Without Fail

code is 20310-1500.”
    Froelich wrote it down. “OK, thanks. I guess that’s all I need.”
    “I think you might need a little more.”
    “Why?”
    “You know Washington Boulevard?”
    Froelich paused. “Runs up to the Memorial Bridge, right?”
    “It’s just a highway.”
    “No buildings? Got to be buildings.”
    “There is one building. Pretty big one. Couple hundred yards off the east shoulder.”
    “What?”
    “The Pentagon,” the guy said. “This is a phony address, Froelich. One side of Washington Boulevard is Arlington Cemetery and the other side is the Pentagon. That’s it. Nothing else. There’s no number one hundred. There are no private mailing addresses at all. I checked with the Postal Service. And that zip code is the Department of the Army, inside the Pentagon.”
    “Great,” Froelich said. “You tell the bank?”
    “Of course not. You told me to be discreet.”
    “Thanks. But I’m back at square one.”
    “Maybe not. This is a bizarre account, Froelich. Six-figure balance, but it’s all just stuck in checking, earning nothing. And the customer accesses it via Western Union only. Never comes in. It’s a phone arrangement. Customer calls in with a password, the bank wires cash through Western Union, wherever.”
    “No ATM card?”
    “No cards at all. No checkbook was ever issued, either.”
    “Western Union only ? I never heard of that before. Are there any records?”
    “Geographically, all over the place, literally. Forty states and counting in five years. Occasional deposits and plenty of nickel-and-dime withdrawals, all of them to Western Union offices in the boonies, in the cities, everywhere.”
    “Bizarre.”
    “Like I said.”
    “Anything you can do?”
    “Already done it. They’re going to call me next time the customer calls them.”
    “And then you’re going to call me?”
    “I might.”
    “Is there a frequency pattern?”
    “It varies. Maximum interval recently has been a few weeks. Sometimes it’s every few days. Mondays are popular. Banks are closed on the weekend.”
    “So I could get lucky today.”
    “Sure you could,” the guy said. “Question is, am I going to get lucky too?”
    “Not that lucky,” Froelich said.

    The lounge manager watched Reacher step into his motel lobby. Then he ducked back into a windy side street and fired up his cell phone. Cupped his hand around it and spoke low and urgently, and convincingly, but respectfully, as was required.
    “Because he’s dissing me,” he said, in answer to a question.
    “Today would be good,” he said, in answer to another.
    “Two at least,” he said, in answer to the final question. “This is a big guy.”

    Reacher changed one of his four dollars for quarters at the motel desk and headed for the pay phone. Dialed his bank from memory and gave his password and arranged for five hundred bucks to be wired to Western Union in Atlantic City by close of business. Then he went to his room and bit off all the tags and put his new clothes on. Transferred all his pocket junk across and threw his summer gear in the trash and looked himself over in the long mirror behind the closet door. Grow a beard and get some sunglasses and I could walk all the way to the North Pole , he thought.

    Froelich heard about the proposed wire transfer eleven minutes later. Closed her eyes for a second and clenched her hands in triumph and then reached behind her and pulled a map of the Eastern Seaboard off a shelf. Maybe three hours if the traffic cooperates. I might just make it . She grabbed her jacket and her purse and ran down to the garage.

    Reacher wasted an hour in his room and then went out to test the insulating properties of his new coat. Field trial , they used to call it, way back when. He headed east toward the ocean, into the wind. Felt rather than saw somebody behind him. Just a characteristic little burr down in the small of his back. He slowed up and used a store window for a mirror. Caught a glimpse of movement fifty yards back. Too far away for details.
    He walked on. The coat was pretty good, but he should have bought a hat to go with it. That was clear. The same buddy with the opinion on coats used to claim that half of total heat loss was through the top of the head, and that was certainly how it felt. The cold was blowing through his hair and making his eyes water. A military-issue watch cap would have been valuable, in November on the Jersey shore. He made a mental note to keep an eye