Worth Dying For

that it was re-stolen quite independently by an operative from further up the chain. Asmall Middle Eastern person, according to reports on the phone tree. It appears he was the one who nearly ran Seth over.’
    ‘Anything else?’
    ‘The doctor says Reacher saw the police files.’
    Silence in the room.
    Then Jonas said, ‘And?’
    ‘Inconclusive, the doctor says.’
    ‘Conclusive enough to come back.’
    ‘The doctor says he came back because of the men in the cars.’
    Nobody spoke.
    Jacob said, ‘But in the interests of full disclosure, the doctor also claims Reacher asked Mrs Coe if she really wants to be told what happened to her daughter.’
    ‘Reacher can’t possibly know. Not yet.’
    ‘I agree. But he might be beginning to pull on threads.’
    ‘Then we have to kill him now. We have to.’
    ‘It’s just one more day. He’s locked up. Escape is impossible.’
    More silence.
    Nobody spoke.
    Then Jonas asked, ‘Anything else?’
    ‘Eleanor helped Reacher get past the sentry,’ Jacob said. ‘She defied her husband and left his house, quite brazenly. She and Reacher conspired together to decoy the boy away from his post. He didn’t perform well. We’ll have to fire him, of course. We’ll leave Seth to decide what happens to his wife. And it seems that Seth has broken his hand. He’ll need some attention. It appears Reacher has a very hard head. And that’s all the news I have.’
    Nobody spoke.
    Jacob said, ‘We need to make a decision about the immediate matter at hand. Life or death. Always the ultimate choice.’
    No reply.
    Jacob asked, ‘Who wants to go first?’
    Nobody spoke.
    Jacob said, ‘Then I’ll go first. I vote to let my boy do it his way. I vote to keep Reacher concealed until our truck is close by. It’s a minor increase in risk. One more day, that’s all. Overall, it’sinsignificant. And I like finesse. I like a measure of elegance in a solution.’
    A long pause.
    Then Jasper said, ‘I’m in.’
    And Jonas said, ‘OK,’ a little reluctantly.
    Reacher woke up in a concrete room full of bright light. He was on his back on the floor, at the foot of a flight of steep stairs. He had been carried down, he figured, not thrown or fallen. Because the back of his skull was OK. He had no sprains or bruises. His limbs were intact, all four of them. He could see and hear and move. His face hurt like hell, but that was to be expected.
    The lights were regular incandescent household bulbs, six or eight of them, randomly placed, maybe a hundred watts each. No shades. The concrete was smooth and pale grey. Very fine. Not dusty. It was like an engineering product. High strength. It had been poured with great precision. There were no seams. The angles where the walls met each other and the floor were chamfered and radiused, just slightly. Like a swimming pool, ready for tiling. Reacher had dug swimming pools once. Temporary employment, many years ago. He had seen them in all their different stages of completion.
    His face hurt like hell.
    Was he in a half-finished swimming pool? Unlikely. Unless it had a temporary roof. The roof was boards laid over heavy joists. The joists were made of multi-ply wood. Manufactured articles. Very strong. Layers of exotic hardwoods, probably glued together with resins under enormous pressure in a giant press in a factory. Probably cut with computer-controlled saws. Delivered on a flat-bed truck. Craned into place. Each one probably weighed a lot.
    His face hurt.
    He felt confused. He had no idea what time it was. The clock in his head had stopped. He was breathing through his mouth. His nose was jammed solid with blood and swellings. He could feel blood on his lips and his chin. It was thick and almost dry. A nosebleed. Not surprising. Maybe thirty minutes old. Not likeEleanor Duncan’s. His own blood clotted fast. It always had. He was the exact opposite of a haemophiliac. A good thing, from time to time. An evolutionary trait, no doubt bred into him through many generations of natural-born survivors.
    His face hurt.
    There were other things in the concrete room. There were pipes of all different diameters. There were green metal boxes a little crusted with mineral stains. Some wires, some in steel conduit, some loose. There were no windows. Just the walls. And the stairs, with a closed door at the top.
    He was underground.
    Was he in a bunker of some sort?
    He didn’t know.
    His face hurt like hell. And it was getting worse. Much, much worse.