"Relax, Major," he said. "Just my way of saying good morning to the lady."
Then he moved away from the car and looped right around me and unlocked the gate. I watched him. He was very calm. No sign of a reaction. It was like I hadn't touched him at all. I stood still and let the adrenaline drain away. Then I looked at the car. At the trunk, and at the hood. To walk around the trunk would say I'm scared of you. So I walked around the hood instead. But I made sure to stay well out of his reach. I had no desire to give some surgeon six months' work rebuilding the bones in my face. The closest I got to him was about five feet. He made no move on me. Just cranked the gate all the way open and stood there patiently waiting to close it again.
"We'll talk about that kick later, OK?" he called.
I didn't reply.
"And don't get the wrong impression, Major," he said. "She likes it."
I got back in the car. Elizabeth Beck had closed her window. She was staring straight ahead, pale and silent and humiliated. I drove through the gate. Headed west. Watched Paulie in the mirror. He closed the gate and headed back inside the lodge. Disappeared from sight.
"I'm sorry you had to see that," Elizabeth said quietly.
I said nothing.
"And thank you for your intervention," she said. "But it will prove futile. And I'm afraid it will bring you a lot of trouble. He already hates you, you know. And he's not very rational."
I said nothing.
"It's a control thing, of course," she said. It was like she was explaining it to herself. It wasn't like she was talking to me. "It's a demonstration of power. That's all it is. There's no actual sex. He can't do it. Too many steroids, I suppose. He just paws me."
I said nothing.
"He makes me undress," she said. "Makes me parade around for him. Paws me. There's no sex. He's impotent."
I said nothing. Just drove slow, keeping the car steady and level through the coastal curves.
"It usually lasts about an hour," she said.
"Have you told your husband?" I asked.
"What could he do?"
"Fire the guy."
"Not possible," she said.
"Why not?"
"Because Paulie doesn't work for my husband."
I glanced at her. Recalled telling Duke: You should get rid of him. Duke had answered: That's not easy.
"So who does he work for?" I said.
"Somebody else."
"Who?"
She shook her head. It was like she couldn't speak the name.
"It's a control thing," she said again. "I can't object to what they do to me, just like my husband can't object to what they do to him. Nobody can object. To anything, you see. That's the point. You won't be allowed to object to anything, either. Duke wouldn't think to object, of course. He's an animal."
I said nothing.
"I just thank God I have a son," she said. "Not a daughter."
I said nothing.
"Last night was very bad," she said. "I was hoping he would start leaving me alone. Now that I'm getting old."
I glanced at her again. Couldn't think of anything to say.
"It was my birthday yesterday," she said. "That was Paulie's present to me."
I said nothing.
"I turned fifty," she said. "I suppose you don't want to think about a naked fifty-year-old, parading around."
I didn't know what to say.
"But I keep in shape," she said. "I use the gym when the others aren't around."
I said nothing.
"He pages me," she said. "I have to carry a pager at all times. It buzzed in the middle of the night. Last night. I had to go, right away. It's much worse if I keep him waiting."
I said nothing.
"I was on my way back when you saw me," she said. "Out there on the rocks."
I pulled onto the side of the road. Braked gently and stopped the car. Eased the gearshift into Park.
"I think you work for the government," she said.
I shook my head.
"You're wrong," I said. "I'm just a guy."
"Then I'm disappointed."
"I'm just a guy," I said again.
She said nothing.
"You shouldn't say stuff like that," I said. "I'm in enough trouble already."
"Yes," she said. "They'd kill you."
"Well, they'd try," I said. Then I paused. "Have you told them what you think?"
"No," she said.
"Well don't. And you're wrong anyway."
She said nothing.
"There'd be a battle," I said. "They'd come for me and I wouldn't go quietly. People would get hurt. Richard, maybe."
She stared at me. "Are you bargaining with me?"
I shook my head again.
"I'm warning you," I said. "I'm a survivor."
She smiled a bitter smile.
"You have absolutely no idea," she said. "Whoever you are, you're in way over your head. You should leave now."
"I'm just a guy," I said. "I've got nothing to hide from them."
The wind rocked the car. I could see nothing but granite and trees. We were miles from the nearest human being.
"My husband is a criminal," she said.
"I figured that," I said.
"He's a hard man," she said. "He can be violent, and he's always ruthless."
"But he's not his own boss," I said.
"No," she said. "He isn't. He's a hard man who literally quakes in front of the person who is his boss."
I said nothing.
"There's an expression," she said. "People ask, why do bad things happen to good people? But in my husband's case, bad things are happening to a bad person. Ironic, isn't it? But they are bad things."
"Who does Duke belong to?"
"My husband. But Duke's as bad as Paulie, in his way. I wouldn't care to choose between them. He was a corrupt cop, and a corrupt federal agent, and a killer. He's been in prison."
"Is he the only one?"
"On my husband's payroll? Well, he had the two bodyguards. They were his. Or they were provided for him, anyway. But they were killed, of course. Outside Richard's college. By the men from Connecticut. So yes, Duke's the only one now. Apart from the mechanic, of course. But he's just a technician."
"How many has the other guy got?"
"I'm not sure. They seem to come and go."
"What exactly are they importing?"
She looked away. "If you're not a government man, then I guess you wouldn't be interested."
I followed her gaze toward the distant trees. Think, Reacher. This could be an elaborate con game designed to flush me out. They could all be in it together. His gate man's hand on his wife's breast would be a small price for Beck to pay for some crucial information. And I believed in elaborate con games. I had to. I was riding one myself.
"I'm not a government man," I said.
"Then I'm disappointed," she said again.
I put the car in Drive. Held my foot on the brake.
"Where to?" I asked.
"Do you think I care where the hell we go?"
"You want to get some coffee?"
"Coffee?" she said. "Sure. Go south. Let's stay well away from Portland today."
I made the turn south onto Route One, about a mile short of I-95. It was a pleasant old road, like roads used to be. We passed through a place called Old Orchard Beach. It had neat brick sidewalks and Victorian streetlights. There were signs pointing left to a beach. There were faded French flags. I guessed Quebec Canadians had vacationed there before cheap airfares to Florida and the Caribbean had changed their preferences.