Worth Dying For

figured the affected nerves had to pass through there somewhere. Where else could they go?
    Seth was not complaining at the delay. Jasper figured he was taking it very well. He was growing up. He had been petulant after the broken nose, but now he was standing tall. Because he had captured his assailant all by himself, obviously. And because he was planning what to do with the guy next. The glow of achievement and the prospect of revenge were anaesthetics all by themselves.
    Jonas asked, ‘Is this it?’ He was holding up a round pint bottle made of brown glass. Its label was stained and covered in long technical words, some of them Latin. Jasper squinted across the dim space and said, ‘Good man. You found it.’
    Then they heard footsteps on the floor above their heads.

FORTY-SEVEN
    J ACOB WAS FIRST UP THE CELLAR STAIRS . H IS FIRST THOUGHT WAS that a football player was checking in, but the floors in their houses were typical of old-style construction in rural America, built of boards cut from the hearts of old pines, thick and dense and heavy, capable of transmitting noise but not detail. So it was not possible to say who was in the house by sound alone. He saw no one in the hallway, but when he got to the kitchen he found a man in there, standing still, small and wiry, dark and dead-eyed, rumpled, not very clean, wearing a buttoned shirt without a tie, holding a knife in his left hand and a gun in his right. The knife was held low, but the gun was pointing straight at the centre of Jacob’s chest.
    Jacob stood still.
    The man put his knife on the kitchen table and raised his forefinger to his lips.
    Jacob made no sound.
    Behind him his son and his brothers crowded into the kitchen, too soon to be stopped. The man moved the muzzle of his gun, left and right, back and forth. The four Duncans lined up,shoulder to shoulder. The man turned his wrist and moved the muzzle down and up, down and up, patting the air with it. No one moved.
    The man said, ‘Get on your knees.’
    Jacob asked, ‘Who are you?’
    The man said, ‘You killed my friend.’
    ‘I didn’t.’
    ‘One of you Duncans did.’
    ‘We didn’t. We don’t even know who you are.’
    ‘Get on your knees.’
    ‘Who are you?’
    The little man picked up his knife again and asked, ‘Which one of you is Seth?’
    Seth Duncan paused a beat and then raised his good hand, like a kid in class.
    The little man said, ‘You killed my friend and you put his body in the trunk of your Cadillac.’
    Jacob said, ‘No, Reacher stole that car this afternoon. It was him.’
    ‘Reacher doesn’t exist.’
    ‘He does. He broke my son’s nose. And his hand.’
    The gun didn’t move, but the little man turned his head and looked at Seth. The aluminium splint, the swollen fingers. Jacob said, ‘We haven’t left here all day. But Reacher was at the Marriott. This afternoon, and this evening. We know that. He left the Cadillac there.’
    ‘Where is he now?’
    ‘We’re not sure. Close by, we think.’
    ‘How did he get back?’
    ‘Perhaps he took your rental car. Did your friend have the key?’
    The little man didn’t answer.
    Jacob asked, ‘Who are you?’
    ‘I represent Mahmeini.’
    ‘We don’t know who that is.’
    ‘He buys your merchandise from Safir.’
    ‘We don’t know anyone of that name either. We sell to anItalian gentleman in Las Vegas, name of Mr Rossi, and after that we have no further interest.’
    ‘You’re trying to cut everyone out.’
    ‘We’re not. We’re trying to get our shipment home, that’s all.’
    ‘Where is it?’
    ‘On its way. But we can’t bring it in until Reacher is down.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘You know why not. This kind of business can’t be done in public. You should be helping us, not pointing guns at us.’
    The little man didn’t answer.
    Jacob said, ‘Put the gun away, and let’s all sit down and talk. We’re all on the same side here.’
    The little man kept the gun straight and level and said, ‘Safir’s men are dead too.’
    ‘Reacher,’ Jacob said. ‘He’s on the loose.’
    ‘What about Rossi’s boys?’
    ‘We haven’t seen them recently.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘I swear.’
    The little man was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, ‘OK. Things change. Life moves on, for all of us. From now on you will sell direct to Mahmeini.’
    Jacob Duncan said, ‘Our arrangement is with Mr Rossi.’
    The little man said, ‘Not any more.’
    Jacob Duncan didn’t answer.
    Cassano and Mancini