I stopped on the far side of the carriage circle and reversed down the side of the house. Stopped outside the kitchen. Got out and walked around the back of the house and found my coat. Unwrapped the Persuaders. Put my coat on. I needed it. It was a cold night and I would be on the road again in about five minutes.
I stepped across to the dining room windows to check inside. They had closed the drapes. Makes sense, I thought. It was a wild blustery night. The dining room would look better with closed drapes. Cozier. Oriental rugs on the floor, wood paneling, silver on the linen tablecloth.
I picked up the Persuaders and walked back to the kitchen. The metal detector squealed. The food guys had ten plates with stuffed grape leaves all lined up on a counter. The leaves looked dark and oily and tough. I was hungry but I couldn't have eaten one. The way my teeth were right then would have made it impossible. I figured I would be eating ice cream for a week, thanks to Paulie.
"Hold off with the food for five minutes, OK?" I said.
Keast and Maden stared at the shotguns.
"Your keys," I said.
I dropped them next to the grape leaves. I didn't need them anymore. I had the keys Beck had given me. I figured I would leave by the front door and use the Cadillac. Faster. More comfortable. I took a knife from the wooden block. Used it to put a slit in the inside of my right-hand coat pocket, just wide enough to allow a Persuader's barrel down into the lining. I picked the gun I had killed Harley with and holstered it there. I held the other one two-handed. Took a breath. Stepped into the hallway. Keast and Maden watched me go. First thing I did was check the powder room. No point in getting all dramatic if Quinn wasn't even in the dining room. But the powder room was empty. Nobody on bathroom break.
The dining room door was closed. I took another breath. Then another. Then I kicked it in and stepped inside and fired two Brennekes into the ceiling. They were like stun grenades. The twin explosions were colossal. Plaster and wood rained down. Dust and smoke filled the air. Everybody froze like statues. I leveled the gun at Quinn's chest. Echoes died away.
"Remember me?" I said.
Elizabeth Beck screamed in the sudden silence.
I moved another step into the room and kept the muzzle on Quinn.
"Remember me?" I said again.
One second. Two. His mouth started moving.
"I saw you in Boston," he said. "On the street. A Saturday night. Maybe two weeks ago."
"Try again," I said.
His face was completely blank. He didn't remember me. They diagnosed amnesia, Duffy had said. Certainly about the trauma, because that's almost inevitable. They figured he might be genuinely blank about the incident and the previous day or two.
"I'm Reacher," I said. "I need you to remember me."
He glanced helplessly at Beck.
"Her name was Dominique," I said.
He turned back to me. Stared at me. Eyes wide. Now he knew who I was. His face changed. Blood drained out and fury swarmed in. And fear. The.22 scars went pure white. I thought about aiming right between them. It would be a difficult shot.
"You really thought I wouldn't find you?" I said.
"Can we talk?" he said. Sounded like his mouth was dry.
"No," I said. "You've already been talking ten extra years."
"We're all armed here," Beck said. He sounded afraid. The three Arabs were staring at me. They had plaster dust stuck to the oil in their hair.
"So tell everybody to hold their fire," I said. "No reason for more than one casualty here."
People eased away from me. Dust settled on the table. A slab of falling ceiling had broken a glass. I moved with the crowd and turned and adjusted the geometry to herd the bad guys together at one end of the room. At the same time I tried to force Elizabeth and Richard and the cook together at the other. Where they would be safe, by the window. Pure body language. I turned my shoulder and inched forward and even though the table was between me and most of them they went where I wanted them. The little gathering parted obediently into two groups, eight and three.
"Everybody should step away from Mr. Xavier now," I said.
Everybody did, except Beck. Beck stayed right at his shoulder. I stared at him. Then I realized Quinn had a grip on his arm. He was holding it tight just above the elbow. Pulling on it. Pulling on it hard. Looking for a human shield.
"These slugs are an inch wide," I said to him. "As long as I can see an inch of you, that won't work very well."
He said nothing back. Just kept on pulling. Beck was resisting. There was fear in his eyes, too. It was a static little slow-motion contest. But I guessed Quinn was winning it. Inside ten seconds Beck's left shoulder was overlapping Quinn's right. Both of them were quivering with effort. Even though the Persuader had a pistol grip instead of a stock I raised it high to my shoulder and sighted carefully down the barrel.
"I can still see you," I said.
"Don't shoot," Richard Beck said, behind me.
Something in his voice.
I glanced back at him. Just a brief turn of my head. Just a flash. There and back. He had a Beretta in his hand. It was identical to the one in my pocket. It was pointed at my head. The electric light was harsh on it. It was highlighted. Even though I had only looked for a fraction of a second I had seen the elegant engraving on the slide. Pietro Beretta. I had seen the dew of new oil. I had seen the little red dot that is revealed when the safety is pushed to fire.
"Put it away, Richard," I said.
"Not while my father is there," he said.
"Let go of him, Quinn," I said.
"Don't shoot, Reacher," Richard said. "I'll shoot you first."
By then Quinn had Beck almost all the way in front of him.
"Don't shoot," Richard said again.
"Put it down, Richard," I said.
"No."
"Put it down."
"No."
I listened carefully to his voice. He wasn't moving. He was standing still. I knew exactly where he was. I knew the angle I would have to turn through. I rehearsed it in my head. Turn. Fire. Pump. Turn. Fire. I could get them both within a second and a quarter. Too fast for Quinn to react. I took a breath.
Then I pictured Richard in my mind. The silly hair, the missing ear. The long fingers. I pictured the big Brenneke slug blasting through him, crushing, bludgeoning, the immense kinetic energy blowing him apart. I couldn't do it.
"Put it away," I said.
"No."
"Please."
"No."
"You're helping them."
"I'm helping my dad."
"I won't hit your dad."
"I can't take that risk. He's my dad."
"Elizabeth, tell him."
"No," she said. "He's my husband."
Stalemate.
Worse than stalemate. Because there was absolutely nothing I could do. I couldn't fire on Richard. Because I wouldn't let myself. Therefore I couldn't fire on Quinn. And I couldn't say I wasn't going to fire on Quinn because then eight guys would immediately pull guns on me. I might get a few of them, but sooner or later one of them would get me. And I couldn't separate Quinn from Beck. No way was Quinn going to let go of Beck and walk out of the room alone with me. Stalemate.
Plan C.
"Put it away, Richard," I said.
Listen.
"No."
He hadn't moved. I rehearsed it again. Turn. Fire. I took a breath. Spun and fired. A foot to Richard's right, at the window. The slug smashed through the drapes and caught the casement frame and blew it away. I ran three paces and went headfirst through the hole. Rolled twice wrapped in a torn velvet curtain and scrambled up on my feet and ran. Straight out on the rocks.