Page 73 of Chain Reaction

Turner said, “Walk away, Hugo.”

Elwood leaned over the console and unclipped Hugo’s seat belt. Reacher got out and opened Hugo’s door. He hauled him out and dumped him on his back on the parkland grass. His wrists were still taped to his knees. He looked like a turtle, upside down.

He said, “I can’t walk like this.”

“Not my problem,” Reacher said.

He got back in the car. Elwood U-turned across the two-lane and headed back the way they had come. No one spoke. Reacher guessed they were all doing the same thing he was. The same mental process. They were mapping out what came next. The dimensions and the contours. The lines and the angles. The hard points and the soft spots. The chances of success. Against the Everything Everywhere Forever Corporation, led by a weird guy named Axel Brill, who got laughed at by cowboys. A weird guy who got laughed at by cowboys but had just hired his own private army.

Chapter 27

They drove back to Palo Alto and cruised El Camino Real and picked a motel at random. It was a plain old place, not styled in any way. It didn’t belong in the Alps or the Mojave. Kansas, maybe. It was long and low and sturdy and had a pole out front with its name lit up and twinkling. Turner bought two rooms, widely separated. One was for Elwood, and one was not for Elwood. He said he was going to hit the sack early, to catch up on last night’s sleep, which Reacher thought was tactful, but Turner said, “No, we need to go get dinner. There are things I need to tell you both.”

They stowed their stuff and set out walking. Same handsome sidewalk, but a different selection of establishments, because they were south of the Swiss place, where they had been before. They were seeing a new part of town. It was after nine thirty, which must have been late by local dining standards, because most of the eateries they saw were already closing up. Eventually they found a lit-up place halfway down a side street. It was an all-night diner. Reacher’s kind of spot. Satisfactory in every respect. Elwood was happy with it. Turner consented to it. They took a booth in back, Elwood opposite Turner, Reacher next to her. A busboy came by and poured glasses of water. A waitress came by and took their orders.

Turner said, “The Chief of Staff meeting this morning was long and boring and mostly irrelevant. But there was one item of interest. He told me the Department of Defense is ramping up investment in artificial intelligence.”

Reacher said, “Any kind of intelligence would be welcome at the DoD.”

Elwood said, “Is this an in-house project?”

“No, there are three new external contracts,” Turner said. “Three developers are seeing what they can do for us.”

“How big are the contracts?”

“Billions, I’m sure. You know how it is.”

“Who are the three developers?”

“Names were redacted. They’re classified.”

“Any reason to believe EEF is one of them?”

“No reason at all. Probably not, in fact. I’m not sure the DoD would pick a start-up.”

“One out of three might be a good idea. You would have two looking at tomorrow, and one looking at the day after.”

“I wish we knew what Bisley was worried about,” Turner said. “I wish we knew more about EEF generally.”

“I’m sure there’s a lot on the internet.”

“And I’m sure none of it is true.”

Reacher looked up.

“I met a guy,” he said. He fished down inside his jacket, past a spare Glock magazine, until he found the business card he had shoved in there the day before. “He’s a journalist who covers this stuff. Old school. Name of Adam Tow. Spelled like hauling a trailer, not the thing on your foot. He wanted me to listen to his podcast.”

“Did you?”

“How would I?”

“Would he meet with us?”

“Probably.”

“Would he talk to us?”

“He seemed like a chatty guy.”