Chapter 25

I saw a fast, expert, politician’s-wife calculation run behind Elspeth Sansom’s eyes. First instinct: Throw the bum out. But: There was a cop in the corridor, and probably media in the building, and almost certainly hotel staff within earshot. And local people talk. So she swallowed once and said, “Major Reacher, how nice to see you again,” and stood back to give me room to pass.

The suite was large and dark because of draped windows and full of heavy furniture in rich and muted colors. There was a living room with a breakfast bar and an open door that must have led to a bedroom. Elspeth Sansom walked me to the middle of the space and stopped, like she didn’t know what to do with me next. Then John Sansom stepped out of the bedroom to see what the fuss was all about.

He was in pants and a shirt and a tie and socks. No shoes. He looked small, like a miniature man. Wiry build, narrow through the shoulders. His head was a little large compared to the rest of his body. His hair was cut short and neatly brushed. His skin was tanned, but in a creased, active, outdoors kind of a way. Rugged. No sun lamps for this guy. He glowed with wealth, and power, and energy, and charisma. It was easy to see how he had won plenty of elections. Easy to see why the news weeklies were in love with him. He looked at me and then looked at his wife and asked, “Where’s Springfield?”

Elspeth said, “He went downstairs to check on things. They must have passed in the elevators.”

Sansom nodded, not much more than a fast up-and-down with his eyelids. A practiced decision maker, and a pragmatic man, not much given to crying over spilled milk. He glanced at me and said, “You don’t give up.”

I said, “I never have.”

“Didn’t you listen to those federal boys in Washington?”

“Who were they, exactly?”

“Those guys? You know how it is. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. But whatever, they were supposed to warn you off.”

“Didn’t resonate.”

“They copied me on your record. I told them they’d fail.”

“They talked to me like I was a moron. And they called me too old. Which makes you way too old.”

“I am way too old. For most of this shit, anyway.”

“You got ten minutes?”

“I can give you five.”

“You got coffee?”

“You’re wasting time.”

“We’ve got plenty of time. More than five minutes, anyway. More than ten, even. You need to lace your shoes and put a jacket on. How long can that take?”

Sansom shrugged and stepped over to the breakfast bar and poured me a cup of coffee. He carried it back and gave it to me and said, “Now cut to the chase. I know who you are and why you’re here.”

“Did you know Susan Mark?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “Never met her, never even heard of her before last night.”

I was watching his eyes, and I believed him. I asked, “Why would an HRC clerk be coerced into checking you out?”

“Is that what was happening?”

“Best guess.”

“Then I have no idea. HRC is the new PERSCOM, right? What did you ever get from PERSCOM? What did anyone? What have they got there? Dates and units, that’s all. And my life is public record anyway. I’ve been on CNN a hundred times. I joined the army, I went to OCS, I was commissioned, I was promoted three times, and I left. No secrets there.”

“Your Delta missions were secrets.”

The room went a little quieter. Sansom asked, “How do you know that?”

“You got four good medals. You don’t explain why.”

Sansom nodded.

“That damn book,” he said. “The medals are a matter of record, too. I couldn’t disown them. It wouldn’t have been respectful. Politics is a minefield. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Either way around, they can always get to you.”

I said nothing. He looked at me and asked, “How many people are going to make the connection? Besides you, I mean?”

“About three million,” I said. “Maybe more. Everyone in the army, and all the vets with enough eyesight left to read. They know how things work.”

He shook his head. “Not that many. Most people don’t have inquiring minds. And even if they do, most people respect secrecy in matters like that. I don’t think there’s a problem.”

“There’s a problem somewhere. Otherwise why was Susan Mark being asked questions?”

“Did she actually mention my name?”

I shook my head. “That was to get your attention. I heard your name from a bunch of guys I’m assuming were employed by the person asking the questions.”

“And what’s in this for you?”

“Nothing. But she looked like a nice person, caught between a rock and a hard place.”

“And you care?”

“You do too, if only a little bit. You’re not in politics just for what you can get out of it for yourself. At least I sincerely hope you’re not.”

“Are you actually my constituent?”

“Not until they elect you President.”

Sansom was quiet for a beat and then he said, “The FBI briefed me, too. I’m in a position where I can do favors for them, so they make a point of keeping me in the loop. They say the NYPD feels you’re reacting to this whole thing with a measure of guilt. Like you pushed too hard on the train. And guilt is never a sound basis for good decisions.”

I said, “That’s just one woman’s opinion.”

“Was she wrong?”

I said nothing.

Sansom said, “I’m not going to tell you a damn thing about the missions.”

I said, “I don’t expect you to.”

“But?”

“How much could come back and bite you in the ass?”

“Nothing in this life is entirely black and white. You know that. But no crimes were committed. And no one could get to the truth through an HRC clerk, anyway. This is a fishing expedition. This is half-baked amateur muck-raking journalism at its worst.”

“I don’t think it is,” I said. “Susan Mark was terrified and her son is missing.”

Sansom glanced at his wife. Back at me. He said, “We didn’t know that.”

“It hasn’t been reported. He’s a jock at USC. He left a bar with a girl five days ago. Hasn’t been seen since. He’s presumed AWOL, having the time of his life.”

“And you know this how?”

“Through Susan Mark’s brother. The boy’s uncle.”

“And you don’t buy the story?”

“Too coincidental.”

“Not necessarily. Boys leave bars with girls all the time.”

“You’re a parent,” I said. “What would make you shoot yourself, and what would make you not?”

The room went quieter still. Elspeth Sansom said, “Shit.” John Sansom got the kind of faraway look in his eyes that I had seen before from good field officers reacting to a tactical setback. Rethink, redeploy, reorganize, all in a fast second or two. I saw him scanning back through history and coming to a firm conclusion. He said, “I’m sorry about the Mark family’s situation. I really am. And I would help if I could, but I can’t. There’s nothing in my Delta career that could be accessed through HRC. Nothing at all. Either this is about something else entirely, or someone is looking in the wrong place.”

“Where else would they look?”

“You know where. And you know they wouldn’t even get close. And someone who knew enough to want Delta records would know where to look for them, and where not to, surely. So this is not about Special Forces. Can’t be.”

“So what else could it be about?”

“Nothing. I’m spotless.”

“Really?”

“Completely. One hundred percent. I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t have gotten into politics if I had the tiniest thing to hide. Not the way things are now. I never even had a parking ticket.”

“OK,” I said.

“I’m sorry about the woman on the subway.”

“OK,” I said again.

“But now we really have to go. We have some serious begging to do.”

I asked, “You ever heard the name Lila Hoth?”

“Lila Hoth?” Sansom said. “No, I never heard that name.”

I was watching his eyes, and I felt he was telling the absolute truth. And lying through his teeth. Both at the same time.