Nothing to Lose

“Oh, that,” he said. “It was a mistake. A typo. A coding error. A new girl in the office was one number off, on Kearny’s order form. We got TNT instead of TCE. They’re adjacent in Kearny’s inventory. If you were a chemist, you’d understand why. We sent it back immediately, on the same truck. Didn’t even unload. If you had troubled yourself to break into Invoicing as well as Purchasing, you would have seen our application for a credit.”

“Where is the uranium?”

“The what?”

“You pulled twenty tons of depleted uranium out of these tanks. And I just walked all over this compound and I didn’t see it.”

“You’re standing on it.”

Vaughan looked down. Reacher looked down.

Thurman said, “It’s buried. I take security extremely seriously. It could be stolen and used in a dirty bomb. The state is reluctant to let the army move it. So I keep it in the ground.”

Reacher said, “I don’t see signs of digging.”

“It’s the rain. Everything is churned up.”

Reacher said nothing.

Thurman said, “Satisfied?”

Reacher said nothing. He glanced right, at the eighteen-wheeler. Left, at the parked backhoe. Down, at the ground. The rain splashed in puddles all around and thrashed against the slickers ten feet away.

“Satisfied?” Thurman asked again.

Reacher said, “I might be. After I’ve made a phone call.”

“What phone call?”

“I think you know.”

“I don’t, actually.”

Reacher said nothing.

Thurman said, “But anyway, this is not the right time for phone calls.”

Reacher said, “Not the right place either. I’ll wait until I get back to town. Or back to Hope. Or Kansas.”

Thurman turned and glanced at the gate. Turned back. Reacher nodded. Said, “Suddenly you want to check on what numbers I know.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“I want some courtesy and respect.”

“And I want to hit a grand slam at Yankee Stadium. I think both of us are going to be disappointed.”

Thurman said, “Turn out your pockets.”

Reacher said, “Worried about those numbers? Maybe I memorized them.”

“Turn out your pockets.”

“Make me.”

Thurman went still and his eyes narrowed and debate crossed his face, the same kind of long-range calculus that Reacher had seen before, in front of the airplane hangar. The long game, eight moves ahead. Thurman spent a second or two on it and then he stepped back, abruptly, and raised his right arm. His plastic sleeve came out into the downpour and made noise. He waved his two employees forward. They took two long strides and stopped again. The plant foreman kept his hands loose at his sides and the big guy slapped the wrench in and out of his palm, wet metal on wet skin.

Reacher said, “Not a fair fight.”

Thurman said, “You should have thought about that before.”

Reacher said, “Not fair to them. They’ve been cutting uranium. They’re sick.”

“They’ll take their chances.”

“Like Underwood did?”

“Underwood was a fool. I give them respirators. Underwood was too lazy to keep his on.”

“Did these guys wear theirs?”

“They don’t work in here. They’re perfectly healthy.”

Reacher glanced at the foreman, and then at the giant. Asked, “Is that right? You don’t work in here?”

Both guys shook their heads.

Reacher asked, “Are you healthy?”

Both guys nodded.

Reacher asked, “You want that state of affairs to last more than the next two minutes?”

Both guys smiled, and moved a step closer.

Vaughan said, “Just do it, Reacher. Turn out your pockets.”

“Still looking out for me?”

“It’s two against one. And one of them is the same size as you and the other one is bigger.”

“Two against two,” Reacher said. “You’re here.”

“I’m no use. Let’s just suck it up and move on.”

Reacher shook his head and said, “What’s in my pockets is my business.”

The two guys took another step. The foreman was on Reacher’s right and the big guy was on his left. Both of them close, but not within touching distance. The rain on their clothing was loud. Water was running out of Reacher’s hair into his eyes.

He said, “You know we don’t have to do this. We could walk out of here friends.”

The foreman said, “I don’t think so.”

“Then you won’t walk out of here at all.”

“Brave talk.”

Reacher said nothing.

The foreman glanced across at the big guy.

He said, “Let’s do it.”

Get your retaliation in first.

Reacher feinted left, toward the giant. The big guy rocked back, surprised, and the foreman rocked forward, toward the action. Momentum, moving west. A perfect little ballet. Reacher planted his heel very carefully in the mud and jerked the other way, to his right, to the east, and smashed the foreman in the stomach with his elbow. A five-hundred-pound collision. One guy moving left, one guy moving right, an elbow the size of a pineapple moving fast. The stomach is high in the midsection. Behind it lies the celiac plexus, the largest autonomic nerve center in the abdominal cavity. Sometimes called the solar plexus. A heavy blow can shut the whole thing down. Result, great pain and diaphragm spasms. Consequence, a fall to the ground and a desperate struggle to breathe.

The foreman went down.