‘Not what I expected,’ Reacher said.

‘I told you,’ Delfuenso said. ‘A decent, crowded neighbourhood.’

‘Syrians don’t stand out here?’

‘The pale ones say they’re Italians. The dark ones have been telling people they’re Indians. From the subcontinent. You know, Delhi and Mumbai and places like that. Most people can’t tell the difference. They say they work tech jobs in the city.’ Then she slowed, and came to a stop on the kerb. She said, ‘OK, I think we’re about two blocks away. How do you want to do this?’

Reacher had stormed houses before. More than once, less than twenty times, probably. But usually with a full company of MPs, divided into squads, some of them in back, some of them out front, some of them held in reserve in armoured trucks with heavy firepower, all of them equipped with working radios. And all of them usually in places cordoned off and cleared of non-combatants. And usually with a bunch of medics standing by. He felt under-equipped, and vulnerable.

He said, ‘We could set fire to the place. That usually works pretty good. They all come running out sooner or later. Except that McQueen could be tied up or locked in or otherwise incapacitated. So we’d better put one of us in the cellar door, if there is one, and one of us through the front, and one of us through the back. How are your marksmanship skills?’

‘Pretty good,’ Delfuenso said.

‘Not bad,’ Sorenson said.

‘OK, you’ll have your guns up and out in front of you. Shoot anything that moves. Except if it’s me or McQueen. Use head shots for certainty. Aim at the centre of the face. Save rounds. No double taps. We’ll have the advantage for about four seconds. We can’t let it turn into a siege.’

Delfuenso said, ‘You don’t want to try a decoy approach? I could go to the door and pretend to be lost or something.’

‘No,’ Reacher said. ‘Because then after they shoot you in the head Sorenson and I will have to do all the work on our own.’

‘Have you done this kind of thing before?’

‘Haven’t you?’

‘No, this is strictly a SWAT function.’

‘It’s usually about fifty-fifty,’ Reacher said. ‘In terms of a happy ending, I mean. That’s been my experience.’

‘Maybe we should wait for Quantico.’

‘Let’s at least go take a look.’

They slid out of Bale’s car, stealthy and quiet, guns in their hands. They were the only things moving. Dark blue clothing, nearly invisible in the moonlight. They went single file on the sidewalk, instinctively six or eight feet from each other, the whole length of the first block, and across the street without pausing, at that kind of time in that kind of place more likely to come down with a rare disease than get run over by moving traffic. They walked the length of the second block, but slowed towards its end, and bunched up a little, as if discussion might be necessary. Delfuenso had said she knew the house from above, in two dimensions on the computer screen, and she had said she hoped she would know it in three dimensions on the ground. It was all going to depend on what the block looked like from the side. From a human’s point of view, not a satellite camera’s.

They stopped on the corner and Delfuenso peered up the street to their right. It rose on a slight slope, and then it dropped away again. The first few houses were visible. The rest weren’t.

‘This is it,’ Delfuenso said.

‘Which house?’

‘The second house over the hill on the left.’

‘You sure? We can’t see it yet.’

‘The satellite pictures,’ she said. ‘I looked at the neighbours. Up and down the street. And the corners. I know this is the right street. No fire hydrant. Every other corner has had one. This one doesn’t. W for without a fire hydrant, W for Wadiah. That’s how I planned to remember it.’

Reacher glanced around. No fire hydrant.

‘Good work,’ he said.

Sorenson volunteered to go in through the cellar door. If there was one. If not, she would find a side window and break in from there. Reacher was OK with that. The third angle would help, but it wouldn’t be decisive. Clearly the most dangerous spot would be the front, and clearly the most effective spot would be the back. Only two real choices. Risk and reward.

He said, ‘I’ll be the back door man.’

Delfuenso said, ‘Then I’ll take the front.’

‘But don’t tell them you’re lost. Shoot them in the face instead. Before they even say hello.’

‘We should give Sorenson a head start. If there is a cellar door, I mean. That’s a slower way in.’

‘We will,’ Reacher said. ‘When we get there.’

And then they moved off together, walking fast, up the street to their right.

SIXTY-THREE

THEY STAYED OFF the sidewalk and walked in the road. No point in wasting what little tree cover there was. Reacher stopped them when he figured they were about seven feet below the crest of the rise. From there he and Sorenson would go yard to yard behind the houses, and Delfuenso would pause a long moment and then walk on alone. She would give them that head start because of their sideways detour and their tougher going. Fences, hedges, dogs. Maybe even barbed wire. This was Missouri, after all. The Southern Wire Company of St Louis had once been the world’s biggest manufacturer of bootleg cattle wire. Three cents a pound. Enough to go round.

But Delfuenso’s approach was always going to be the most dangerous. Lookouts were always posted out front. Not always posted out back. If any approach was going to be spotted, it was going to be hers. Then it would depend on their paranoia level. Which might be high, by that point. Was she just an innocent pedestrian, or was everything a threat now?

There was no barbed wire. No dogs. Suburban pets were too pampered to spend the night outside. Suburban yards were too fancy for wire. But there were hedges and fences. Some of the fences were high and some of the hedges had thorns. But they got through OK. Sorenson was very agile over the fences. Better than Reacher. And thorny hedges could be backed through. Cheap denim was a tough material.

It was going to be hard to tell exactly when they would hit the top of the hill, because they were on flat rolled lawns in yards built up with all kinds of terraced landscaping. But there was a weak moon in the sky and Reacher could see the power lines through the gaps between houses, and he saw them peak on one particular pole, in a very shallow inverted V, and he took that to mean they were at the crest of the rise.

The second house over the hill on the left.

Sorenson got it. She used her hands and mimed it out, one, two, and then she pointed at the two as if to say that’s the target. Reacher nodded and they moved on, through the yard they were in, over a picket fence with rabbit wire stapled to it, into the next yard, which belonged to the target’s next-door neighbour. It was crowded with stuff. There was a gas grill, and lawn chairs, and many and various wheeled vehicles. They were the kind small children sit astride and either pedal or scoot. One was in the shape of a tennis shoe. Reacher stopped and looked at the house. Three bedrooms, probably. Two of them full of kids. Thin walls. Nothing but siding and sheet rock. Better to shoot in the other direction. Unless the other neighbour was an orphanage.

They moved on, to the last fence. They looked over at their target.

Their target was a two-storey house.

It was about half as wide and twice as high as any of its neighbours. It had dark red siding. It had what looked like a full-width kitchen across the back. Then would come a front central hallway, probably, with rooms either side. And a staircase. Probably four rooms on the second floor. About the size of any other house, really, but split in half and stacked.