He said, “Who?”
“Two males between thirty and forty. Bigger than me and smaller than you. Probably not Germans. They walk like Americans.”
“How do Americans walk?”
“Like us.”
“How long have they been there?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Cheek bones?”
“No. Also too tall.”
“OK,” Reacher said. “Let’s get a cup of coffee.”
They strolled on, at the same lazy pace, and came to a pastry shop with a display case full of confections, and an espresso machine, and four small tables with two chairs each. The tables and chairs were metal painted silver. They were right up against the windows, with a good view of the street. Neagley sat down and Reacher went to the counter. He ordered two double espressos and called, “You want a cake?”
“Sure,” Neagley said. “Apple strudel.”
“Two,” Reacher said to the woman at the register. The old army rule. Eat when you can. The next chance could be days away. The woman pantomimed that Reacher should go sit down and she would bring a tray. Reacher pantomimed that he wanted to pay right away. His own rule. He might need to leave without warning, and he didn’t like to stiff ordinary working folk. He got his change and stepped over to the table and sat down, and Neagley craned her neck, very discreetly, and said, “They saw us come in here. They sped up. We’ll see them in a minute.”
Reacher checked the view left and right. There was another coffee shop across the street, twenty yards farther on. Tables in the window. A good view. Anyone with any sense would stop in there. They could wait as long as they needed to, raising no suspicion at all, and then they could resume the tail whenever their quarry moved.
“There they are,” Neagley said.
Reacher saw two guys, as advertised, in their thirties, bigger than her and smaller than him. Maybe six feet and two hundred pounds. Short hair. Walking like Americans. Dressed like Americans. Specifically, to his practiced eye, dressed like off-duty American military. Put a civilian in uniform for an hour, for a movie role or a fancy-dress party, and he looks wrong, somehow, as if uncomfortable, or unaccustomed. Equally, put a guy who has worn a uniform for the last ten years in jeans and a jacket, and he looks wrong, too. Equally unaccustomed. Wrong posture, too neat, creases too sharp, no slouch or shuffle.
They came on, the same way Reacher and Neagley had passed the bar, not slowing down, not speeding up, looking straight ahead, checking the scene in the corners of their eyes. Big hard faces, worn hands. NCOs, probably. Lifers, by the look of them. They ambled on, and one whispered something to the other, and the other nodded, and they ducked in at the coffee shop twenty yards farther on, across the street. Cars drove by, both ways, and shoppers and office workers hustled past on the sidewalks. The guys got a table in the window and sat there, pretending not to look at Reacher and Neagley, just as Reacher and Neagley were pretending not to look at them.
“Who are they?” Reacher said.
“Can’t tell by looking,” Neagley said.
“Ballpark guess?”
“Army, obviously. Terminal at sergeant. Probably not combat troops. Old sergeants in the battle area look different than that. Those guys are some other thing.”
“But they’re not company clerks.”
“No. They’re muscle workers.”
“Agreed. They’re support troops of some kind. Transportation, maybe. Maybe they load trucks. And unload them.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m wondering why they’re here,” Reacher said. “How did they know?”
“Griezman? Maybe he made a call. As soon as he left us at the hotel.”
“But we didn’t stay at that hotel. They didn’t follow us from there. Because we didn’t start from there.”
“Which means the NSC leaked it. They’re the only ones who knew what hotel we were in. Which is ridiculous.”
“Agreed. Therefore they didn’t follow us from either hotel. We came to them. They were waiting here.”
“Why?”
“Maybe that bar is more than just a place for like-minded folk. Maybe it’s a rendezvous for all kinds of people. Maybe money is earned there. So what happens when two unexplained military cops show up in town? They post sentries, just in case. And here we are. We just tripped their wire.”
“They don’t know we’re military cops. They don’t know our names. No one even knows we’re in the country.”
“How did we find out about Helmut Klopp?”
“Griezman passed on some dumb police report. To the consulate.”
“Because he’s a noble citizen?”