Without Fail

Yukon’s fender and tracked the guy’s head. Tightened his finger on the trigger. Then he heard a voice, loud and urgent, right behind him.
    “Hold your fire,” the voice called.
    He turned and saw a second guy ten yards north and west. Neagley was stumbling through the snow directly ahead of him. He had her Heckler & Koch held low in his left hand. A handgun in his right, jammed in her back. He was the guy from the garage video. No doubt about that, either. Tweed overcoat, short, wide in the shoulders, a little squat. No hat this time. He had the same face as the Bismarck guy, a little fatter. The same graying sandy hair, a little thicker. Brothers .
    “Throw the weapon down, sir,” he called.
    It was a perfect cop line and he had a perfect cop voice. Neagley mouthed I’m sorry . Reacher reversed the Steyr in his hand. Held it by the barrel.
    “Throw down the weapon, sir,” the squat guy called again.
    His brother from Bismarck changed direction and plowed forward through the snow and moved in closer. He raised the rifle. It was a Steyr too, a long handsome gun. It was all covered with snow. It was pointing straight at Reacher’s head. The low morning sun made the shadow of the barrel ten feet long. Reacher thought: What happened to that lonely motel bed? Snowflakes swirled and the air was bitter cold. He pulled his arm back and tossed his pistol high in the air. It arced lazily thirty feet through the falling snow and landed and buried itself in a drift. The guy from Bismarck fumbled in his pocket with his left hand and pulled out his badge. Held it high in his palm. The badge was gold. It was backed by a worn leather slip. The leather was brown. The rifle wavered. The guy fumbled the badge away again and brought the rifle to his shoulder and held it level and steady.
    “We’re police officers,” he said.
    “I know you are,” Reacher said back. He glanced around. The snow was falling hard. It was whipping and swirling. The crevasse they were in was like a cave with no roof. It was probably the loneliest place on the planet. The guy from the garage video pushed Neagley nearer. She stumbled and he caught up with her and pushed her off to one side and kept his handgun hard in her back.
    “But who are you?” the Bismarck guy asked.
    Reacher didn’t answer. Just checked the geometry. It wasn’t attractive. He was triangulated twelve feet from either guy, and the snow underfoot was slick and slow.
    The Bismarck guy smiled. “You here to make the world safe for democracy?”
    “I’m here because you’re a lousy shot,” Reacher said. “You got the wrong person on Thursday.” Then he moved very cautiously and pulled his cuff and checked his watch. And smiled. “And you lose again. It’s too late now. You’re going to miss him.”
    The Bismarck guy just shook his head. “Police scanner. In our truck. We’re listening to Casper PD. Armstrong is delayed twenty minutes. There was a weather problem in South Dakota. So we decided to hang out and let you catch up with us.”
    Reacher said nothing.
    “Because we don’t like you,” the Bismarck guy said. He spoke along the rifle stock. His lips moved against it. “You’re poking around where you’re not welcome. In a purely private matter. In something that doesn’t concern you at all. So consider yourselves under arrest. You want to plead guilty?”
    Reacher said nothing.
    “Or you just want to plead?”
    “Like you did?” Reacher said. “When that ball bat was getting close?”
    The guy went quiet for a second.
    “Your attitude isn’t helping your cause,” he said.
    He paused again, five long seconds.
    “The jury is back,” he said.
    “What jury?”
    “Me and my brother. That’s all the jury you’ve got. We’re your whole world right now.”
    “Whatever happened, it was thirty years ago.”
    “A guy does something like that, he should pay.”
    “The guy died.”
    The Bismarck cop shrugged. The rifle barrel moved. “You should read your Bible, my friend. The sins of the fathers, you ever heard of that?”
    “What sins? You lost a fight, is all.”
    “We never lose. Sooner or later, we always win. And Armstrong watched . Snot-nosed rich kid, all smiling and grinning. A man doesn’t forget a thing like that.”
    Reacher said nothing. The silence was total. Each snowflake felt separately audible as it hissed and whirled through the air. Keep him talking , Reacher thought. Keep him moving . But he looked into the crazed eyes