Without Fail - Lee Child [93]
“That damn church,” Froelich said. “It’s like a shooting gallery.”
“We should go check it again,” Reacher said. “Ourselves, just to be sure. Have him circulate counterclockwise until we do.”
“That takes him nearer the church.”
“He’s safer nearer the church. Makes the downward angle too steep. There are wooden louvers up there around the bells. The field of fire starts about forty feet out from the base of the tower. Closer than that, he’s in a blind spot.”
Froelich raised her wrist and spoke to her lead agent. Seconds later they saw him ease Armstrong to his right, into a wide counterclockwise loop around the field. The new senator tagged along. The crowd changed direction and moved with them.
“Now find the guy with the church keys,” Reacher said.
Froelich spoke to the local police captain. Listened to his response in her ear.
“The church warden will meet us there,” she said. “Five minutes.”
They got out of the car and walked across the gravel to the church gate. The air was very cold. Armstrong’s head was visible among a sea of people. The sun was catching his hair. He was well out in the field, thirty feet from the tower. The new senator was at his side. Six agents close by. The crowd was moving with them, slowly changing its shape like an evolving creature. There were dark overcoats everywhere. Women’s hats, mufflers, sunglasses. The grass was brown and dead from night frosts.
Froelich stiffened. Cupped her hand over her ear. Raised the other hand and spoke into her wrist microphone.
“Keep him close to the church,” she said.
Then she dropped her hands and opened her coat. Loosened her gun in its holster.
“State cops on the far perimeter just called in,” she said. “They’re worried about some guy on foot.”
“Where?” Reacher asked.
“In the subdivision.”
“Description?”
“Didn’t get one.”
“How many cops on the field?”
“Forty plus, all around the edge.”
“Get them facing outward. Backs to the crowd. All eyes on the near perimeter.”
Froelich spoke to the police captain on the radio and issued the order. Her own eyes were everywhere.
“I got to go,” she said.
Reacher turned to Neagley.
“Check the streets,” he said. “All the access points we found before.”
Neagley nodded and moved out toward the entrance drive. Long fast strides, halfway between walking and running.
“You found access points?” Froelich asked.
“Like a sieve.”
Froelich raised her wrist. “Move now, move now. Bring him tight against the tower wall. Cover on all three sides. Stand by with the cars. Now, people.”
She listened to the response. Nodded. Armstrong was coming close to the tower on the other side, maybe a hundred feet away from them, out of their line of sight.
“You go,” Reacher said. “I’ll check the church.”
She raised her wrist.
“Now keep him there,” she said. “I’m coming by.”
She headed straight back toward the field without another word. Reacher was left alone at the church gate. He stepped through and headed onward toward the building itself. Waited at the door. It was a huge thing, carved oak, maybe four inches thick. It had iron bands and hinges. Big black nail heads. Above it the tower rose seventy feet vertically into the sky. There was a flag and a lightning rod and a weather vane on the top. The weather vane was not moving. The flag was limp. The air was completely still. Cold, dense air, no breeze at all. The sort of air that takes a bullet and wraps around it and holds it lovingly, straight and true.
A minute later there was the noise of shoes on the gravel and he looked back at the gate and saw the church warden approaching. He was a small man in a black surplice that reached his feet. He had a cashmere coat over it. A fur hat with earflaps tied under his chin. Thick eyeglasses in gold frames. A huge wire hoop in his hand with a huge iron key hanging off it. It was so big it looked like a prop for a comic movie about medieval jails. He held