Without Fail

women, so we’re down to ninety-four already. And thanks to the miracles of illicit intelligence and modern technology we’ll have scanned and e-mailed mug shots of all ninety-four of them within ten minutes.”
    “What’s the bad news?” Stuyvesant asked.
    “Later,” Bannon said. “After Reacher has wasted a little more of our time.”
    He looked around the room. Wouldn’t say anything more. In the end the wait was a little less than ten minutes. An agent in a suit hurried in with a sheaf of paper. He stacked it in front of Bannon. Bannon pushed the pile across to Reacher. Reacher picked it up and flicked through. Sixteen sheets, some of them still a little wet from the printer. Fifteen sheets had six photographs each and the sixteenth had just four. Ninety-four faces in total. He started with the last sheet. None of the four faces was even close.
    He picked up the fifteenth sheet. Glanced across the next six faces and put the paper down again. Picked up the fourteenth sheet. Scanned all six pictures. He worked fast. He didn’t need to study carefully. He had the guy’s features fixed firmly in his mind. But the guy wasn’t on the fourteenth sheet. Or the thirteenth.
    “How sure are you?” Stuyvesant asked.
    Nothing on the twelfth sheet.
    “I’m sure,” Reacher said. “That was the guy, and the guy was a cop. He had a badge and he looked like a cop. He looked as much like a cop as Bannon.”
    Nothing on the eleventh sheet. Or the tenth.
    “I don’t look like a cop,” Bannon said.
    Nothing on the ninth sheet.
    “You look exactly like a cop,” Reacher said. “You’ve got a cop coat, cop pants, cop shoes. You’ve got a cop face.”
    Nothing on the eighth sheet.
    “He acted like a cop,” Reacher said.
    Nothing on the seventh sheet.
    “He smelled like a cop,” Reacher said.
    Nothing on the sixth sheet. Nothing on the fifth sheet.
    “What did he say to you?” Stuyvesant asked.
    Nothing on the fourth sheet.
    “He asked me if the church was secure,” Reacher said. “I asked him what was going on. He said some kind of big commotion. Then he yelled at me for leaving the church door open. Just like a cop would talk.”
    Nothing on the third sheet. Or the second. He picked up the first sheet and knew instantly that the guy wasn’t on it. He dropped the paper and shook his head.
    “OK, now for the bad news,” Bannon said. “Bismarck PD had nobody there in plain clothes. Nobody at all. It was considered a ceremonial occasion. They were all in full uniform. All forty-two of them. Especially the brass. The captain and the lieutenant were in full dress uniform. White gloves and all.”
    “The guy was a Bismarck cop,” Reacher said.
    “No,” Bannon said. “The guy was not a Bismarck cop. At best he was a guy impersonating a Bismarck cop.”
    Reacher said nothing.
    “But he was obviously making a pretty good stab at it,” Bannon said. “He convinced you, for instance. Clearly he had the look, and the mannerisms.”
    Nobody spoke.
    “So nothing’s changed, I’m afraid,” Bannon said. “We’re still looking at recent Secret Service ex-employees. Because who better to impersonate a provincial cop than some other law-enforcement veteran who just worked his whole career alongside provincial cops at events exactly like that one?”

15
    A staffer from the Office of Protection Research was waiting when Reacher and Neagley and Stuyvesant got back to the Treasury Building. He was standing in the reception area wearing a knitted sweater and blue pants, like he had run straight in from the family dinner table. He was about Reacher’s age and looked like a university professor except for his eyes. They were wise and wary, like he had seen a few things, and heard about plenty more. His name was Swain. Stuyvesant introduced him all around and disappeared. Swain led Reacher and Neagley through corridors they hadn’t used before to an area that clearly doubled as a library and a lecture room. It had a dozen chairs set facing a podium and was lined on three walls with bookshelves. The fourth wall had a row of hutches with computers on desks. A printer next to each computer.
    “I heard what the FBI is saying,” Swain said.
    “You believe it?” Reacher asked.
    Swain just shrugged.
    “Yes or no?” Reacher asked.
    “I guess it’s not impossible,” Swain said. “But there’s no reason to believe it’s likely. Just as likely that it’s ex-FBI agents. Or current FBI agents. As an agency