The guy at the Marriott's desk told Mahmeini's man that yes, there was a bar, not exactly in town but ten miles north, just outside the city limit, on the left shoulder of the two-lane, called the Cell Block, a pleasant place, reasonably priced, and that yes, it was usually open late, and that yes, there was a taxi service in town, and that yes, he would be happy to call a cab immediately.
And so less than five minutes later Mahmeini's man was sliding across stained vinyl into the rear seat of an ancient Chevy Caprice, and the driver was pulling out of the lot, and heading down McNally Street, and making the right at the end.
The doctor answered a lot faster than Vincent had. Reacher said, 'I need Eleanor Duncan's phone number.'
The doctor said, 'Reacher? Where are you?'
'Still out of town.'
'Are you coming back?'
'What, are you missing me?'
'I didn't tell the Duncans about the Cadillac.'
'Good man. Has Seth gone home yet?'
'He was still with his father when I left.'
'Will he stay?'
'People say he often does.'
'You OK?'
'Not too bad. I was in the truck. The Cornhuskers got me.'
'And?'
'Nothing much. Just words, really.'
Reacher pictured the guy, maybe standing in his hallway or his kitchen, quaking, shaking, watching the windows, checking the doors. He asked, 'Are you sober?'
The doctor said, 'A little.'
'A little?'
'That's about as good as it gets these days, I'm afraid.'
'I need Eleanor Duncan's number.'
'She's not listed.'
'I know that.'
'She's not on the phone tree.'
'But she's your patient.'
'I can't.'
'How much more trouble could you be in?'
'It's not just that. There are confidentiality issues too. I'm a doctor. Like you said, I took an oath.'
'We're making an omelette here,' Reacher said. 'We're going to have to break some eggs.'
'They'll know it came from me.'
'If it comes to it I'll tell them different.'
The doctor went quiet, and then he sighed, and then he recited a number.
'Thanks,' Reacher said. 'Take care. Best to your wife.' He hung up and redialled and listened to yet more ring tone, the same languid electronic purr, but this time from a different place, from somewhere inside the restored farmhouse, among the pastel colours and the fancy rugs and the oil paintings. He figured that if Seth was home, then Seth would answer. It seemed to be that kind of a relationship. But he bet himself a buck Seth wasn't home. The Duncans were in two kinds of trouble, and Reacher's experience told him they would huddle together until it passed. So Eleanor was probably home alone, and would pick up. Or not. Maybe she would just ignore the bell, whatever the barman thirty feet away thought about human nature.
She picked up.
'Hello?' she said.
Reacher asked, 'Is Seth there?'
'Reacher? Where are you?'
'Doesn't matter where I am. Where's Seth?'
'He's at his father's. I don't expect him home tonight.'
'That's good. You still up and dressed?'
'Why?'
'I want you to do something for me.'
THIRTY-FOUR
THE OLD CAPRICE'S REAR BENCH WAS CONTOURED LIKE TWO separate bucket seats, not by design but by age and relentless wear and tear. Mahmeini's man settled into the right-hand pit, behind the front passenger seat, and cocked his head to the left so he could see out the windshield. He saw the blank back of a billboard in the headlight beams, and then he saw nothing. The road ahead was straight and empty. No oncoming lights, which was a disappointment. One drink on Asghar's part might be overlooked. Or even two. Or three, followed by a prompt return. But a night of it would be considered desertion.
The wheezing old motor had the needle trembling over the sixty mark. A mile a minute. Nine more miles to go. Nine minutes.
Reacher said, 'Exactly one hour and ten minutes from now, I want you to take a drive. In your little red sports car.'
Eleanor Duncan said, 'A drive? Where?'
'South on the two-lane,' Reacher said. 'Just drive. Eleven miles. As fast as you want. Then turn around and go home again.'
'Eleven miles?'
'Or twelve. Or more. But not less than ten.'
'Why?'
'Doesn't matter why. Will you do it?'
'Are you going to do something to the house? You want me out of the way?'
'I won't come near the house. I promise. No one will ever know. Will you do it?'
'I can't. Seth took my car key. I'm grounded.'
'Is there a spare?'
'He took that too.'
Reacher said, 'He's not carrying them around in his pocket. Not if he keeps his own key in a bowl in the kitchen.'
Eleanor said nothing.
Reacher asked, 'Do you know where they are?'
'Yes. They're on his desk.'
'On or in?'
'On. Just sitting there. Like a test for me. He says obedience without temptation is meaningless.'
'Why the hell are you still there?'
'Where else could I go?'
'Just take the damn keys, will you? Stand up for yourself.'
'Will this hurt Seth?'
'I don't know how you want me to answer that question.'
'I want you to answer it honestly.'
'It might hurt him indirectly. And eventually. Possibly.'
There was a long pause. Then Eleanor said, 'OK, I'll do it. I'll drive south eleven miles on the two-lane and come back again. An hour and ten minutes from now.'
'No,' Reacher said. 'An hour and six minutes from now. We've just been talking for four minutes.'
He hung up and stepped back to the main public room. The barman was working like a good barman should, using fast efficient movements, thinking ahead, watching the room. He caught Reacher's eye and Reacher detoured towards him and the guy said, 'I should get you to sign a napkin or something. Like a memento. You're the only guy who ever came in here to use a phone, not avoid one. You want a drink?'
Reacher scanned what the guy had to offer. Liquor of all kinds, beer on tap, beer in bottles, sodas. No sign of coffee. He said, 'No thanks, I'm good. I should hit the road.' He moved on, shuffling sideways between the tables, and he pushed out the door and walked back to his car. He got in, started up, backed out and drove away north.
Mahmeini's man saw a glow in the air, far ahead on the left. Neon, green and red and blue. The driver kept his foot down for a minute more, and then he lifted off and coasted. The engine coughed and the exhaust popped and sputtered and the taxi slowed. Way far up the road in the distance were a pair of red tail lights. Very faint and far away. Almost not there at all. The taxi braked. Mahmeini's man saw the bar. Just a simple wooden building. There were two weak spotlights under the eaves at the front. They threw two pools of token light into the lot. There were plenty of parked vehicles. But no yellow rental.
The taxi pulled in and stopped. The driver looked back over his shoulder. Mahmeini's man said, 'Wait for me.'
The driver said, 'How long?'
'A minute.' Mahmeini's man got out and stood still. The tail lights in the north had disappeared. Mahmeini's man watched the darkness where they had been, just for a second. Then he walked to the wooden building's door. He entered. He saw a large room, with chairs and tables on the left and a bar on the right. There were about twenty customers in the room, mostly men, none of them Asghar Arad Sepehr. There was a barman behind the bar, serving a customer, lining up the next, glancing over at the new arrival. Mahmeini's man threaded between the tables towards him. He felt that everyone was watching him. A small man, foreign, unshaven, rumpled, and not very clean. The barman's customer peeled away, holding two foaming glasses of beer. The barman moved on, to the next customer, serving him, but glancing beyond him for the next in line, as if he was planning two moves ahead.
Mahmeini's man said, 'I'm looking for someone.'