Without Fail

hands on his knees.
    “Don’t know yet,” he called. “Some big commotion.”
    Then he stared beyond Reacher’s shoulder at the church.
    “Damn it, you should have locked the door,” he called. “Can’t leave the damn thing open.”
    He raced on toward the church. Reacher ran the other way, to the field. Met Neagley running in from the entrance road.
    “What?” she shouted.
    “It’s going down,” he shouted back.
    They ran on together. Through the gate and into the field. Froelich was moving fast toward the cars. They changed direction and cut her off.
    “Rifle hidden at the base of the fence,” she said.
    “Someone’s been in the church,” Reacher said. He was out of breath. “In the tower. Probably right on the roof. Probably still around someplace.”
    Froelich looked straight at him and stood completely still for a second. Then she raised her hand and spoke into the microphone on her wrist.
    “Stand by to abort,” she said. “Emergency extraction on my count of three.”
    Her voice was very calm.
    “Stand by all vehicles. Main car and gun car to target on my count of three.”
    She paused a single beat.
    “One, two, three, abort now, abort now.”
    Two things happened simultaneously. First there was a roar of engines from the motorcade and it split apart like a starburst. The lead cop car jumped forward and the rear cop car slewed backward and the first two stretch limos hauled through a tight turn and accelerated across the gravel and straight out onto the field. At the same time the personal detail jumped all over Armstrong and literally buried him from view. One agent took the lead and the other two took an elbow each and the backup three piled on and threw their arms up over Armstrong’s head from behind and drove him bodily forward through the crowd. It was like a football maneuver, full of speed and power. The crowd scattered in panic as the cars bumped across the grass one way and the agents rushed the other way to meet them. The cars skidded to a stop and the personal detail pushed Armstrong straight into the first and the backup crew piled into the second.
    The lead cop had his lights and siren started already and was crawling forward down the exit road. The two loaded limos fishtailed on the grass and turned around on the field and headed back to the pavement. They rolled up straight behind the cop car and then all three vehicles accelerated hard and headed out while the third stretch headed straight for Froelich.
    “We can get these guys,” Reacher said to her. “They’re right here, right now.”
    She didn’t reply. Just grabbed him and Neagley by the arms and pulled them into the limo with her. It roared after the lead vehicles. The second cop fell in directly behind it and just twenty short seconds after the initial abort command the whole motorcade had formed up in a tight line and was screaming away from the scene at seventy miles an hour with every light flashing and every siren blaring.
    Froelich slumped back in her seat.
    “See?” she said. “We’re not proactive. Something happens, we run away.”

11
    Froelich stood in the chill and spoke to Armstrong at the foot of the plane’s steps. It was a short conversation. She told him about the discovery of the concealed rifle and told him it was more than enough to justify the extraction. He didn’t argue. Didn’t ask any awkward leading questions. He seemed completely unaware of any larger picture. And he seemed completely unconcerned about his own safety. He was more anxious to calculate the public-relations consequences for his successor. He looked away and ran through the pluses and minuses in his head like politicians do and came back with a tentative smile. No damage done . Then he ran up the steps to the warmth inside the plane, ready to resume his agenda with the waiting journalists.
    Reacher was faster with the seat selection second time around. He took a place in the forward-facing front row, next to Froelich and across the aisle from Neagley. Froelich used the taxi time doing the rounds of her team, quietly congratulating them on their performance. She spoke to each of them in turn, leaning close, talking, listening, finishing with discreet fist-to-fist contact like ballplayers after a vital hit. Reacher watched her. Good leader , he thought. She came back to her seat and buckled her belt. Smoothed her hair and pressed her fingertips hard into her temples like she was clearing her mind of past events