“Too risky.”
“No other way.”
“You could find the American before the meeting even rolls around. That would be another way. And probably a better way for all concerned.”
“You’re getting pressure from above.”
“The administration would be very pleased to wrap it up soon, yes.”
“Hence it feels good to narrow it down. It feels like progress. Two hundred feels better than two hundred thousand. I understand that. But what feels good isn’t always the smart play.”
Sinclair was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, “OK, when the others don’t need you, you’re free to work on your own.”
—
Which was a restriction of a different sort. The gravity squeezed out the freedom. It felt like one strike and you’re out. One attempt at a theory.
Neagley said, “Every avenue comes back to the exact same question. What is the guy selling?”
Reacher said, “I agree.”
“So what is it?”
“You wrote the list.”
“I didn’t. The list is blank. What kind of intelligence would they want from us? What’s worth a hundred million dollars to them? They already know what they need to know. They can read it in the newspaper. Our army is bigger than their army. End of story. If it comes to it, we’ll kick their ass. Why would they spend a hundred million dollars to find out precisely how and how bad? What good would that do them?”
“Hardware, then.”
“But what? Things are either too cheap and plentiful or else they need a whole regiment of engineers to make them work. There’s no middle ground. A hundred million is a weird price point.”
Reacher nodded. “I said the same thing to White. He thought tanks and planes.”
“What hardware would they want from us? Give me one good example. Something designed for use in the field, obviously, in the heat of battle, by an average infantry soldier. Because that’s the standard they must be aiming for. Something simple, rugged, and reliable. Something with a big red switch. And a big yellow arrow pointing forward. Because they don’t have specialist training or a regiment of engineers.”
“There are lots of things.”
“I agree. Man-portable shoulder-launch ground-to-air missiles would be useful. They could bring down civilian airliners. Over cities. Except they already have thousands. We gave thousands to the rebels and the Soviets left thousands behind. And now the new Russia is busy selling the thousands they brought back. And if that’s not enough they can get cheap knock-offs from China. Or North Korea. It would be physically impossible to spend a hundred million dollars on shoulder-launch missiles. They’re too common. Too cheap. It’s Economics 101. It would be like spending a hundred million dollars on dirt.”
“What, then?”
“There’s nothing. We have no theory.”
Ten o’clock in the evening, in McLean, Virginia.
—
Which was half past seven the next morning in Jalalabad, Afghanistan. The messenger was once again waiting in the antechamber. Early sun was coming in a high window, catching motes of dust, and stirring newborn flies. Tea was brewing in the kitchen.
Eventually the messenger was led to the same small hot room. It too had a high window, with a shaft of morning sun, and dancing dust, and waking flies. The same two men sat below the sunbeam, on the same two pillows. Both bearded, one short and fat, one tall and lean, both in the same plain white robes and the same plain white turbans.
The tall man said, “You are to leave today with our answer.”
The messenger inclined his head, respectfully.
The tall man said, “The way of the world is to bargain. But we’re not buying camels. So our answer is simple.”
The messenger inclined his head again, and turned it a little, as if presenting his ear.
The tall man said, “Tell the American we will pay his price.”
Chapter 8
Four hours later it was eight o’clock in the morning in Hamburg, Germany, and the city’s chief medical examiner was starting work at the central morgue. He had completed his autopsy late the previous evening. Unpaid overtime, but homicide was rare, and careers could be built. Now he wanted to review his notes before presenting his conclusions.