Jack and Joe: Hunt for Jack Reacher Series (The Hunt for Jack Reacher Series Book 6) (2 page)

The pieces were stomped and pushed by shuffling feet and rolling travel bags.

The mother jogged behind the twins, yelling, “Stevie! Larry! Stop!”

Stevie jumped up and dashed farther into the airport with Larry and Mom in hot pursuit.

By the time my well-meaning co-travelers hauled me off the floor, the phone’s pieces were nowhere to be found. They had probably been kicked around and trampled on and who knew what else.

I dusted myself off and righted my luggage and paid for my coffee and moved to the side of the counter out of the melee.

I stretched all my limbs and examined myself for bleeding, but saw none. There would be bruises, especially on my hip where I’d landed on that hard suitcase wheel. But bruises weren’t lethal.

Briefly, I thought about how the Boss had learned Summer was on her way to Fort Bird and who else knew her plans. And then I shrugged and pulled out my personal phone and sent him a text. “Phone destroyed.” He’d know what to do.

CHAPTER 2

Friday, November 19

11:43 AM

Fort Bird, North Carolina

Colonel Eunice Summer, recently promoted Commanding Officer of the Army’s 110th Special Investigations Unit, had been married to the Army her whole life. Twenty-five years of her service was dedicated to investigating crimes and assuring that punishment was swiftly delivered.

Which was how she’d met Jack Reacher. The Boss sent me to interview her while my partner, Carlos Gaspar, was temporarily occupied in Miami.

Before and after her call, my plan was the same. A quick trip to Fort Bird to learn whatever the Boss believed Summer knew and get out of the mountains ahead of the coming ice storm.

For the first time in eighteen days, I’d chosen the four-wheel drive rental vehicle suited to my size and mission. I flipped on the headlights and windshield wipers, and ran the defrosters full blast. I made slow progress through the dreary weather from the Charlotte airport onward, which churned my stomach at the two-antacid level.

I hadn’t called Summer after the lost phone because I’d already told her I’d meet her at Fort Bird. Nor did I want to risk any security breaches from my personal phone.

The GPS sent me north on the Interstate and directed me to exit behind a line of assorted vehicles before I reached New Haven.

The sign at the entrance said:

Fort Bird

Home of The Airborne

and

Special Operations Forces

I followed a trail of vehicles until it backed up at the main gate. The digital clock on the SUV’s dashboard said I was fifteen minutes behind schedule.

I reached into my pocket for another antacid and placed it under my tongue.

Being late is about the worst thing an FBI Special Agent can be, in my book. Tardiness says, “I’m more important than you are. I have no respect for your time.” Never a good way to start an interview when what I needed was a lot of cooperation from any witness, and especially a powerful one like Colonel Summer.

Gaspar had been behind the wheel, driving us around as my number two, from the outset of our off-the-books assignment. My driving skills were rusty, so I’d been too cautious on the road. That’s why I was late and popping antacids.

As it turned out, my being on time would have made no difference at all.

When it was my turn to be logged in, I pulled up to the sentry station and lowered my window to talk to the soldier inside. A frigid breeze blew cold rain in my face.

“FBI Special Agent Kim Otto,” I told the soldier in the booth. “I have an appointment with Colonel Summer.”

“Colonel Summer is not posted here at Fort Bird, Ma’am.”

I nodded. “She’s driving down from Rock Creek.”

“She hasn’t arrived since I came on duty at zero-nine-thirty.” He found my name on the visitors list. Three minutes for paperwork and he gave me a pass and waved me through.

I kept my gun. Army personnel weren’t allowed to carry personal weapons on base, but I’m FBI. Which normally wouldn’t grant me any kind of special treatment, but the Boss had worked his magic on this issue before I arrived.

I followed signs to the visitor parking lot in front of the low block building that housed Fort Bird’s Military Police. I used my personal phone to dial the number I’d memorized from Summer’s earlier call. The phone rang several times and went to voicemail. I kept the message cryptic, just in case: “Otto here. I’ve arrived. I’ll wait for you inside the XO’s office.”

I slipped the transmission into park, turned off all the SUV’s dials and buttons, scooped up my phone and my briefcase and hurried inside where it felt good to be warmed by central heat again.

A sergeant seated behind a spotlessly clean and empty desk greeted me with slightly surly disinterest. Maybe he didn’t want the FBI on his turf or something.

Church
, according to the nametape on his uniform located about where a pocket for cigarettes could have been when my dad was in the Army. He stammered slightly when he said Colonel Summer was running late. My stomach settled a bit. The sentry had been right. At least I’d arrived before she did.

Colonel Eunice Summer was a lead. A solid lead. And she had been ordered to answer my questions by none other than the Army Chief of Staff. A refreshing change.

I’d planned to ask Summer every question on my three-page list, to squeeze every ounce of information from her until she was drier than a well-juiced lemon. If I was really lucky, she might still have a phone number for Reacher. Even a long-outdated last known address would be the camel’s nose under the tent. A place to start.

No matter what, when I left here I’d vowed to have learned
something
about Jack Reacher that would lead me in a straight line right to the end of this assignment.

Sitting there in the warm room, drinking coffee, waiting for Summer, I let myself believe I was on the right side and success was finally headed my way.

CHAPTER 3

A slight touch on my shoulder and a deeply sexy male voice pulled me from concentration like being gently awakened from an engrossing dream. “Is everything satisfactory, Agent Otto?”

The effect of the man’s sudden physical manifestation, however, was anything but gentle. More like an excruciating five-second Taser shock to my system that seemed to temporarily short-out my faculty of speech. After blinking like an idiot for several dumb seconds, I managed to focus on the MP with the mega-watt smile standing directly in front of me. A man who could only be described as dangerously hot.

The realization was not welcome.

I’m not indifferent to men. I’ve been surrounded by men my whole life. I have three brothers. I went to law school and business school. I work in the mostly male FBI as a field agent. I’d even been married to a man once, a long time ago.

But I
never
mixed business with pleasure.

And I don’t trust handsome men. Intelligence, honor, compassion, integrity and most of all, reliability. Those are my aphrodisiacs now.

Yet there he was, definitely impressive as hell. Green eyes. Black hair. Dark skin. Tall enough. And the voice. A melodious baritone like a radio personality or maybe the old-fashioned crooners my grandmother enjoyed. Until now, I hadn’t fully appreciated their appeal.

He squeezed my shoulder and bent his knees to place his gaze at my eye level. “Agent Otto, are you all right?”

“Yes. Of course.” I jerked my head quickly and blinked and cleared my throat. “Sorry.”

He released his grip on my shoulder and pushed himself upright. He moved aside to give me room to stand and extend my right hand. His handshake was appropriately firm and brief, no more, no less.

“Major Anthony Clifton. Tony to my friends.” He had flashed the mega-watt smile again before he got down to business. “I’m the duty officer today. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to meet you. Sergeant Church tells me you’ve been waiting awhile. I’ve been briefed on your mission. Maybe I can help you until Colonel Summer arrives.”

He led the way into a strictly utilitarian office decorated in Army-shabby. Probably ten by twelve. Smallish desk, two visitor chairs, a phone and a computer on the desk, a small window that overlooked a side yard. There was nothing remotely personal or comfortable anywhere in the room, which made me wonder how long Clifton had occupied it—and whether it had looked exactly the same when Reacher worked here.

He waved me to the chair closest to the window and settled himself in the desk chair. Sergeant Church brought three mugs of steaming black coffee and placed them on the desk and closed the door on his way out.

“I know the Army’s short on manpower these days,” I said, glad to hear that my voice worked, “but why is a sergeant on desk duty and serving coffee? Seems like high-priced talent for a reception job.”

“Our clerk’s position was eliminated. Church is having a problem with his social life or something. He’s been late for duty two days in a row, yesterday and today.” Clifton shrugged. “The XO figured he could do with some mild discipline.”

“How’s he taking that?” He’d been a little surly to me when I first arrived, which I’d thought at the time was due to the FBI invading the Military Police’s turf. But maybe he was pissed off at his situation.

Clifton grinned. “He’s taking it about as well as you would, I suspect.”

“Aren’t you the XO? I didn’t take you for such a hard-ass.”

“You’ve only just met me.” He flashed the mega-watter again. “Wait until you get to know me better.”

I frowned. Was he
flirting
with me? Whatever charm he’d exuded in the first five minutes had most definitely worn off. I drank my coffee and offered no witty banter.

A quick rap rattled the door before it opened and a middle-aged woman, maybe about forty-five, stepped inside. She was all bone and sinew, hard, not an ounce of fat on her. Dressed in jeans, work boots, and a leather bomber jacket, her posture said she’d been Army once. Through and through.

She glanced my way before she pulled off her leather gloves and stuffed them into the back pocket of her jeans. She grabbed one of the coffee mugs, sniffed appreciatively, and shook hands with Clifton.

She raised her cup. “I really do miss Army coffee. Best in the world, no question.”

He raised his own mug in a silent toast and sipped with her before he nodded in my direction. “Sergeant Major Madeline Jones, this is FBI Special Agent Kim Otto.”

“Sergeant Major Madeline Jones,
retired
,” she corrected him. Her accent was a thick drawl, so it sounded like re-tarrrrred. Her hand was calloused and her grip was as tough as the rest of her. “My pleasure, Agent Otto.”

“Good to meet you as well,” I replied, baffled by her presence but unwilling to ask about it just yet.

Jones settled into the second visitor chair, the one closest to the door. She smelled piney like she’d been outside in the woods for a couple of hours. Her hair was short and it looked like she’d cut it herself with nail scissors. She’d recently been wearing a hat, too, which didn’t help the hairstyle any.

She sipped her coffee and waited to hear why she’d been invited, probably. Me, too.

Clifton said, “Sergeant Major Jones was on active duty here at Bird from 1985 until, what, 2010?”

Jones nodded, sipped again. She rested the side of her right boot on her left knee. The boots had thick-tread soles that shed most of the mud she’d been clomping around in, but held onto wet dirt and leaves. As the debris dried, she’d be leaving a trail even a blind squirrel could follow.

“Jones was a sergeant when Major Reacher was briefly the XO, meaning executive officer to the Provost Marshall, at the tail end of 1989, early 1990. Jones also reported to Colonel Summer, who was an MP Lieutenant back then.” Clifton leaned both forearms on the desk and held the warm coffee mug between his palms, letting his gaze encompass both of us sitting across from him. “Back then, the Berlin Wall was coming down, the Cold War ending,” he said as if he’d actually been in charge all those years ago. “The whole world was changing, inside the Army and out.”

“Long time ago and lots of changes since then.” Jones pursed her lips and moved them around as if she were swishing coffee mouthwash, then turned to me. “I’m glad to help you if I can, Agent Otto. I’m not right sure what I can offer, though. I wasn’t a member of the 110th like Major Reacher was. I worked MP here at Bird and pretty closely with Major Reacher, but only for a couple of weeks. Until Colonel Summer called me about your background check, I hadn’t heard anything about Major Reacher in two decades, at least.”

My stomach clenched. Was there anyone Colonel Summer
hadn’t
mentioned my assignment to?

“Maybe we can save a little time, then,” I said. “What did Colonel Summer already tell you about the reason for my visit?”

The Army is notoriously protective of its own, particularly when the facts might tarnish the reputation of the top brass. I didn’t expect to get much from a careerist like Jones, retired or not. Anyway, she had barely known Reacher. How much information could she possibly have?

Jones adopted a clipped style, probably a habit formed during three decades of making verbal law enforcement reports. “Colonel Summer said Major Reacher is being considered for a high-level classified assignment and the FBI is investigating his fitness for the job.”