‘What’s three minutes from here?’
‘Maybe the separate depot. For the snowploughs. A central facility. Access from both sides. On the same land as this, before eastbound and westbound narrow down again. Right next door to here, maybe. It’s a wedge of wasted space otherwise. There could be an inconspicuous little off-ramp, with a sign, saying highway department only. Plenty of trees all around. No one notices a thing like that.’
‘Then it could be in either direction. We might have already passed it. There must be wedges of space both sides. We don’t know which way to go now.’
‘We didn’t already pass it,’ Sanderson said. ‘There were no inconspicuous little ramps. I notice a thing like that. It means for the moment we’re trapped on this road. But neither can the enemy reinforce an ambush up ahead. So on balance I’m happy. The tail gunner can relax for a second. If you’re right about a separate facility, then it must be east of here. And if Reacher is right about how anxious Stackley was, it must be close by. Close enough to get back on the highway and then get off again immediately. If he’s wrong about how nervous Stackley was, it could be farther away. But it’s within fifteen or twenty miles maximum, because even if the guy was cool as ice, he had to get where he was going by midnight latest. And he couldn’t drive a hundred miles an hour to do it. Those guys can’t get away with things like that. They must never stand out. So I would recon to the east. If we don’t find anything, we still have time to come back and think again.’
Bramall looked over his shoulder at Mackenzie.
His employer.
‘Want to try it?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Mackenzie said.
Bramall circled the parking lot, under sodium lights high on poles, looking for the way back to the travel lanes. In the corner of his eye Reacher thought he saw a pale blue car, circling the other way. A domestic product. A Chevrolet, possibly. Nothing fancy. A plain specification.
He looked again.
It was gone.
Bramall found the exit and followed the arrow marked Sioux Falls, which was east. He watched the road ahead, like a good driver should. Sanderson and her sister and Reacher all watched the left shoulder. They watched the narrowing space between the eastbound and the westbound lanes.
It turned out Stackley had been anxious, but not quite as anxious as Reacher thought he should be. It was more than three minutes out. Closer to four and a half. They saw an inconspicuous off-ramp. They saw a small bland sign, that said Authorized Personnel Only.
‘Don’t take it,’ Reacher said. ‘Not yet. We need to make a better plan.’
FORTY-FOUR
GLORIA NAKAMURA DROVE every inch of the rest area. Night had fallen, but it was all lit up. She pictured a truck pulling in. Maybe not a semi. Maybe not an eighteen-wheeler. Maybe just a panel van, loaded with smaller orders from mom-and-pop pharmacies and suburban clinics. A Ford Econoline, or some such. Probably painted white. Probably a shiny high-gloss finish, to suggest health and cleanliness and antiseptic pharmaceutical wholesomeness. Probably a bland brand name in a friendly font, pale green like grass, or blue like the sky.
Where would it park?
Nowhere near the State Police building, for obvious reasons. Not near the gas pumps, either. Even in the dark. The oil company had cameras, in case of drive-away no-pays. Not near the entrance or the exit either, because the highway department had cameras too, for traffic flow. The truck couldn’t afford to show up on video. Not in South Dakota, when the mothership’s computer had it idle in a factory lot in New Jersey. There was a big parking area shared between the restroom block and the fast food franchises. It was lit up bright. But it had cameras too. For liability, she supposed. In case someone got in a fender bender, and blamed it on the burger stand. Probably an insurance requirement.
There was a weighbridge, with a highway department office, all tan brick and metal windows. Closed up and dark. But it was way out in the open. Too exposed. She pictured the panel van, with its rear doors open, feeding a cluster of smaller vehicles. An anxious crowd, waiting. People like Billy, and the new Billy, and all the other guys like Billy, in pick-up trucks and SUVs and old sedans. Loading up, before taking off.
Where would they do that?
Nowhere. The rest area felt wrong.
She circled the parking lot one more time. In the corner of her eye she saw a black SUV, circling the lot the other way. It had blue plates, she thought. Illinois, maybe. She looked again, but it was gone.
Bramall pulled over on the shoulder, in the dark, a mile further on, where the eastbound and the westbound lanes came back together again, either side of a standard grass median. Safe enough. If a trooper came by, they could say they had an engine light, or a worry about a tyre. There wasn’t much traffic. Cars blew by, one by one. Then a semi truck, in a howl of noise and wind. The Toyota rocked on its springs.
Reacher said, ‘How far is the next exit?’
Bramall checked his screen.
‘About thirty miles,’ he said.
‘Waste of gas. Do a U-turn across the median. Rose and I will get out at the depot ramp. You and Mrs Mackenzie can go park in the rest area and walk back through the trees from the west. You can meet us there. We can take a look around and figure out how we do it.’
‘You want me with you?’ Sanderson said.
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel so good.’
‘You can fix that.’
‘I can’t,’ she said again. ‘I only have one strip left.’
‘We’re about to get more.’
‘We don’t know that.’
‘You have to use your last strip some time.’
‘I want to know I still have it.’
‘Shape up, major. I need you with me, and I need you in good condition at midnight. I’ll leave you to work out the timings.’
The car went quiet.
Then Mackenzie said, ‘Let’s go.’