Border Lines (Reachers Book 2), Page 3

  Just like none of them would be able to harm the Reacher waiting for them in the church.

  But not being able to harm him was very different from not being able to bring him harm.

  Charlie used to be one of them, a long, long time ago. But he wasn't anymore. He was only like them and, although none of them could kill him, it didn't stop them wanting him dead.

  “Find out where they have gone,” their leader said. “And find out who that woman was.”

  “Do you want us to go in with you, sir?” the female Reacher asked.

  “No. I can handle Charlie Smith.”

  It had been a long time since Charlie and God were alone together. He sat on the front pew and rested his crutch at his side. The damp was aggravating his back. It had been two years since he'd been stabbed and it still hurt like hell. He'd once coped with it on a diet of pain killers and self–loathing, but those days were behind him. With Rachel's help, he was two months sober. And it was a good thing too because he wouldn't be able to do what he was about to without a clear head.

  Familiar footsteps sounded behind him; the arrogant stride of a pride-filled man. Charlie's brain twisted in loathing, but his Reacher side betrayed him. He felt a pull towards the man walking down the aisle, like somehow they were connected on a spiritual level. It had been hard to break away from that attraction. Charlie had managed it just, but whenever their paths crossed he was thrown back to his childhood, to relying on this man for everything. To loving him like a father, like a god. Remember what he did. Charlie concentrated on his hatred until his instincts died down.

  “You sent her away,” he said as he settled in the pew behind Charlie.

  “She had a patient to attend to.”

  “A patient?”

  “Didn't you know he was still alive? You'll pay for it. I promise you that.”

  “Pray tell me, what I have done wrong? That man condemned her sister, our sister, to a life of whoring. He sold her. Our so-called protector. And she was just a child too.” Darcy had sold Isobel, Rachel's sister, to save Rachel and he'd never forgiven himself for it either. He'd still helped countless others. He was still a good man.

  Charlie turned and looked his old mentor in the eye. “You're one evil son of a bitch Sol. Whatever Darcy has done it's nothing compared to what you've done.”

  Sol was somewhere in his late fifties, maybe even older, Charlie had never been able to tell. His thick grey beard and hair always seemed to be well groomed and clean, even when he was on the run. Somehow Sol always took care of himself. His eyes shone with knowledge and wisdom, sometimes they were a comfort and other times they were terrifying. The guy had charisma, so much so it blinded most people to his sociopathic nature. Remember what he did. Remember what he wants to do.

  “Where is she going?” he asked Charlie in a tone of utterly repulsive politeness. He was talking about Rachel. So that was what this was about.

  “Somewhere you can't get her.”

  “She's a Reacher, she belongs with her own kind.”

  “And she is, she's with me,” Charlie replied.

  “And that monstrosity of yours.”

  “I'll tell John you said 'hi.' ” Charlie glared at Sol.

  Sol didn't age and being in his presence made Charlie feel like a kid again. Despite the pain, Charlie straightened his back. He wasn't going to be intimidated by this man – this Reacher – that did nothing but lie and manipulate his own kind.

  “She belongs with us and you have no right to keep her from us. You know as well as I do that she will want to be with us.”

  Charlie laughed. “I know as well as you that you are collecting Reachers that can be of use to you and then you send them out, or blow them up in railway stations. What was it you wanted me to sacrifice myself for? Freedom? It took me years to realise you were spouting utter bullshit but it was just in the nick of the time. And I can tell you for a fact Rachel is smarter and sharper than I ever was. She's not going to fall for your lies.”

  “Then why did you send her away?”

  Charlie stared, unwavering. “She's a doctor and she had a patient.”

  Sol chuckled to himself. “Of course. Remember, when she comes to us, you are welcome to join her too.”

  “I think we both know I'm not.”

  “You are our brother as much as she is our sister. We are all from our father, sent here to redeem his work.”

  “Yeah, that cult shit doesn't work with me either, remember? Look at us Sol, your followers may think you're some kind of celestial being shat out of the sky, but you and I both know it's all crap. I am nothing more than a jump in genetics.” Charlie leaned closer. “And so are you, but you're just not quite jumping as far.”

  “A reckoning is coming, Charlie. And even that freak you call a brother isn't going to be able to protect you. Or her. Give her to me Charlie. She'll want to be with us.”

  “And how will that make me better than Darcy? She's not mine to give and she's not yours to have. Do you think she'll come with you after she's seen what you did to Darcy?”

  Sol was silent.

  “If I could kill you I would, know that. And know that as soon as John gets the chance he will do what I can't, and he will make it slow and incredibly painful.”

  Sol leaned forward and placed a strong hand on Charlie's shoulder. Charlie tensed, trying not to savour the connection between them. The Reacher side of him fought for acceptance, the rational side fought to not punch Sol in the face. “No, he won't, and you know he won't because I know how to find your daughter.” His lips brushed against Charlie's ear. “You need me, Charlie.”

  With effort Charlie got to his feet. He leaned over Sol. Sol had a way about him, but he wasn't more powerful than Charlie. That was why he'd tried to get Charlie to sacrifice himself as a child, because Charlie would one day come to challenge Sol's authority.

  “Don't forget Sol, you need me too. Your little cult of supernatural misfits needs funding and I know you're running close to the wire now. You were big a few years ago, but there are less of us now and even less supporters willing to fund your terrorism. I'll get you your money and you'll kill more of our kind to suit your own ego, then I'll get my daughter and we'll come back and deal with you. Things run full circle Sol, you'd be wise to remember that.”

  He picked up his crutch and stepped out into the aisle.

  “You stay away from Rachel, or John will kill you.”

  Sol leaned back, he put his arms behind his head. “One day Charlie, you'll realise what you really are.”

  6

  The wilderness rapidly became blemished with concrete and then erupted into a full infection of industry. S'aven smoked and hissed beneath them as they soared across the urban landscape. The air thickened in dense plumes of sulphuric cloud as the sky greyed. Heat waves drifted off the flat roofs, trapped under a thick cloudy blanket. Summer in S'aven was unbearable and, even as high as they were, they couldn't escape the suffocation of the shanty town encircling London.

  There was an insulating blanket on the helicopter. Rachel wrapped Darcy in it, focusing on him rather than the buildings beneath them. He was still stable, although Rachel had no idea how that was even possible after all he'd been through. The space in the helicopter was crowded and she had to cradle Darcy on her lap. John sat opposite, keeping his attention fixed on Riva and her men. He was edgy and it had nothing to do with flying over S'aven.

  She glanced up at him and subtly he reached out his hand. Their fingertips touched. She felt a surge of concern from him, it was enough to make her worry about Charlie. Riva was watching them curiously.

  The helicopter started to descend. Rachel felt a lurch in her gut. She looked up, expecting to see St Mary's, her old workplace. But they were nowhere near the chaos of S'aven's biggest hospital. The white mansion and the artificial grounds took her totally by surprise. Riva had taken them straight to her personal compound, a sight that Rachel had hoped she would never see again. As she turned John was a
lready pointing his pistol at Riva's head and her four soldiers were pointing their automatic rifles at his.

  “Think about this situation, Mr Smith,” Riva said, checking her nails. “How quick are you really?”

  “I guess we're going to find out,” John replied, quirking his eyebrow.

  “Rachel,” Riva said sharply. “If we take the good Father to your old hospital, what do you reckon his chances are?”

  “At this point in time I'd say the detour has probably killed him,” Rachel replied. If John fired it would be over for them all, but it would be a satisfying end.

  “My personal doctor can be here in eight minutes once I make the call. Would you like to take him inside and make yourselves comfortable?”

  They didn't have much of a choice and that gave Riva just a little too much arrogance for Rachel's liking.

  “Are you sure you want to invite us in – it didn't end so well for you and your men last time we were here.” Rachel glared at them all. “Tell your men to lower their weapons.”

  “Tell your man to lower his.”

  “You think I can order him around? If you want him to do anything you will have to ask him – nicely.”

  Riva rolled her eyes. “John, will you please lower your weapon?”

  He stared at her, but eventually let the gun drop.

  “Take Father Darcy inside, and call Peterson. I want him here now with all his equipment.” She wasn't as polite to her own men.

  The soldiers took Darcy in a stretcher and carried him across enemy lines, only bullets weren't flying and so far, the uneasy truce was holding. Maybe this was the better enemy – the devil they knew at least.

  Rachel paused in the helicopter, trying to work out what Riva was planning.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “You killed my sister,” Rachel snapped. “You don't see anything wrong with that?”

  Riva's red painted lips twitched in amusement. “And Mr Smith here killed my husband.”

  “He did have a gun to your head at the time,” Rachel added.

  “And because of your sister many of my friends were killed. I cut out a tumour, I guess you could say John did the same. I didn't enjoy it, but I'm not going to apologise, just like John isn't going to apologise to me. Are you, John?”

  Of course he wasn't.

  “Then why did you come to us if we're on such bad terms?”

  “Because I'm a business woman, I'm very clever and I know when to swallow my pride. The chain of events that happened are over. This is a new start. If you promise not to break anything, you can come in.”

  The house had changed, which wasn't surprising considering how the Smith brothers left it. Riva had repaired the gunfire damage and redecorated in a style that seemed to sing out to the new empire she was building for herself. There were more men patrolling the grounds, she'd obviously learnt her lesson and now her home was more than well guarded. This was overkill, but then that was what was needed, especially when dealing with Charlie and John Smith – and Rachel figured she might as well add her own name too.

  Riva led them to the lounge and offered them drinks which they declined. Rachel sat down in the same spot she had the last time she had been brought to the house. The sofa was different, but positioned the same, overlooking the place Riva's husband had been shot in the head. It was like nothing had ever happened, but when she met Riva's stare she could see the image of Pinky Morris reflecting in her eyes.

  “I like what you've done with the place,” Rachel said. She was being needlessly antagonistic, a trait she'd picked up from Charlie.

  “Thank you,” Riva said, checking her watch.

  Apparently on cue the doorbell rang. Riva went to the hallway. She spoke with a man, their voices just audible through the wall, discussing the patient's condition. It had to be the doctor. Rachel suppressed the urge to join them. There was movement up the stairs. Something was being lifted. Riva returned briefly, just to say they should make themselves at home. Then her own footsteps drifted up to join the others.

  They didn't have a lot of time. Rachel leaned into John.

  “Okay, what the hell is going on with Charlie?”

  John glanced at the closed door. “He knows who did this to Darcy. He's going to confront him.”

  “Alone?” Rachel put her hand against her mouth and calmed herself. “Why didn't you go with him? And don't you dare say you had to look after me or so help me…”

  He scowled. “Don't be stupid. The man who did this is a Reacher. He won't hurt Charlie.”

  “He wouldn't be able to hurt me either. Why didn't he let me stay?”

  “Then who would look after me?” John jibed.

  “This Reacher, who the hell is he?”

  John leaned even closer to her. “His name is Sol, he hates us and he's holding the information about Charlie's daughter. He wants a shit load of money for it, too. Charlie used to go around with Sol when he was just a kid, long before we met Darcy. But Sol sold him out. He set Charlie up and Charlie ended up in the Institute.”

  People could do a lot of bad things to each other. Riva could kill a young girl threatening her empire. John could shoot a man pointing a gun at his brother without blinking. Rachel could make a bad man turn the knife he had on her on himself. But there were scales to good and bad. Riva had saved her empire, John had saved his brother, and Rachel herself. They weren't excusable reasons, just understandable ones. But selling out another Reacher, a young boy, to the Institute – that was the worst thing anyone could do.

  “What is he going to do?”

  “They'll talk, square shoulders. It's all they ever do.”

  “But you're worried about him.”

  He clenched his lips together, trying to put up a wall of unfeeling and failing miserably. She knew John too well, he was a little more tense, a little more sensitive to the environment – he was worried, really worried.

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “What do you think about Riva?”

  “I wouldn't turn my back on her,” he replied. “What about you?”

  “I should try and shake hands with her, see if I can read what she's planning. She wouldn't tell us about the job. It sort of implies it's not something we want to do.”

  “Or it's a hook.”

  “Either way do we really want to work for her?”

  “Charlie does,” John stated.

  And that's what bothered her.

  7

  Mark's father had been a good cop. He'd won an award for helping knock out protestors during a trade riot. He was Mark's hero and all Mark had ever wanted was to be just like him. The day Mark walked his first beat was the proudest day of his life. He was proud to wear the uniform and proud to uphold justice in a lawless hell like S'aven. But as he stood outside his old station he just felt empty.

  He'd been a good officer. He was loyal, hardworking, everything a trusty copper needed to be. But that didn't count for anything in the end. When his partner's body got tangled up in the river grinder, he suddenly found himself in a cell. His sergeant shone a light into his eyes and asked him why he had been claiming Gary had been working when he was polluting up the water supply. Mark had tried to explain that he was doing Gary a favour. Sometimes Gary didn't show up for work and Mark would cover for him – he was one of the good guys after all – he looked after his teammates. But they didn't believe him, so they searched his flat and there was blood. Mark still didn't understand it. Gary had died in his flat, Rachel was gone and he was left sitting on a pile of lies and cover ups, left to take the blame.

  He'd put everything into being a cop. But they took that away from him in an instant and now he didn't even know who he was. His new I.D. badge claimed he worked in a unit he still wasn't convinced existed. His boss didn't seem like a cop at all. Adams was browbeaten and despondent. He lacked the arrogance or enthusiasm most officers had. Mark didn't doubt that he had a brilliant mind – he was in charge of his own unit, you didn't get promoted from sitting o
n your ass – but even that seemed to humble him rather than groom his ego.

  Adams threw his cigarette into the gutter. “I hate this place,” he grumbled with an unceremonious snort.

  Mark was starting to share his sentiments. He wanted to stay behind, but he didn't quite have the courage to speak up. Adams had given him a chance – the only chance he was ever going to get after everything that had happened – he had to impress him. Even if that meant confronting all of his old teammates.

  “This was your old stomping ground right?”

  Mark nodded apprehensively.

  “Guy called Trent in charge?”

  “Woman actually. Eh, Judge April Trent.”

  “She reasonable?”

  “I thought she was,” Mark replied.

  He could remember her signing off on his sentence as though it were nothing. She didn't even look him in the eye. Ten years work camp duty, never mind the fact he'd been a good cop.

  “Alright, I'll do the talking.”

  Adams sauntered into the station. He was confident without ever seeming to realise it. Mark wished he could feel the same, but even as an officer he never strolled in with such indifferent ease. This time he stuffed his hands into his pockets and kept his head down. It had been ten months; maybe nobody would recognise him.

  “Well, well, well. Look who's back,” the desk sergeant sneered.

  Mark was starting to feel faint. He hid behind Adams like a criminal.

  Adams leaned on the counter as though nothing was wrong. “Agent Adams and Agent Bellamy, we're here to see the judge.”

  “Agent Bellamy?” The desk clerk frowned when he realised Adams had said something even stranger. “To see the judge? You don't just walk in to see the judge.”

  He nudged his badge in the sergeant's general direction. “I do.”

  The desk clerk looked to Mark and his expression changed. “Paranormal Crimes Unit, what the hell is that?”

  “That, my man, is a unit outranking your station and your judge. Now I'd love to stay here and chat but we are extremely busy men, hunting down extremely dangerous men. Be a sport and point us in the direction of the judge.”