’t secure a situation out West on seventy-two hours’ notice. And I can’t use a protectee as bait .”
    “He doesn’t have to actually go,” Reacher said. “There probably won’t even be a service. He just has to say it.”
    Armstrong shook his head. “I can’t say it if there isn’t going to be a service. And if there is a service, I can’t say it and not show up.”
    “If you want to help, that’s what you’ve got to do.”
    Armstrong said nothing.

    They left the Armstrongs in the West Wing basement and were escorted back to the Suburban. The sun was still shining and the sky was still blue. The buildings were still white and golden. It was still a glorious day.
    “Take us back to the motel,” Reacher said. “I want to get a shower. Then I want to meet with Bannon.”
    “Why?” Stuyvesant asked.
    “Because I’m a witness,” Reacher said. “I saw the shooter. On the roof. Just a glimpse of his back as he moved away from the edge.”
    “You got a description?”
    “Not really,” Reacher said. “It was only a glimpse. I couldn’t describe him. But there was something about how he moved. I’ve seen him before.”

14
    He peeled off his clothes. They were stiff and cold and clammy with blood. He dropped them on the closet floor and stepped into the bathroom. Set the shower going. The tray under his feet ran red and then pink and then clear. He washed his hair twice and shaved carefully. Dressed in another of Joe’s shirts and another of his suits and chose the regimental tie that Froelich had bought, as a tribute. Then he went back out to the lobby.
    Neagley was waiting for him there. She had changed, too. She was wearing a black suit. It was the old Army way. If in doubt, go formal . She had a cup of coffee ready for him. She was talking to the U.S. marshals. They were a new crew. The day shift, he guessed.
    “Stuyvesant’s coming back,” she told him. “Then we go meet with Bannon.”
    He nodded. The marshals were quiet around him. Almost respectful. Toward him or because of Froelich, he didn’t know.
    “Tough break,” one of them said.
    Reacher looked away.
    “I guess it was,” he replied.
    Then he looked back.
    “But hey, shit happens,” he said.
    Neagley smiled, briefly. It was the old Army way. If in doubt, be flippant .

    Stuyvesant showed up an hour later and drove them to the Hoover Building. The balance of power had changed. Killing federal agents was a federal crime, so now the FBI was firmly in charge. Now it was a straightforward manhunt. Bannon met them in the main lobby and took them up in an elevator to their conference room. It was