Page 138 of Chain Reaction

“OK, basically you have to guess a secret code number. If you get it right, you get digital money. The problem is the number you have to guess can be twenty digits long. There can be a billion billion possible values. If you made one guess every second, it would take you thirty-two billion years to hit them all, which is way more than twice the age of the universe. So you use very fast, very powerful computers to make trillions of guesses every second. When you find the right number, you send it in and you get the money. Except here you don’t, because your number passes through EEF’s unit, and they strip it out and send it in on their own account, and they get the money, not you.”

“How much money?”

“Could be billions in stolen crypto, plus definitely hundreds of billions in A.I. venture capital, none of which they’re spending, because they have no operating costs, except for the electric bill on this place.”

“Why did no one notice?”

“My husband noticed,” Julia said. “Someone was bound to, sooner or later. Only a matter of time. No way could this last forever. It was permanently a day away from falling apart. Meanwhile they were making hay while the sun shines. No doubt they’ve stashed it all offshore, and no doubt they’re ready to run at a moment’s notice.”

The kid had stopped the plow at the end of the channel. They caught up to him. He said, “You want me to do more?”

“No, we’re done here,” Reacher said. “You can go now. Thanks for your help. Remember what I told you about hundred percent occupancy. Best of luck. Say hey to your dad.”

The kid raised the blade and turned the truck around. They watched him drive back down the channel, and thump back down the brand-new curb. Then he was lost to sight.

“Time to go,” Turner said.

Chapter 47

Elwood set his phone for Buckley Air Force Base. It took them back the way they knew, east on the wandering two-lane, then south on the highway. Turner sat up front. Reacher and Julia sat in the back. Amanda slept all the way. Turner typed on her work phone. Reacher watched the view out the window. At Buckley’s gate there was a different guy in the guard hut, but he had the same memo. That was clear. Blue Dodge Ram, mystery passengers, let them through, don’t ask questions. The barrier went up and Elwood drove in. He found his way around to the apron they had left from. Their plane was waiting for them there. Time for goodbyes, Reacher assumed. They would fly east to D.C. He would catch a ride to the Denver airport and fly west to California.

He was right in principle, but wrong on the details.

“We need to make one more visit,” Turner said. “We need to go see the 7th Psychological Operations Group.”

“Psyops?” Reacher said. “Why?”

“Mostly because of their location.”

“Which is where?”

“Moffett Field. They share space with the local Air National Guard.”

“Where is Moffett Field?”

“In Mountain View, California. A ten minute walk from EEF’s office building. We’ll drop you off, and head home. I want to get you there as fast as I can. They’re going to get worried when they don’t hear back from Hennessy. And if Julia is right, they’re ready to run at a moment’s notice.”

—

The flight time from Buckley to Moffett was announced as two hours exactly. Elwood sat with Julia and Amanda in the back of the plane. Reacher and Turner sat across the front table. It was dusk outside the windows. The top of the sky was navy blue. The land below was muted and indistinct.

“It will be dark soon after we get there,” Turner said. “The business day will be over. They’ll be gone. How are you going to find where they live?”

“Think about what Julia told us. She was looking at it from a coder’s point of view. Like Cameron must have. She knew it couldn’t last. She said it was only a matter of time. So this was always a hit and run. It was always a short-term con. Their focus was on nothing but shoveling money offshore, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then they would get out and go live on the beach with their ill-gotten gains. Then their lives would begin. They’re living a short present and planning a long future. They wouldn’t have rented houses here. Or bought them, for sure. No point. This is not like partying while you slowly go bankrupt. This is much more serious than that. They’re facing a thousand years in prison. I think they’re living in their office building, with go-bags packed, ready to run at any minute.”

“Plausible,” Turner said.

“And convenient,” Reacher said. “They have no security tonight.”

“But suppose they don’t live there?”

“Julia said they have clerical help and a finance department. There must be a list of addresses in there somewhere.”

“Where will you go, when this is all over?”

“The bus depot in San Francisco. One of my favorites, actually.”

“You have favorite bus depots?”