Jack Reacher 17 - A Wanted Man by Lee Child

Author:Lee Child [Child, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, General, Suspense, Adventure, Thrillers, Fiction, Thriller, Adult
ISBN: 9780385344333
Google: BcJCPagxzE4C
Amazon: 0440246318
Publisher: Delacorte Press
Published: 2012-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

They stayed on the Interstate through the southern part of Council Bluffs, Iowa, and they crossed the Missouri River on a bridge, and then they were back in the state of Nebraska, right in the city of Omaha itself. The highway speared through its heart, past a sign for a zoo, past a sign for a park, with residential quarters to the north and a ragged tightly-packed strip of industrial enterprises to the south. Then eventually the highway curved away to the left and Sorenson came off on a street that continued straight onward east to west through the center of the commercial zone. But by that point the zone had changed. It had become more like a retail park. Or an office park. There were broad lawns and trees and landscaping. Buildings were low and white, hundreds of yards apart. There were huge flat parking lots in between. Reacher had been expecting something more central and more urban. He had pictured narrow streets and brick walls and corners and alleys and doorways. He had been anticipating a regular downtown maze.

He asked, “Where exactly is your place?”

Sorenson pointed beyond the next light, diagonally, west and a little north.

“Right there,” she said. “That’s it.”

Two hundred yards away Reacher saw the back of a sprawling white building, pretty new, four or five stories high. Behind it and to the right and left of it were wide grassy areas. Beyond it was a gigantic parking lot for the next enterprise in line. Everything was flat and empty. There was nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.

“Keep going,” he said. “This is no good.”

Sorenson had already slowed the car. She said, “You told me a block away.”

“These aren’t blocks. These are football fields.”

She rolled through the light. Directly behind the white building Reacher saw a small parking lot with staff vehicles and unmarked cars in neat lines. But there was a navy blue Crown Vic all alone some yards from them, waiting at an angle, and a black panel van next to it. There were four men stumping around in the space between the two, hunched in coats, sipping coffee, shooting the shit, just waiting.

For him, presumably.

He asked, “Do you know them?”

“Two of them,” Sorenson said. “They’re the counterterrorism guys that came up from Kansas City last night. Their names are Dawson and Mitchell.”

“And the other two?”

“Never saw them before.”

“Keep going.”

“Couldn’t you at least talk to them?”

“Not a good idea.”

“They can’t really do anything to you.”

“Have you read the Patriot Act?”

“No,” Sorenson said.

“Has your boss?”

“I doubt it.”

“Therefore they can do whatever the hell they want to me. Because who’s going to tell them otherwise?”

Sorenson slowed some more.

Reacher said, “Don’t turn in, Julia. Keep on going.”

“I gave them an ETA. Pretty soon they’re going to come out and start looking for me.”

“Call them and tell them you’re broken down on the shoulder somewhere. Tell them you got a flat tire. Tell them we’re still in Iowa. Or tell them we took a wrong turn and went to Wisconsin by mistake.

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