Worth Dying For

the area code and seven more digits, and Reacher repeated them once in his head and said, ‘Thanks,’ and hung up and redialled.
    The guy at the Marriott’s desk told Mahmeini’s man that yes, there was a bar, not exactly in town but ten miles north, just outside the city limit, on the left shoulder of the two-lane, called the Cell Block, a pleasant place, reasonably priced, and that yes, it was usually open late, and that yes, there was a taxiservice in town, and that yes, he would be happy to call a cab immediately.
    And so less than five minutes later Mahmeini’s man was sliding across stained vinyl into the rear seat of an ancient Chevy Caprice, and the driver was pulling out of the lot, and heading down McNally Street, and making the right at the end.
    The doctor answered a lot faster than Vincent had. Reacher said, ‘I need Eleanor Duncan’s phone number.’
    The doctor said, ‘Reacher? Where are you?’
    ‘Still out of town.’
    ‘Are you coming back?’
    ‘What, are you missing me?’
    ‘I didn’t tell the Duncans about the Cadillac.’
    ‘Good man. Has Seth gone home yet?’
    ‘He was still with his father when I left.’
    ‘Will he stay?’
    ‘People say he often does.’
    ‘You OK?’
    ‘Not too bad. I was in the truck. The Cornhuskers got me.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘Nothing much. Just words, really.’
    Reacher pictured the guy, maybe standing in his hallway or his kitchen, quaking, shaking, watching the windows, checking the doors. He asked, ‘Are you sober?’
    The doctor said, ‘A little.’
    ‘A little?’
    ‘That’s about as good as it gets these days, I’m afraid.’
    ‘I need Eleanor Duncan’s number.’
    ‘She’s not listed.’
    ‘I know that.’
    ‘She’s not on the phone tree.’
    ‘But she’s your patient.’
    ‘I can’t.’
    ‘How much more trouble could you be in?’
    ‘It’s not just that. There are confidentiality issues too. I’m a doctor. Like you said, I took an oath.’
    ‘We’re making an omelette here,’ Reacher said. ‘We’re going to have to break some eggs.’
    ‘They’ll know it came from me.’
    ‘If it comes to it I’ll tell them different.’
    The doctor went quiet, and then he sighed, and then he recited a number.
    ‘Thanks,’ Reacher said. ‘Take care. Best to your wife.’ He hung up and redialled and listened to yet more ring tone, the same languid electronic purr, but this time from a different place, from somewhere inside the restored farmhouse, among the pastel colours and the fancy rugs and the oil paintings. He figured that if Seth was home, then Seth would answer. It seemed to be that kind of a relationship. But he bet himself a buck Seth wasn’t home. The Duncans were in two kinds of trouble, and Reacher’s experience told him they would huddle together until it passed. So Eleanor was probably home alone, and would pick up. Or not. Maybe she would just ignore the bell, whatever the barman thirty feet away thought about human nature.
    She picked up.
    ‘Hello?’ she said.
    Reacher asked, ‘Is Seth there?’
    ‘Reacher? Where are you?’
    ‘Doesn’t matter where I am. Where’s Seth?’
    ‘He’s at his father’s. I don’t expect him home tonight.’
    ‘That’s good. You still up and dressed?’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I want you to do something for me.’

THIRTY-FOUR
    T HE OLD C APRICE ’ S REAR BENCH WAS CONTOURED LIKE TWO separate bucket seats, not by design but by age and relentless wear and tear. Mahmeini’s man settled into the right-hand pit, behind the front passenger seat, and cocked his head to the left so he could see out the windshield. He saw the blank back of a billboard in the headlight beams, and then he saw nothing. The road ahead was straight and empty. No oncoming lights, which was a disappointment. One drink on Asghar’s part might be overlooked. Or even two. Or three, followed by a prompt return. But a night of it would be considered desertion.
    The wheezing old motor had the needle trembling over the sixty mark. A mile a minute. Nine more miles to go. Nine minutes.
    Reacher said, ‘Exactly one hour and ten minutes from now, I want you to take a drive. In your little red sports car.’
    Eleanor Duncan said, ‘A drive? Where?’
    ‘South on the two-lane,’ Reacher said. ‘Just drive. Eleven miles. As fast as you want. Then turn around and go home again.’
    ‘Eleven miles?’
    ‘Or twelve. Or more. But not less than ten.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Doesn’t matter why. Will you do it?’
    ‘Are