The Hard Way by Lee Child Page A

Knight.”
    “Why aren’t they around anymore? Why would two trusted A-teamers just up and leave?”
    “Shortly after Anne died there was an operation overseas somewhere. Apparently it went bad. Two men didn’t come back. Those two.”
    “That would be a coincidence,” Reacher said. “Wouldn’t it? The two guilty men were the two who didn’t come back?”
    “I think Lane made sure they didn’t come back. He needed to tidy things up.”
    Reacher said nothing.
    “I know,” Patti said. “The little sister is crazy, right?”
    Reacher gazed at her. She didn’t look crazy. A little spacey, maybe. In a sixties way, like her sister. She had a curtain of long blonde hair, straight, parted in the middle, just the same as Anne in the photograph. Big blue eyes, a button nose, a dusting of freckles, pale skin. She was wearing a white peasant blouse and faded blue jeans. She was barefoot and braless. You could have taken her picture and put it straight on the cover of a compilation CD.
The Summer of Love.
The Mamas and the Papas, Jefferson Airplane, Big Brother and the Holding Company. Reacher liked music like that. He had been seven during the Summer of Love, and he wished he had been seventeen.
    “How do you think it went down?” he asked.
    “Knight drove Anne that day,” Patti said. “That’s an established fact. He took her shopping. Waited at the curb. But she never came out of the store. Next thing anyone knew was a phone call four hours later. The usual thing. No cops, a ransom demand.”
    “Voice?”
    “Disguised.”
    “How?”
    “Like the guy was talking through a handkerchief or something.”
    “How much was the ransom?”
    “A hundred grand.”
    “But Lane did call the cops.”
    Patti nodded. “But only to cover his ass. It was like he wanted independent witnesses. Very important to retain his credibility with the other guys that weren’t in on the scheme.”
    “Then what?”
    “Like you see in the movies. The FBI tapped the phones and moved in on the ransom drop. Lane’s story is that they were seen. But the whole thing was phony. They waited, nobody showed up, because nobody was ever going to show up. So they brought the money home again. It was all a performance. A charade. Lane acted it all out and came home and gave the word that he was in the clear, that the cops had bought the story, that the FBI was convinced, and then Anne was killed. I’m sure of that.”
    “Where was the other guy during all of this? Hobart?”
    “Nobody knows for sure. He was off duty. He said he was in Philadelphia. But obviously he had been in the store, just waiting for Anne to show. He was the other half of the equation.”
    “Did you go to the cops at the time?”
    “They ignored me,” Patti said. “Remember, this all was five years ago, not long after the Twin Towers. Everyone was preoccupied. And the military was suddenly back in fashion. You know, everyone was looking for their daddy, so people like Lane were the flavor of the month. Ex–Special Forces soldiers were pretty cool back then. I was fighting an uphill battle.”
    “What about this cop Brewer? Now?”
    “He tolerates me. What else can he do? I’m a taxpayer. But I don’t suppose he’s doing anything about it. I’m realistic.”
    “You got any evidence against Lane at all?”
    “No,” Patti said. “None at all. All I’ve got is context and feeling and intuition. That’s all I can share.”
    “Context?”
    “Do you know what a private military corporation is really for? Fundamentally?”
    “Fundamentally its purpose is to allow the Pentagon to escape Congressional oversight.”
    “Exactly,” Patti said. “They’re not necessarily better fighters than people currently enlisted. Often they’re worse, and they’re certainly more expensive. They’re there to break the rules. Simple as that. If the Geneva Conventions get in the way, it doesn’t matter to them, because nobody can call them on it. The government is