It was warm, slightly husky, a little breathy, a little intimate. He liked the way it whispered in his ear. He liked it a lot. In his mind he pictured its owner as blonde, not more than thirty-five years old, not less than thirty. Probably tall, probably a looker. Altogether a terrific voice, for sure.
But not a voice he recognized, and he said so.
The voice said, ‘I’m very disappointed. Maybe even a little hurt. Are you sure you don’t remember me?’
‘I need to speak to your CO.’
‘That will have to wait. I can’t believe you don’t know who I am.’
‘Can I take a guess?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I think you’re some kind of a bullshit filter. I think your CO wants to know if I’m for real. If I say I remember you, I fail the test. Because I don’t. We never met. Maybe I wish we had, but we didn’t.’
‘But I took your class.’
‘You didn’t. You read my file, that’s all. The course title was for public consumption only. The class was about screwing the feds, not cooperating with them. If you had been in the room with me, you’d know that.’
A smile in the voice. ‘Good work. You just passed the test.’
‘So who are you, really?’
‘I’m you.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I’m CO of the 110th Special Unit.’
‘Really?’
‘Really and truly.’
‘Outstanding. Congratulations. How is it?’
‘I’m sure you can imagine. I’m sitting at your old desk, right now, both metaphorically and literally. Do you remember your desk?’
‘I had a lot of desks.’
‘Here at Rock Creek.’
Actually Reacher remembered it pretty well. An old-style government desk, made of steel, painted green, the finish on the edges already worn back to bright metal by the time he inherited it.
The voice said, ‘There’s a big dent on the right-hand side. People say you made it, with someone’s head.’
‘People say?’
‘Like a folk legend. Is it true?’
‘I think the movers did it.’
‘It’s perfectly concave.’
‘Maybe they dropped a bowling ball.’
‘I prefer the legend.’
Reacher asked, ‘What’s your name?’
The voice said, ‘Make one up for me.’
‘What?’
‘Let’s keep this off the record. Give me a code name.’
‘This is a private conversation.’
‘Not really. Our system shows you’re calling from a police station. I’m sure it has a switchboard and recording devices.’
Reacher said, ‘OK, keep talking. I should try to make the name fit the person.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Read the phone book. That would work for me.’
Another smile in the voice. ‘People say the dent in the desk came from a colonel’s head. They say that’s why you got canned from the 110th.’
‘I didn’t get canned. I got new orders, that’s all.’
‘Only because no one liked that particular colonel. But you definitely walked the plank. That’s what people say.’
‘Amanda.’
‘Amanda? OK, that’s who I am. You need me again, call the number and ask for Amanda. Now, what can I do for you today?’
‘There’s a small town in South Dakota called Bolton. Roughly in the middle of the state, twelve or thirteen miles north of I-90.’
‘I know where it is. Our system includes your coordinates. I’m looking at Bolton right now.’
‘Looking at it how?’
‘On my laptop. With Google Earth.’
‘You guys have it easy.’
‘Technology is indeed a wonderful thing. How can I help you?’
‘Five miles west of town is an abandoned Cold War installation. I need to know what it was.’
‘Can’t you tell what it was?’
‘I haven’t seen it. And apparently there isn’t much to see. It could be nothing. But I want you to check it out for me.’
‘You sure it isn’t a missile silo? The Dakotas are full of them.’
‘They say it isn’t a silo. Doesn’t sound like one, either.’
‘OK, hold on. I’m zooming and scrolling. According to the most recent image the only thing west of town looks like a prison camp. Fifteen huts and
But not a voice he recognized, and he said so.
The voice said, ‘I’m very disappointed. Maybe even a little hurt. Are you sure you don’t remember me?’
‘I need to speak to your CO.’
‘That will have to wait. I can’t believe you don’t know who I am.’
‘Can I take a guess?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘I think you’re some kind of a bullshit filter. I think your CO wants to know if I’m for real. If I say I remember you, I fail the test. Because I don’t. We never met. Maybe I wish we had, but we didn’t.’
‘But I took your class.’
‘You didn’t. You read my file, that’s all. The course title was for public consumption only. The class was about screwing the feds, not cooperating with them. If you had been in the room with me, you’d know that.’
A smile in the voice. ‘Good work. You just passed the test.’
‘So who are you, really?’
‘I’m you.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I’m CO of the 110th Special Unit.’
‘Really?’
‘Really and truly.’
‘Outstanding. Congratulations. How is it?’
‘I’m sure you can imagine. I’m sitting at your old desk, right now, both metaphorically and literally. Do you remember your desk?’
‘I had a lot of desks.’
‘Here at Rock Creek.’
Actually Reacher remembered it pretty well. An old-style government desk, made of steel, painted green, the finish on the edges already worn back to bright metal by the time he inherited it.
The voice said, ‘There’s a big dent on the right-hand side. People say you made it, with someone’s head.’
‘People say?’
‘Like a folk legend. Is it true?’
‘I think the movers did it.’
‘It’s perfectly concave.’
‘Maybe they dropped a bowling ball.’
‘I prefer the legend.’
Reacher asked, ‘What’s your name?’
The voice said, ‘Make one up for me.’
‘What?’
‘Let’s keep this off the record. Give me a code name.’
‘This is a private conversation.’
‘Not really. Our system shows you’re calling from a police station. I’m sure it has a switchboard and recording devices.’
Reacher said, ‘OK, keep talking. I should try to make the name fit the person.’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Read the phone book. That would work for me.’
Another smile in the voice. ‘People say the dent in the desk came from a colonel’s head. They say that’s why you got canned from the 110th.’
‘I didn’t get canned. I got new orders, that’s all.’
‘Only because no one liked that particular colonel. But you definitely walked the plank. That’s what people say.’
‘Amanda.’
‘Amanda? OK, that’s who I am. You need me again, call the number and ask for Amanda. Now, what can I do for you today?’
‘There’s a small town in South Dakota called Bolton. Roughly in the middle of the state, twelve or thirteen miles north of I-90.’
‘I know where it is. Our system includes your coordinates. I’m looking at Bolton right now.’
‘Looking at it how?’
‘On my laptop. With Google Earth.’
‘You guys have it easy.’
‘Technology is indeed a wonderful thing. How can I help you?’
‘Five miles west of town is an abandoned Cold War installation. I need to know what it was.’
‘Can’t you tell what it was?’
‘I haven’t seen it. And apparently there isn’t much to see. It could be nothing. But I want you to check it out for me.’
‘You sure it isn’t a missile silo? The Dakotas are full of them.’
‘They say it isn’t a silo. Doesn’t sound like one, either.’
‘OK, hold on. I’m zooming and scrolling. According to the most recent image the only thing west of town looks like a prison camp. Fifteen huts and
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