Without Fail

grew. It reached the point where it was embarrassing.
    “How’s your wife, sir?” the sharpshooter asked.
    It was the perfect political question, Reacher thought. It was an invitation to talk about somebody else’s feelings, which was always easier than talking about your own. It was collegial, in that it said we all are on the inside here, so let’s talk about somebody who isn’t . And it said: here’s your chance to thank us for saving her ass, and yours .
    “She’s very shaken,” Armstrong said. “It was a terrible thing. She wants you to know how sorry she is. She’s been giving me a hard time, actually. She says it’s wrong of me to be putting you people at risk.”
    It was the perfect political answer, Reacher thought. It invited only one reply: Just doing our job, sir .
    “It’s our job, sir,” Stuyvesant said. “If it wasn’t you, it would be somebody else.”
    “Thank you,” Armstrong said. “For being so gracious. And thank you for performing so superbly well today. From both of us. From the bottom of our hearts. I’m not a superstitious guy, but I kind of feel I owe you now. Like I won’t be free of an obligation until I’ve done something for you. So don’t hesitate to ask me. Anything at all, formal or informal, collective or individual. I’m your friend for life.”
    Nobody spoke.
    “Tell me about Crosetti,” Armstrong said. “Did he have family?”
    The sharpshooter nodded.
    “A wife and a son,” he said. “The boy is eight, I think.”
    Armstrong looked away.
    “I’m so sorry,” he said.
    Silence in the room.
    “Is there anything I can do for them?” Armstrong asked.
    “They’ll be looked after,” Stuyvesant said.
    “Froelich had parents in Wyoming,” Armstrong said. “That’s all. She wasn’t married. No brothers or sisters. I spoke with her folks earlier today. After I saw you at the White House. I felt I ought to offer my condolences personally. And I felt I should clear my statement with them, you know, before I spoke to the television people. I felt I couldn’t misrepresent the situation without their permission, just for the sake of a decoy scheme. But they liked the idea of a memorial service on Sunday. So much so that they’re going to go ahead with it, in fact. So there will be a service, after all.”
    Nobody spoke. Armstrong picked a spot on the wall, and looked hard at it.
    “I want to attend it,” he said. “In fact, I’m going to attend it.”
    “I can’t permit that,” Stuyvesant said.
    Armstrong said nothing.
    “I mean, I advise against it,” Stuyvesant said.
    “She was killed because of me. I want to attend her service. It’s the least I can do. I want to speak there, actually. I guess I should talk to her folks again.”
    “I’m sure they’d be honored, but there are security issues.”
    “I respect your judgment, of course,” Armstrong said. “But it isn’t negotiable. I’ll go on my own, if I have to. I might prefer to go on my own.”
    “That isn’t possible,” Stuyvesant said.
    Armstrong nodded. “So find three agents who want to be there with me. And only three. We can’t turn it into a circus. We’ll get in and out fast, unannounced.”
    “You announced it on national television.”
    “It isn’t negotiable,” Armstrong said again. “They won’t want to turn the whole thing into a circus. That wouldn’t be fair. So, no media and no television. Just us.”
    Stuyvesant said nothing.
    “I’m going to her service,” Armstrong said. “She was killed because of me.”
    “She knew the risks,” Stuyvesant said. “We all know the risks. We’re here because we want to be.”
    Armstrong nodded. “I spoke with the director of the FBI. He told me the suspects got away.”
    “It’s just a matter of time,” Stuyvesant said.
    “My daughter is in the Antarctic,” Armstrong said. “It’s coming up to midsummer down there. The temperature is up to twenty below zero. It’ll peak at maybe eighteen below in a week or two. We just spoke on the satellite phone. She’s says it feels unbelievably warm. We’ve had the same conversation for the last two years straight. I used to take it as a kind of metaphor. You know, everything’s relative, nothing’s that bad, you can get used to anything. But now I don’t know anymore. I don’t think I’ll ever get over today. I’m alive only because another person is dead.”
    Silence in the room.
    “She knew what she was doing,” Stuyvesant said. “We’re all