—
Muller didn’t call. No one was surprised. The working hypothesis had changed from Frankfurt to Bremen. To Uncle Arnold’s place. Bishop brought a CIA map and spread it on a table. The embassy showed the top line of the address as Gelb Bauernhof. A name, not a street number. Therefore possibly rural. Possibly a farm. Reacher pictured barns and garages and outbuildings, and piles of worn-out tires.
Hiding places.
He said, “We need a car.”
Bishop said, “You need a plan.”
The telex machine started up.
“Uncle Arnold’s service record,” Neagley said.
Reacher said, “The plan is Sergeant Neagley and I will conduct surveillance and gather intelligence.”
“Negative,” Bishop said. “CIA and the NSC must be represented. Dr. Sinclair and I will come with you. And the rules of engagement are no engagement at all. Strictly observation only. That’s a dealbreaker. Legally, this is a complex situation.”
“Bring a weapon,” Reacher said. “Wiley has one. And if it’s a farm, they’ll have a shotgun.”
“I said observation only.”
“Bring one anyway.”
White said, “You have to get the Iranian out. You’re saying one hour from now there could be a shooting war. At that exact moment their deal is dead and the Iranian won’t survive it. If you leave him there, you’ll kill him.”
Bishop said nothing.
The phone rang.
Griezman.
Who said, “Do you believe in coincidence?”
Reacher said, “Sometimes.”
“Our homicide victim was a regular patron of Helmut Klopp’s bar. He did his business there. Everyone’s lying, of course, but I think he was the one who sold the ID.”
“Why?”
“Whispers, from other people with other things to hide.”
“Do you have a suspect?”
“Someone preventing or avenging betrayal.”
“Was someone just betrayed?”
“No.”
“Preventing, then.”
“There are no written records in the victim’s apartment. There is however a space in an otherwise neat shelf of file folders.”
“Mission accomplished,” Reacher said.
Then he said, “Which could be ironic.”
Griezman said, “How?”
“It’s a question of timing. You buy ID and decide to kill the supplier and remove his records to prevent future betrayal. But when do you do it? That’s the question. Would a new client take that risk immediately after delivery? Or an old client at a time of maximum pressure, with his plan finally in motion, and maybe already going a little ragged at the edges?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I. I guess it’s about fifty-fifty.”
“You think it’s Wiley.”
“No, I don’t. There could be any number of old clients under stress. And I think Wiley was driving a van at the time. But you’re a responsible copper. You’ll put him on your list. You’ll have to. Which means your temporary assistance just started up again.”
“I thought you gave up on that.”
“On what?”
“Driving the van. Muller told me you canceled your request.”
“When?”
“I spoke to him an hour ago.”
“No, when did I cancel?”
“He said you discussed specifics for a while and then suddenly changed your mind.”
“Last thing I said was I didn’t know exactly where Wiley was going. He said to tell him when I did. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe he was waiting for me to call. Maybe he never even started.”
“He said you canceled.”
“Then he misunderstood, not me.”
“I agree, his English is not excellent.”
Bishop called across the room, “The car is here.”
Chapter 31
Bishop’s CIA car was exactly the same as Orozco’s MP car, a big blue Opel sedan identical in every respect, except it had no bulletproof divider. Bishop drove, and Sinclair sat next to him in the front. Reacher and Neagley sat in the back. Neagley was comfortable and Reacher was not. Traffic was moving. The sky was gray.
Neagley read out loud the telex summary of Arnold Mason’s service career. He had been drafted at the age of twenty, in 1951, but sent to Germany, not Korea, where he stayed for twenty years, apart from stateside trips for training and maneuvers. He was airborne infantry throughout, trained for the Soviet conflict, and deployed with good but not elite units. He was honorably discharged at the age of forty, in 1971, terminal at staff sergeant.