No Toyota Land Cruiser in the lot.

And where were Lane, Gregory, Perez, and Addison?

He leafed backward through the book and saw that on any given night the Bishop’s Arms had a maximum of three rooms to let. So assuming that Groom and Burke and Kowalski had been given a room each, there had been no room at the inn for the others. They had gotten back into their rented Toyota and driven someplace else.

But where?

Reacher glanced at the saloon bar’s door but went the other way. Into the public bar. The bartender looked up at him and the four farmers turned slowly on their stools and started up with their complacent who-are-you barroom stares until they recognized him. Then they nodded guarded greetings and turned back to their pint glasses. The bartender stayed poised and polite, ready for fast service. Instant acceptance, for less than thirty bucks.

Reacher asked, “Where did you send the other four?”

The bartender said, “Who?”

“Seven guys showed up yesterday. Three of them are here. Where did you send the other four?”

“We’ve only got three rooms,” the guy said.

“I know that,” Reacher said. “Where’s your overspill recommendation?”

“I sent them down to Maston Manor.”

“Where’s that?”

“The other side of Bishops Pargeter. About six mile beyond.”

“I didn’t see another inn on the map.”

“It’s a country house. She takes paying guests.”

One of the farmers half-turned and said, “It’s a bed and breakfast hotel. Very nice. Classier than this place. I reckon they all drew lots and the losers stayed here.”

His friends laughed, low and slow. Barroom humor, the same the world over.

“It’s more expensive there,” the bartender said, defensively.

“It should be,” the farmer said.

“Is it on this road?” Reacher asked.

The bartender nodded. “Straight through Bishops Pargeter, past the church, past Dave Kemp’s shop, keep on about six mile. You can’t miss it. She’s got a sign. Maston Manor.”

“Thanks,” Reacher said. He headed back to the foyer. Closed the door behind him. Stepped across the patterned carpet and stopped in front of the saloon bar’s door. Kowalski was still talking. Reacher could hear him. He put his hand on the knob. Paused a beat and then turned it and pushed the door open.

CHAPTER 72

CARTER GROOM WAS facing the door on the far side of the table. He looked up just like the bartender had but Kowalski and Burke moved a lot faster than the farmers. They spun around and stared. Reacher stepped the rest of the way into the room and closed the door gently behind him. Stood completely still.

“We meet again,” he said, just to break the silence.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Groom said.

The room was decorated in the same style as the foyer. Low ceiling beams, dark varnished wood, ornate wall sconces, thousands of brass ornaments, a wall-to-wall carpet patterned in a riot of red and gold swirls. Reacher moved toward the fireplace. Tapped the toes of his shoes against the edge of the hearth to shed some mud. Took a heavy iron poker from a hook and used the end of it to scrape dirt off his heels. Then he hung the poker back up and flapped at the bottom of his pant legs with his hands. Altogether he spent more than a minute cleaning up, with his back turned, but he was watching a clear convex reflection of the table in a bright copper bucket that held kindling sticks. And nobody was moving. The three guys were just sitting there, waiting. Smart enough not to start anything in a public place.

“The situation has changed,” Reacher said. He moved on, toward the west-facing window. It had open drapes and a sliding storm pane on the inside and a regular wooden frame on the outside that would open like a door. He pulled out a chair from the table nearest to it and sat down, six feet away from the three guys, four feet and two panes of glass away from his rifle.

“Changed how?” Burke said.

“There was no kidnap,” Reacher said. “It was faked. Kate and Taylor are an item. They fell in love, they eloped. Because they wanted to be together. That was all. And they took Jade with them, obviously. But they had to dress the whole thing up, because Lane is a psychopath where his marriages are concerned. Among other things.”

“Kate’s alive?” Groom said.

Reacher nodded. “Jade too.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere in the States, I guess.”

“So why is Taylor here?”

“He wants a showdown with Lane on his own turf.”

“He’s going to get one.”

Reacher shook his head. “I’m here to tell you that’s a bad idea. He’s on a farm, and it’s surrounded by ditches too deep to drive through. So you’d be going in on foot. And he’s got a lot of help there. He’s got eight of his old SAS buddies with him, and his brother-in-law was a kind of Green Beret for the Brits, and he’s brought in six of his guys, too. They’ve got Claymores on a hundred-yard perimeter and heavy machine guns in every window. They’ve got night vision and grenade launchers.”

“They can’t possibly use them. Not here. This is England, not Lebanon.”

“He’s prepared to use them. Believe it. But actually he won’t have to. Because four of the SAS guys are snipers. They’ve got PSG1s. Heckler and Koch sniper rifles, from the black market in Belgium. They’ll drop you all three hundred yards out. With their eyes shut. Seven rounds, game over. They’re miles from anywhere. Nobody will hear. And if they do, they won’t care. This is the back of beyond. Farm country. Somebody’s always shooting something. Foxes, road signs, burglars, each other.”

The room went quiet. Kowalski picked up his drink and sipped. Then Burke did, and then Groom. Kowalski was left-handed. Burke and Groom were right-handed. Reacher said, “So your best play is to just forget it and go home now. Lane is going to die. There’s no doubt about that. But there’s no reason why you should die with him. This isn’t your fight. This is all about Lane’s ego. It’s between him and Kate and Taylor. Don’t get yourselves killed for that kind of bullshit.”

Burke said, “We can’t just walk away.”

“You walked away in Africa,” Reacher said. “You left Hobart and Knight behind, to save the unit. So now you should leave Lane behind, to save yourselves. You can’t win here. Taylor’s good. You know that. And his buddies are just as good. You’re outnumbered more than two to one. Which is totally upside down. You know that, too. A situation like this, you need to outnumber the defenders. You’re going to get your asses kicked.”

Nobody spoke.

“You should go home,” Reacher said again. “Hook up somewhere else. Maybe start up on your own.”

Groom asked, “Are you with Taylor?”

Reacher nodded. “And I’m good with a rifle. Back in the day, I won the Marine sniper trophy. I showed up in army green and I beat all of you miserable jarheads hands down. So maybe I’ll grab one of the PSGs. Maybe I’ll drop you all six hundred yards out, just for the fun of it. Or eight hundred, or a thousand.”

Silence in the room. No sound at all, except the shift and crackle of logs in the fire. Reacher looked straight at Kowalski.

“Five, seven, one, three,” he lied. “That’s the combination for Lane’s closet door. There’s still more than nine million dollars behind it. In cash. You should go get it, right now.”

No response.

“Walk away,” Reacher said. “Live to fight another day.”

“They stole all that money,” Burke said.

“Alimony. Easier than asking for it straight up. Asking for alimony is what got Anne Lane killed. Kate found that out.”

“That was a kidnap.”

Reacher shook his head. “Knight offed her. For Lane, because Anne wanted out. That’s why you all abandoned Knight in Africa. Lane was covering his ass. He sacrificed Hobart too, because he was in the same OP.”