Worth Dying For_ A Reacher Novel - Lee Child [101]
Duncan said, “Sit down.”
The doctor said, “We should discuss this. Like reasonable people.”
“Sit down.”
“No, tell us what you want.”
A brave try, but in Reacher’s estimation the wrong tactic. The doctor thought there was something to be gained by spinning things out, by using up the clock. Reacher thought the exact opposite was true. He thought there was no time to waste. None at all. He said, “It’s cold.”
Duncan said, “So?”
“Too cold to sit down outside. Too cold to stand up outside. Let’s go inside.”
“I want you outside.”
“Why?”
“Because I do.”
“Then let them go get their coats.”
“Why should I?”
“Self-respect,” Reacher said. “You’re wearing a coat. If it’s warm enough not to need one, then you’re a pussy. If it’s cold enough to bundle up, then you’re making innocent people suffer unnecessarily. If you think you’ve got a beef with me, OK, but these folks have never hurt you.”
Seth Duncan thought about it for a second, the gun still up at his shoulder, his head still bent down to it, an eye still closed. He said, “OK, one at a time. The others stay here, like hostages. Mrs. Coe goes first. Get your coat. Nothing else. Don’t touch the phone.”
Nobody moved for a beat, and then Dorothy Coe peeled out of the cluster and walked to the door and stepped inside. She was gone a minute, and then she came back wearing her coat, this time buttoned over her dress. She resumed her position.
Duncan said, “Sit down, Mrs. Coe.”
Dorothy tugged her coat down and sat, not cross-legged, but with her knees drawn up to one side.
Reacher said, “Now the doctor’s wife.”
Duncan said, “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“I’m just saying. Ladies first, right?”
“OK, the doctor’s wife. Go. Same rules. Just the coat. Don’t touch the phone. Don’t forget I have hostages here. Including your beloved husband.”
The doctor’s wife peeled out of the cluster. A minute later she was back, wearing her wool coat, and a hat, and gloves, and a muffler.
“Sit down,” Duncan said.
She sat down, right next to Dorothy Coe, cross-legged, her back straight, her hands on her knees, her gaze level and aimed at a faraway spot in the fields. Nothing there, but Reacher guessed it was better than looking at her tormentor.
Reacher said, “Now the doctor.”
“OK, go,” Duncan said.
The doctor peeled out and was gone a minute. He came back in a blue parka, all kinds of nylon and Gore-Tex and zippered compartments. He sat down without waiting to be told.
Reacher said, “Now me.”
Duncan said, “No, not you. Not now, not ever. You stay right there. I don’t trust you.”
“That’s not very nice.”
“Sit down.”
“Make me.”
Duncan leaned into the gun, the final percent, like he was ready to fire.
He said, “Sit down.”
Reacher didn’t move. Then he glanced to his right and saw lights in the mist, and he knew that his chance had gone.
The Cornhuskers came on fast, five of them in five separate vehicles, a tight little high-speed convoy, three pick-up trucks and two SUVs. They all jammed to a stop on the road in line with the fence, five vehicles all nose to tail, and five doors were flung open, and five guys spilled out, all of them in red jackets, all of them moving fast, the smallest of them the size of a house. They swarmed straight in, climbing the fence in unison, moving across the dormant lawn on a broad front, coming in wide of the Remington’s potential trajectory. The Remington stayed rock steady in Seth Duncan’s hands. Reacher was watching its muzzle. It wasn’t moving at all, its blued steel dark in the moonlight, trained dead on his chest from thirty feet, the smooth bore at its center looking big enough to stick a thumb in.
Duncan said, “Take the three others inside, and keep them there.”
Rough hands grabbed at the doctor, and his wife, and Dorothy Coe, hauling them back to their feet, by their arms and shoulders, pulling them away, hustling them across the last of the gravel, pushing them in through the door. Eight people went in, and a minute later four came out, all of them football players, all of them crunching back to where Reacher was