61 Hours by Lee Child Page A

innocent.’
    ‘He’s a biker. He’ll have friends in the main house. Or friends of friends. That’s how prison gangs work. They look after their own. And there are lots of ways of communicating.’
    ‘Not good,’ Reacher said again.
    ‘Not good at all,’ Peterson said. ‘When the siren sounds, we leave the old-timer civilian on the desk, and that’s it. He’s supposed to call us back if there’s a terrorist alert, but short of that, our hands are tied.’
    ‘You expecting a terrorist alert?’
    ‘Not here. Mount Rushmore has symbolic value, but that’s Rapid City’s problem.’
    Reacher asked, ‘Did you expand the police department too? Like the schools?’
    Peterson nodded. ‘We had to. Because the town grew.’
    ‘How much did you expand?’
    ‘We doubled in size. By which time we were competing with the prison for staff. It was hard to keep standards up. Which is a big part of Chief Holland’s problem. It’s like half of us are his from the old days, and half of us aren’t.’
    ‘I can’t help him,’ Reacher said. ‘I’m just a guy passing through.’
    ‘You can make those calls to the army. That would help him.
    If we get through the next month, we’re going to need that information.’
    ‘I’ve been out too long. It’s a new generation now. They’ll hang up on me.’
    ‘You could try.’
    ‘I wouldn’t get past the switchboard.’
    ‘Back when I came on the job we had a special emergency number for the FBI office in Pierre. The system changed years ago, but I still remember the number.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘I’m guessing there’s a number you remember, too. Maybe not for a switchboard.’
    Reacher said nothing.
    Peterson said, ‘Make the calls for us. That’s all, I promise. We’ll handle the rest, and then you can get on your way.’
    Reacher said nothing.
    ‘We can offer you a desk and chair.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘At the police station. Tomorrow.’
    ‘You want me to come to work with you? To the police station? You don’t quite trust me yet, do you?’
    ‘You’re in my house. With my wife and children sleeping in it.’
    Reacher nodded.
    ‘Can’t argue with that,’ he said.
    But Kim Peterson wasn’t sleeping. Not right then. Ten minutes after Andrew Peterson left him alone Reacher got tired of the stale hop smell from the four empty beer bottles, so he trapped their necks between his knuckles and carried them two in each hand out to the kitchen, hoping to find a trash bin. Instead he found Kim Peterson tidying her refrigerator. The room was dark but the light inside the appliance was bright. She was bathed in a yellow glow. She was wearing an old candlewick bathrobe. Her hair was down. Reacher held up the four bottles, as a mute inquiry.
    ‘Under the sink,’ Kim Peterson said.
    Reacher bent down and opened the cabinet door. Lined up the bottles neatly with six others already there.
    ‘Got everything you need?’ she asked him.
    ‘Yes, thanks.’
    ‘Did Andrew ask you to do something for him?’
    ‘He wants me to make some calls.’
    ‘About the army camp?’
    Reacher nodded.
    ‘Are you going to do it?’
    Reacher said, ‘I’m going to try.’
    ‘Good. That place drives him crazy.’
    ‘I’ll do my best.’
    ‘Promise?’
    ‘Ma’am?’
    ‘Promise me, if he asks, would you help him any way you can? He works too hard. He’s responsible for everything now. Chief Holland is overwhelmed. He barely knows half his department. Andrew has to do everything.’
    There was a tiny bathroom off the den and Reacher used it to take a long hot shower. Then he folded his clothes over the back of the chair that Peterson had used and climbed under the covers. The sofa springs creaked and twanged under his weight. He rolled one way, rolled the other, listened to the loud tick of the clock, and was asleep a minute later.
    Five to one in the morning.
    Fifty-one hours to go.

TEN
    R EACHER WOKE UP AT TEN TO SEVEN, TO A SILENT SEPULCHRAL world. Outside the den windows the air was