“And you think they finally made it home?”

“I’m sure they would have tried hard.”

“Hobart and Knight,” Reacher said.

“You know their names.”

“Evidently.”

“How? Who have you been talking to? There’s nothing about them in those file cabinets you were looking through. Or in the computer. They’ve been erased. Like they never existed. Like they’re dirty little secrets. Which they are.”

“What happened with them?”

“They were wounded. According to Lane. We never saw them. They were in forward observation posts and we heard small arms fire. Lane went up the line and came back and said they were hit bad and couldn’t possibly make it. He said we couldn’t bring them in. He said we’d lose too many guys trying. He flat ordered us to pull out. We left them there.”

“And what do you suppose happened to them?”

“We assumed they’d be taken prisoner. In which case we assumed their life expectancy would be about a minute and a half.”

I think Lane made sure they didn’t come back.

“Where was this?” Reacher asked.

“I can’t tell you,” Burke said. “I’d go to jail.”

“Why did you stick around afterward? All this time?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Sounds like you’re unhappy with how things went down.”

“I obey orders. And I let officers decide things. That’s how it always was and that’s how it always will be.”

“Does he know they’re back? Lane?”

“You’re not listening,” Burke said. “Nobody knows they’re back. Nobody even knows if they’re alive. I’m just guessing, is all. Based on how big of a deal this all is.”

“Would they do it? Hobart and Knight? Hurt a woman and a child to put a scare into Lane?”

“You mean, is it justified? Of course it isn’t. But would they do it? Hell yes, they would do it. Pragmatic people do what works. Especially after what Lane did to them.”

Reacher nodded. “Who would be talking to them? From the inside?”

“I don’t know.”

“What were they?”

“Jarheads.”

“Like Carter Groom.”

“Yes,” Burke said. “Like Carter Groom.”

Reacher said nothing.

“Marines hate that,” Burke said. “Especially Recon Marines. They hate leaving guys behind. More than anyone. It’s their code.”

“So why does he stick around?”

“Same reason I do. Ours is not to reason why. That’s also a code.”

“Maybe in the service,” Reacher said. “Not necessarily in some half-assed private company.”

“I don’t see a difference.”

“Well, you ought to, soldier.”

“Watch your mouth, pal. I’m helping you out here. I’m earning you a million bucks. You find Hobart and Knight, you find Kate and Jade, too.”

“You think?”

“Dollars to doughnuts. A million dollars to doughnuts. So watch your mouth.”

“I don’t need to watch my mouth,” Reacher said. “If you’ve still got a code, then I’m still an officer. I can say what I like and you can stand there and take it and salute.”

Burke turned away from the swirling river of traffic in front of him and headed back north. Reacher let him get five yards away and then caught up and fell in beside him. Nothing more was said. Ten minutes later they turned onto 72nd Street. Reacher glanced up and to his left. Patti’s Joseph’s window was blazing with light.

REACHER SAID, “YOU go on ahead. I’m going to walk some more.”

“Why?” Burke asked.

“You gave me things to think about.”

“You can’t think unless you’re walking?”

“No point looking for Hobart and Knight inside the apartment.”

“That’s for sure. They were erased.”

“One more thing,” Reacher said. “When did Lane and Kate get together?”

“Soon after Anne died. Lane doesn’t like to be alone.”

“Do they get along OK?”

“They’re still married,” Burke said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means they get along OK.”

“How well?”

“Well enough.”

“As well as he got along with Anne? The first time around?”

Burke nodded. “About the same.”

“I’ll see you later,” Reacher said.

Reacher watched Burke disappear inside the Dakota and then moved on west, away from Patti Joseph’s place. Routine caution, which paid off big time when he glanced back and saw Burke coming after him. Clearly Burke had turned around inside the Dakota’s lobby and was trying a pretty poor imitation of a clandestine tail. He was sneaking along in the shadows, his black skin and his black clothes mostly invisible but lit up like a superstar every time he passed under a streetlight.

He doesn’t trust me, Reacher thought.

A Delta noncom doesn’t trust an MP.

Well, there’s a big surprise.

Reacher walked to the end of the block and took the stairs down to the subway. To the northbound platform. Used his Metrocard at the turnstile. He figured Burke wouldn’t have a Metrocard. Lane’s people drove everywhere. In which case Burke would be hung up at the machine, swiping his credit card or feeding creased bills into the slot. In which case the tail would fail at the first hurdle. If a train came soon.

Which it didn’t.

It was midnight, and the trains were well into their off-peak schedules. Average wait time was probably fifteen or twenty minutes. Reacher was ready to get lucky, but he didn’t. He turned and saw Burke collect a brand-new card from the machine and hang back, just waiting.

Reacher thought: He doesn’t want to be on the platform with me. He’s going to come through the turnstile at the last possible minute.

Reacher waited. There were twelve people waiting with him. A knot of three, a knot of two, seven people on their own. Mostly they were well dressed. They were folks going home after movies or restaurant meals, heading back to cheaper rents in the hundreds or all the way up in Hudson Heights.

The tunnel stayed quiet. The air was warm. Reacher leaned on a pillar and waited. Then he heard the rails start their strange metallic keening. A train, half a mile away. He saw a faint light in the darkness and felt the push of hot air. Then the noise built and twelve people on the platform shuffled forward.

Reacher shuffled backward.

He pressed himself into a maintenance recess the size of a phone booth. Stood still. A train rolled in, fast, long, loud, hissing and squealing. A 1 train, local. Shiny aluminum, bright windows. It stopped. People got off, people got on. Then Burke came through the turnstile and made it through the doors just before they closed. The train moved away, left to right, and Reacher saw Burke through the windows. He was walking forward, eyes front, hunting his quarry, car by car.

He would be all the way up in the Bronx, 242nd Street, Van Cortlandt Park, before he realized his quarry wasn’t on the train at all.

Reacher came out of the recess and brushed dirt off the shoulders of his shirt. Headed for the exit and up to the street. He was down two bucks, but he was alone, which was what he wanted to be.

The doorman at the Majestic called upstairs and pointed Reacher toward the elevator. Three minutes later he was shaking hands with Brewer, the cop. Patti Joseph was in the kitchen, making coffee. She had changed her clothes. Now she was wearing a dark pant suit, prim and proper. She had shoes on. She came out of the kitchen with two mugs, the same huge Wedgwood items she had used before. She gave one to Brewer and one to Reacher and said, “I’ll leave you guys to talk. May be easier if I’m not here. I’ll go for a walk. Nighttime is about the only time it’s safe for me to be out.”

Reacher said, “Burke will be coming out of the subway in about an hour.”

Patti said, “He won’t see me.”

Then she left, with a nervous glance back, as if her future was at stake. Reacher watched the door close behind her and turned and took a better look at Brewer. He was everything anyone would expect a New York City detective to be, except magnified a little. A little taller, a little heavier, longer hair, more unkempt, more energetic. He was about fifty. Or forty-something and prematurely gray.