Without Fail

“But we’re still looking.”
    “And who was the guy the state trooper saw in the subdivision?”
    “We’re discounting him. Almost certainly just a civilian.”
    Reacher shook his head. “So this solo guy hid the decoy rifle and legged it back to the church with the H&K all by himself?”
    “I don’t see why not.”
    “Have you ever hidden out and lined up to shoot a man?”
    “No,” Bannon said.
    “I have,” Reacher said. “And it’s not a lot of fun. You need to be comfortable, and relaxed, and alert. It’s a muscle thing. You get there well ahead of time, you settle in, you adjust your position, you figure out your range, you check the wind, you assess the angle of elevation or depression, you calculate the bullet drop. Then you lie there, staring through the sight. You get your breathing slow, you let your heart rate drop. And you know what you want at that point, more than anything else in the whole world?”
    “What?”
    “You want somebody you trust watching your back. All of your concentration is out there in front of you, and you start to feel an itch in your spine. If these guys are realistic professionals like you say they are, then no way would one of them work that church tower alone.”
    Bannon was silent.
    “He’s right,” Neagley said. “Best guess is the guy in the subdivision was the back-watcher, on his way from hiding the decoy. He was looping around, well away from the fence. The shooter was hiding out in the church, waiting for him to get back.”
    “Which begs a question,” Reacher said. “Like, who was it on the road from Minnesota at the time?”
    Bannon shrugged.
    “OK,” he said. “So there are three of them.”
    “All ours?” Stuyvesant asked, neutrally.
    “I don’t see why not,” Bannon said.
    Reacher shook his head. “You’re obsessed. Why don’t you just arrest everybody who ever worked for the Secret Service? There are probably some hundred-year-olds left over from FDR’s first term.”
    “We’re sticking with our theory,” Bannon said.
    “Fine,” Reacher said. “Keeps you out of my hair.”
    “I warned you against vigilantism, twice.”
    “And I heard you twice.”
    The room went silent. Then Bannon’s face softened. He glanced across at Froelich’s empty chair.
    “Even though I would completely understand your motive,” he said.
    Reacher stared down at the table.
    “It’s two guys, not three,” he said. “I agree with you, it profiles better. A thing like this, the best choice would be one guy on his own, but that’s never practical, so it’s got to be two. But not three. A third guy multiplies the risk by a hundred.”
    “So what happened with the rifle?”
    “They messengered it, obviously,” Reacher said. “FedEx or UPS or somebody. Maybe the USPS itself. They probably packaged it up with a bunch of saws and hammers and called it a delivery of tool samples. Some bullshit story like that. Addressed to a motel here, awaiting their arrival. That’s what I would have done, anyway.”
    Bannon looked embarrassed. Said nothing. Just stood up and left. The door clicked shut behind him. The room went quiet. Stuyvesant stayed in his seat, a little awkward.
    “We need to talk,” he said.
    “You’re firing us,” Neagley said.
    He nodded. Put his hand in his inside jacket pocket and came out with two slim white envelopes.
    “This isn’t internal anymore,” he said. “You know that. It’s gotten way too big.”
    “But you know Bannon is looking in the wrong place.”
    “I hope he’ll come to realize that,” Stuyvesant said. “Then maybe he’ll start looking in the right place. Meanwhile we’ll defend Armstrong. Starting with this craziness in Wyoming. That’s what we do. That’s all we can do. We’re reactive. We’re defensive. We’ve got no legal basis to employ outsiders in a proactive role.”
    He slid the first envelope along the shiny tabletop. Gave it enough force that it carried exactly six feet and spun to a stop in front of Reacher. Then the second, with a gentler motion, so it stopped in front of Neagley.
    “Later,” Reacher said. “Fire us later. Give us the rest of the day.”
    “Why?”
    “We need to talk to Armstrong. Just me and Neagley.”
    “About what?”
    “About something important,” Reacher said. Then he went quiet again.
    “The thing we talked about this morning?” Neagley asked him.
    “No, the thing that was on my mind last night.”
    “Something not there, something not