Never Go Back Read Free Page A

three console telephones on the desk, where before there had been one old rotary-dial, heavy and black. There were two computers, one a desktop and one a laptop, where before there had been an in-tray and an outtray and a lot of paper. The map on the wall was new and up to date, and the light fixture was burning green and sickly, with a modern bulb, all fluorescent and energy-saving. Progress, even at the Department of the Army.
    Only two things in the office were unexpected and unpredictable.
    First, the person behind the desk was not a major, but a lieutenant colonel.
    And second, he wasn’t a woman, but a man.

THREE
    THE MAN BEHIND the desk was wearing the same ACU pyjamas as everyone else, but they looked worse on him than most. Like fancy dress. Like a Halloween party. Not because he was particularly out of shape, but because he looked serious and managerial and desk-bound. As if his weapon of choice would be a propelling pencil, not an M16. He was wearing steel eyeglasses and had steel-grey hair cut and combed like a schoolboy’s. His tapes and his tags confirmed he was indeed a lieutenant colonel in the United States Army, and that his name was Morgan.
    Reacher said, ‘I’m sorry, colonel. I was looking for Major Turner.’
    The guy named Morgan said, ‘Sit down, Mr Reacher.’
    Command presence was a rare and valuable thing, much prized by the military. And the guy named Morgan had plenty of it. Like his hair and his glasses, his voice was steel. No bullshit, no bluster, no bullying. Just a brisk assumption that all reasonable men would do exactly what he told them, because there would be no real practical alternative.
    Reacher sat down, in the visitor chair nearer the window. It had springy bent-tube legs, and it gave and bounced a little under his weight. He remembered the feeling. He had sat in it before, for one reason or another.
    Morgan said, ‘Please tell me exactly why you’re here.’
    And at that point Reacher thought he was about to get a death message. Susan Turner was dead. Afghanistan, possibly. Or a car wreck.
    He said, ‘Where is Major Turner?’
    Morgan said, ‘Not here.’
    ‘Where then?’
    ‘We might get to that. But first I need to understand your interest.’
    ‘In what?’
    ‘In Major Turner.’
    ‘I have no interest in Major Turner.’
    ‘Yet you asked for her by name at the gate.’
    ‘It’s a personal matter.’
    ‘As in?’
    Reacher said, ‘I talked to her on the phone. She sounded interesting. I thought I might drop by and ask her out to dinner. The field manual doesn’t prohibit her from saying yes.’
    ‘Or no, as the case may be.’
    ‘Indeed.’
    Morgan asked, ‘What did you talk about on the phone?’
    ‘This and that.’
    ‘What exactly?’
    ‘It was a private conversation, colonel. And I don’t know who you are.’
    ‘I’m commander of the 110th Special Unit.’
    ‘Not Major Turner?’
    ‘Not any more.’
    ‘I thought this was a major’s job. Not a light colonel’s.’
    ‘This is a temporary command. I’m a troubleshooter. I get sent in to clean up the mess.’
    ‘And there’s a mess here? Is that what you’re saying?’
    Morgan ignored the question. He asked, ‘Did you specifically arrange to meet with Major Turner?’
    ‘Not specifically,’ Reacher said.
    ‘Did she request your presence here?’
    ‘Not specifically,’ Reacher said again.
    ‘Yes or no?’
    ‘Neither. I think it was just a vague intention on both our parts. If I happened to be in the area. That kind of a thing.’
    ‘And yet here you are, in the area. Why?’
    ‘Why not? I have to be somewhere.’
    ‘Are you saying you came all the way from South Dakota on the basis of a vague intention?’
    Reacher said, ‘I liked her voice. You got a problem with that?’
    ‘You’re unemployed, is that correct?’
    ‘Currently.’
    ‘Since when?’
    ‘Since I left the army.’
    ‘That’s disgraceful.’
    Reacher asked, ‘Where is Major Turner?’
    Morgan said, ‘This