Worth Dying For

now.’ Reacher got up out of his crouch and moved away, pointing the gun, aiming it two-handed at arm’s length for theatrical effect, tracking the guy’s head, a big pale target. First the guy went foetal for a second, and then he gathered himself and got his hands under him and jacked himself to his knees.Reacher said, ‘See the yellow car? You’re going to go stand next to the driver’s door.’
    The guy said, ‘OK,’ and got to his feet, a little unsteady at first, then firmer, taller, squarer. Reacher said, ‘Feeling good now, John? Feeling brave? Getting ready? Going to rush over and get me?’
    The guy said, ‘No.’
    ‘Good answer, John. I’ll put a double tap in you before you move the first muscle. Believe me, I’ve done it before. I used to get paid to do it. I’m very good at it. So move over to the yellow car and stand next to the driver’s door.’ Reacher tracked him all the way around the Malibu’s hood. The driver’s door was still open. Reacher had left it that way, for the sake of a speedy exit. The guy stood in its angle. Reacher aimed the gun across the roof of the car and opened the passenger door. The two men stood there, one on each side, both doors open like little wings.
    Reacher said, ‘Now get in.’
    The guy ducked and bent and slid into the seat. Reacher backed off a step and aimed the gun down inside the car, a low trajectory, straight at the guy’s hips and thighs. He said, ‘Don’t touch the wheel. Don’t touch the pedals. Don’t put your seat belt on.’
    The guy sat still, with his hands in his lap.
    Reacher said, ‘Now close your door.’
    The guy closed his door.
    Reacher asked, ‘Feeling heroic yet, John?’
    The guy said, ‘No.’
    ‘Good answer, my friend. We can do this. Just remember, the Chevrolet Malibu is an OK mid-range product, especially for Detroit, but it doesn’t accelerate for shit. Not like a bullet, anyway. This gun of mine is full of nine-millimetre Parabellums. They come out of the barrel doing nine hundred miles an hour. Think a four-cylinder GM motor can outrun that?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Good, John,’ Reacher said. ‘I’m glad to see all that education didn’t go to waste.’
    Then he looked up across the roof of the car, and he saw light in the mist to the south. A high hemispherical glow, trembling a little, bouncing, weakening and strengthening and weakening again. Very white. Almost blue.
    A car, coming north towards him, pretty fast.

THIRTY-SIX
    T HE ONCOMING CAR WAS ABOUT TWO MILES AWAY. D OING ABOUT sixty, Reacher figured. Sixty was about all the road was good for. Two minutes. He said, ‘Sit tight, John. Stop thinking. This is your time of maximum danger. I’m going to play it very safe. I’ll shoot first and ask questions later. Don’t think I won’t.’
    The guy sat still behind the Malibu’s wheel. Reacher watched across the roof of the car. The bubble of light in the south was still moving, still bouncing and trembling and strengthening and weakening, but coherently this time, naturally, in phase. Just one car. Now about a mile away. One minute.
    Reacher waited. The glow resolved itself to a fierce source low down above the blacktop, then twin fierce sources spaced feet apart, both of them oval in shape, both of them low to the ground, both of them blue-white and intense. They kept on coming, flickering and floating and jittering ahead of a firm front suspension and fast go-kart steering, at first small because of the distance, and then small because they
were
small, because they were mounted low down on a small low car, because thecar was a Mazda Miata, tiny, red in colour, slowing now, coming to a stop, its headlights unbearably bright against the Malibu’s yellow paint.
    Then Eleanor Duncan killed her lights and manoeuvred around the Malibu’s trunk, half on the road and half on the shoulder, and came to a stop with her elbow on the door and her head turned towards Reacher. She asked, ‘Did I do it right?’
    Reacher said, ‘You did it perfectly. The headscarf was a great touch.’
    ‘I decided against sunglasses. Too much of a risk at night.’
    ‘Probably.’
    ‘But you took a risk. That’s for sure. You could have gotten creamed here.’
    ‘He’s an athlete. And young. Good eyesight, good hand-eye coordination, lots of fast-twitch muscles. I figured I’d have time to jump clear.’
    ‘Even so. He could have wrecked both vehicles. Then what would you have done?’
    ‘Plan B was shoot him and