Colonel Morgan’s computer. Which is password-protected.’
‘Do the radio checks go into Bagram?’
The guy nodded again. ‘Most of them are routine data. Bagram sends us the transcript. But if there’s anything urgent, then they’re patched through to us, right here in this office. On a secure phone line.’
‘What was it the last time they transmitted? Routine, or urgent?’
‘Routine.’
‘OK,’ Reacher said. ‘Call Bagram and get an estimate of their range, from that last time.’
‘Will Bagram even know their range?’
‘Those radio guys can usually tell. By the sound, and the signal strength. By a gut feeling, sometimes. It’s their job. Ask for their best guess, to the nearest five miles.’
The guy picked up a phone, and Reacher walked back to Leach at the reception desk in the lobby. He said, ‘Get on the line for the next ten minutes and hit up everyone you know at the Pentagon. Full court press, to locate Morgan.’
Leach picked up her phone.
Reacher waited.
Ten minutes later Leach had nothing. Not altogether surprising. The Pentagon had more than seventeen miles of corridors and nearly four million square feet of office space, all occupied by more than thirty thousand people on any given workday. Trying to find a random individual was like trying to find a needle in the world’s most secretive haystack. Reacher walked back to 103 and the duty officer said, ‘The Bagram radio room figures our guys were about two hundred and twenty miles out. Maybe two hundred and thirty.’
‘That’s a start,’ Reacher said.
‘Not really. We don’t know what direction.’
‘If in doubt, take a wild-ass guess. That was always my operating principle.’
‘Afghanistan is a big country.’
‘I know it is,’ Reacher said. ‘And it’s unpleasant all over, from what I hear. But where is it worst?’
‘The mountains. The border with Pakistan. Pashtun tribal areas. The northeast, basically. No one’s idea of fun.’
Reacher nodded. ‘Which is the kind of place the 110th gets sent. So get on the horn to the base commander and ask him to order up an air search, starting two hundred and twenty-five miles northeast of Bagram.’
‘That could be completely the wrong direction.’
‘Like I said, it’s a wild-ass guess. You got something better?’
‘They won’t do it anyway. Not on my say-so. A thing like this would need a major or better.’
‘So take Morgan’s name in vain.’
‘Can’t do it.’
Reacher listened. All quiet. No one coming. The duty officer waited, his hand curled into a fist, halfway between his lap and his phone.
You’re back in the army, major.
You’ll retain your former rank.
You’re assigned to this unit .
‘Use my name,’ Reacher said.
TWELVE
THE DUTY OFFICER made the call, and then the military machine took over, distant and invisible and industrious, on the other side of the world, nine time zones and nearly eight thousand miles away, planning, briefing, readying, arming, and fuelling. The old stone building in Rock Creek went quiet.
Reacher asked, ‘How many other people do you have in the field?’
The duty officer said, ‘Globally? Fourteen.’
‘Nearest?’
‘Right now, Fort Hood in Texas. Cleaning up after Major Turner’s thing down there.’
‘How many in hazardous situations?’
‘That’s a moving target, isn’t it? Eight or ten, maybe.’
‘Has Morgan gone AWOL before?’
‘This is only his third day.’
‘What was Major Turner like as a commander?’
‘She was fairly new. She only had a few weeks.’
‘First impression?’
‘Excellent.’
‘Is this Afghanistan thing hers, or did she inherit it?’
‘It’s hers,’ the duty officer said. ‘It’s the second thing she did when she got here, after Fort Hood.’
Reacher had never been to Bagram, or anywhere else in Afghanistan, but he knew how it would work. Some things never change. No one liked sitting around doing nothing, and no one liked their own people
‘Do the radio checks go into Bagram?’
The guy nodded again. ‘Most of them are routine data. Bagram sends us the transcript. But if there’s anything urgent, then they’re patched through to us, right here in this office. On a secure phone line.’
‘What was it the last time they transmitted? Routine, or urgent?’
‘Routine.’
‘OK,’ Reacher said. ‘Call Bagram and get an estimate of their range, from that last time.’
‘Will Bagram even know their range?’
‘Those radio guys can usually tell. By the sound, and the signal strength. By a gut feeling, sometimes. It’s their job. Ask for their best guess, to the nearest five miles.’
The guy picked up a phone, and Reacher walked back to Leach at the reception desk in the lobby. He said, ‘Get on the line for the next ten minutes and hit up everyone you know at the Pentagon. Full court press, to locate Morgan.’
Leach picked up her phone.
Reacher waited.
Ten minutes later Leach had nothing. Not altogether surprising. The Pentagon had more than seventeen miles of corridors and nearly four million square feet of office space, all occupied by more than thirty thousand people on any given workday. Trying to find a random individual was like trying to find a needle in the world’s most secretive haystack. Reacher walked back to 103 and the duty officer said, ‘The Bagram radio room figures our guys were about two hundred and twenty miles out. Maybe two hundred and thirty.’
‘That’s a start,’ Reacher said.
‘Not really. We don’t know what direction.’
‘If in doubt, take a wild-ass guess. That was always my operating principle.’
‘Afghanistan is a big country.’
‘I know it is,’ Reacher said. ‘And it’s unpleasant all over, from what I hear. But where is it worst?’
‘The mountains. The border with Pakistan. Pashtun tribal areas. The northeast, basically. No one’s idea of fun.’
Reacher nodded. ‘Which is the kind of place the 110th gets sent. So get on the horn to the base commander and ask him to order up an air search, starting two hundred and twenty-five miles northeast of Bagram.’
‘That could be completely the wrong direction.’
‘Like I said, it’s a wild-ass guess. You got something better?’
‘They won’t do it anyway. Not on my say-so. A thing like this would need a major or better.’
‘So take Morgan’s name in vain.’
‘Can’t do it.’
Reacher listened. All quiet. No one coming. The duty officer waited, his hand curled into a fist, halfway between his lap and his phone.
You’re back in the army, major.
You’ll retain your former rank.
You’re assigned to this unit .
‘Use my name,’ Reacher said.
TWELVE
THE DUTY OFFICER made the call, and then the military machine took over, distant and invisible and industrious, on the other side of the world, nine time zones and nearly eight thousand miles away, planning, briefing, readying, arming, and fuelling. The old stone building in Rock Creek went quiet.
Reacher asked, ‘How many other people do you have in the field?’
The duty officer said, ‘Globally? Fourteen.’
‘Nearest?’
‘Right now, Fort Hood in Texas. Cleaning up after Major Turner’s thing down there.’
‘How many in hazardous situations?’
‘That’s a moving target, isn’t it? Eight or ten, maybe.’
‘Has Morgan gone AWOL before?’
‘This is only his third day.’
‘What was Major Turner like as a commander?’
‘She was fairly new. She only had a few weeks.’
‘First impression?’
‘Excellent.’
‘Is this Afghanistan thing hers, or did she inherit it?’
‘It’s hers,’ the duty officer said. ‘It’s the second thing she did when she got here, after Fort Hood.’
Reacher had never been to Bagram, or anywhere else in Afghanistan, but he knew how it would work. Some things never change. No one liked sitting around doing nothing, and no one liked their own people
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