Without Fail - Lee Child [1]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
WITHOUT FAIL
A Jove Book / published by arrangement
with G. P. Putnam’s Sons
Copyright © 2002 by Lee Child
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eISBN : 978-1-101-05279-2
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This one is for
my brother Richard in Gloucester, England;
my brother David in Brecon, Wales;
my brother Andrew in Sheffield, England;
and my friend Jack Hutcheson in Penicuik, Scotland.
1
They found out about him in July and stayed angry all through August. They tried to kill him in September. It was way too soon. They weren’t ready. The attempt was a failure. It could have been a disaster, but it was actually a miracle. Because nobody noticed.
They used their usual method to get past security and set up a hundred feet from where he was speaking. They used a silencer and missed him by an inch. The bullet must have passed right over his head. Maybe even through his hair, because he immediately raised his hand and patted it back into place as if a gust of wind had disturbed it. They saw it over and over again, afterward, on television. He raised his hand and patted his hair. He did nothing else. He just kept on with his speech, unaware, because by definition a silenced bullet is too fast to see and too quiet to hear. So it missed him and flew on. It missed everybody standing behind him. It struck no obstacles, hit no buildings. It flew on straight and true until its energy was spent and gravity hauled it to earth in the far distance where there was nothing except empty grassland. There was no response. No reaction. Nobody noticed. It was like the bullet had never been fired at all. They didn’t fire again. They were too shaken up.
So, a failure, but a miracle. And a lesson. They spent October acting like the professionals they were, starting over, calming down, thinking, learning, preparing for their second attempt. It would be a better attempt, carefully planned and properly executed, built around technique and nuance and sophistication, and enhanced by unholy fear. A worthy attempt. A creative attempt. Above all, an attempt that wouldn’t fail.
Then November came, and the rules changed completely.
Reacher’s cup was empty but still warm. He lifted it off the saucer and tilted it and watched the sludge in the bottom flow toward him, slow and brown, like river silt.
“When does it need to be done?” he asked.
“As soon as possible,” she said.
He nodded. Slid out of the booth and stood up.
“I’ll call you in ten days,” he said.
“With a decision?”
He shook his head. “To tell you how it went.”
“I’ll know how it went.”
“OK, to tell you where to send my money.”
She closed her eyes and smiled. He glanced down at her.
“You thought I’d refuse?” he said.
She opened her eyes. “I thought you might be a little harder to persuade.”
He shrugged. “Like Joe told you, I’m a sucker for a challenge. Joe was usually right about things like that. He was usually right about a lot of things.”
“Now I don’t know what to say, except