"Rangers or Green Berets?" Reacher squinted slightly, a hint of calculation in his eyes as he looked at the pair in front of him.
"Rangers," said the woman in black. She was a white woman in her early thirties, not particularly striking in appearance, but her formal attire couldn't hide the aura of a coiled panther ready to strike.
The man beside her, though also short, had a stocky build. Just one look at his haircut—bald up front with just a bit of fuzz in the back—made it clear he was a hardened type.
He ignored Jack entirely and stepped up to Reacher with an impatient tone.
"The Senator has a proposal for you. Get in the car. You only."
"No," Reacher refused flatly. "He's my friend. Wherever I go, he goes."
The two exchanged a look. The woman clearly called the shots. She gave Jack a once-over, then reluctantly nodded. "Fine. Both of you."
"No," Reacher repeated.
"Is there a problem, Mr. Reacher?" the woman asked, frowning.
"Just Reacher," he said, clearly uncomfortable with the "Mr." prefix.
"Okay, Reacher. Is there still a problem?" she asked, a little confused.
"He's rude," Reacher said, glancing at the bald man.
"Okay, Hart," the woman said, turning to her partner. "What's that magic word again?"
The bald man's face had just twisted into a sneer when he caught her warning look and had to compose himself. He stretched out his right hand politely. "Please, get in the car."
Satisfied, Reacher smiled and climbed into the front GMC SUV with the door already open. Jack rolled his eyes and got in from the other side.
He wasn't sure how Reacher had identified the woman as Army, but the tattoo on the bald guy's neck clearly marked him as a SEAL—explaining why an ex-Army MP like Reacher suddenly got so petty.
The two black GMCs drove straight into the Smithsonian National Zoo. When the driver got out along with the others, Jack noticed he was Asian and had the same skull-shield tattoo on his neck. Another SEAL.
SEAL Team Six, where Clay had served, was an entirely different unit—more like Delta compared to the Rangers. SEAL Team Six was now officially called DEVGRU: the Naval Special Warfare Development Group.
Having just witnessed a little inter-service rivalry between the Army and Navy, Jack couldn't tell if it was childish or just dumb. After all, he wasn't even military himself. Now, he was just a tagalong, strolling with the group into a room behind an animal enclosure.
The smell was unpleasant, the monkeys were loud, and the sign at the entrance read "Primate Exhibit."
"Bit over the top to meet in a place like this, don't you think?" Reacher said with a smirk as he eyed the empty cages.
"Maybe you'd feel more at home surrounded by gorillas," the bald guy shot back quickly, finally finding a moment to return the earlier insult before retreating to the door, giving Reacher no chance to respond.
From the hallway at the other end of the room emerged a man in a black trench coat and polished leather shoes—white-haired, with a bright, practiced smile.
"Mr. Reacher, I'm Malcolm Lavoie."
"He prefers to be called just Reacher," said the woman at the door, now playing bodyguard.
"No, from him, it must include 'Mr.'" Reacher stood stiffly, not offering a handshake, speaking like a man with taxpayer pride.
The senator didn't bat an eye. He flipped his outstretched hand casually and tucked it back into his coat as if that had been the intention all along.
"Mr. Reacher—and you must be Mr. Ryan? I apologize for bringing you here in this way."
Jack gave him a fake smile. His mustache twitched slightly. The man had called him "Ryan," which meant he'd done some digging—but not very accurately.
"You picked this spot because it's one of the few places in D.C. where you can avoid prying eyes, right?" Reacher said with a faintly mocking tone.
"Mmm, you're very sharp, Mr. Reacher. That's precisely why I joined the zoo's board," said Senator Lavoie. Though his hair was white, his wrinkle-free forehead and carefully maintained appearance gave him the look of a man who'd simply gone gray early.
He snapped his fingers. From the corridor came another figure—one Reacher recognized from just the night before.
"Ah, I believe you remember my legislative aide, Mr. Boyd?"
"Of course. The guy with a taste for cocaine," Reacher said bluntly.
Still wearing his polished politician's grin, Lavoie replied, "When I learned about that, I contacted a friend at the FBI.
Just imagine Mr. Boyd's shock and relief when he realized he'd spilled some of our little secrets to two men posing as federal agents.
So he did a little damage control. Fortunately, the precinct's surveillance didn't fail at a critical moment for once. Facial recognition matched you with a military file."
"Jack Reacher, West Point graduate. One Bronze Star, two Silver Stars, one Purple Heart, blah blah blah," Boyd read lazily off his phone, a far cry from his cowering demeanor the night before.
"Show some respect," Lavoie chided him with mock sternness.
He turned back to Reacher with an apologetic look. "That's quite the record. Thank you for your service."
Reacher stood motionless, deadpan as the two performed their little scripted act.
"My apologies—Boyd looked into you both without your consent. We're not sure why the Major left such a promising military career or disappeared afterward.
But a strange incident in Margrave, Georgia, a few years ago caught our attention. Your brother Joey nearly lost his life while investigating a large counterfeiting ring.
Then the whole criminal enterprise suddenly collapsed—everyone involved died, even the counterfeit factory burned down.
According to official records, all this was done by a retired soldier, a recently fired NYPD detective-turned-PI, and two small-town cops."
"Not fired. I quit and then became a private investigator," Jack corrected. He had faked that background himself, but there was a big difference between being fired and resigning.
"Apologies, my mistake," Lavoie said with a smile so polished it sent a shiver down Jack's spine.
"Can we get to the point? This place reeks of monkey crap," Reacher snapped, his patience running out. He'd never liked politicians, and now that they'd basically uncovered the whole case, he only stuck around because Jack had asked him to help "take down" this senator.
"I know you're behind what happened in Margrave, Mr. Reacher. And I know you went to DHS to speak with Joey Reacher.
I can offer similar support—intel, weapons, manpower. All I ask is that you do what you did in Margrave again," Lavoie said, finally dropping the fake charm and growing serious.
"Why?" Reacher asked, throwing in a hint of acting, even glancing nervously at the guards, as if he'd actually been cornered.
If Jack hadn't been standing right there—who had forged the fake Margrave reports with Reacher's help—he might've believed it himself.
"Because of what you told Boyd in Boston," Lavoie said. "You're concerned these weapons might fall into the wrong hands, right? I was shocked the penny-pinchers on New Era Tech's board knew nothing.
So my people tracked down a junior board member responsible for the Denver plant. With a little persuasion, he confessed everything."
He pulled a USB drive from his pocket and handed it to Reacher. "The guy owed a ton of gambling debts. After taking $2 million in bearer bonds, he installed a GPS tracker on a missile shipment truck.
Then I heard your team tried to intercept the hijacked truck—and nearly succeeded.
I was impressed, and pleased to see your Special Investigation Unit back in action, still as effective as ever, even though some of your members didn't survive."
Seeing Reacher's expression flicker, Lavoie smiled, clearly thinking he held the upper hand. "No need to look so surprised, Mr. Reacher. I'm a senator. I get things done."
Reacher smirked. "I'm just shocked a senator could get anything done so quickly."
Lavoie chuckled self-deprecatingly. "I've gotten used to that sort of insult."
Then his face turned serious again. "The point is, we can't let these weapons fall into terrorist hands. On that, we're aligned—aren't we, Mr. Reacher?"
Reacher sneered. "Of course. DHS has already linked this to terrorism. Maybe you can cover it up for now, but if one of those missiles hits a domestic airliner, or shows up in a hostile nation, people will start digging.
And they'll find out you were involved from the beginning in shady dealings around the 'Little Wings' project. No one will be able to protect you then."
"So take out the bad guys—and make me come out clean. That's what we call a win-win in Washington." Lavoie spread his hands, his tone shifting into that of a speech on Capitol Hill.
"I'm doing everything I can to give this country the tools it needs to defend democracy. I just took a few shortcuts, cut some red tape. No one can question my motives."
"And made some money on the side, right?" Reacher scoffed.
"Again—that's a win-win," Lavoie said shamelessly, stepping closer and locking eyes with Reacher.
"Let me be clear. I don't want innocent people to die because of these weapons. I'm a politician, not a psychopath, Mr. Reacher.
And this isn't me asking for help. This is me offering it."
He pointed a finger at Reacher. "I know what kind of man you are. Vengeful, ruthless. Your military record and what you did in Margrave prove it.
I like that. Keep it up. Eliminate the bad guys. When needed, you can call me for help.
And I promise—when it's over, all records will be erased. Just like before.
Use your violence to destroy everything, shatter every trace, take down the villains. No evidence, no follow-up. Then you can disappear again. No one will come looking. Your friends can go back to their quiet lives."
——
"Whew," Reacher exhaled heavily once they left the primate exhibit and merged into the crowd of zoo visitors. He raised his arm and glanced at his clenched, veiny fist.
"One more second and I'd have smashed that bastard's face in."
"That's the first time I've heard a politician speak that many honest words in one go. What more do you want?" Jack joked as he pulled out his phone and called Joey.
"How's the recording? Okay—turning it into legal wiretap evidence is your DHS problem now.
Also, the senator gave us new evidence. We now know why AM was in Denver—he bribed a board member from the plant.
The hijacking was pre-arranged, their delivery method agreed upon. Now we just need to find those missing missiles or follow the chip trail to Langston. That'll lead us to AM."
After the call, Jack counted off on his fingers. "Dixon has no living close family. O'Donnell's family is off on vacation. Negley's father is in poor health and hard to move, but the FBI's got someone protecting him.
Our special investigation unit is secure for now, but we're still missing one key witness. She might help us solve the final mystery—especially the part about Tony Swann."
"Then let's grab O'Donnell and head back to New York. Hope your two girlfriends pulled through and found Marlo Burns," Reacher said, pulling a few coins from his pocket and buying them both ice cream cones.
"Shut it, Big Jack. Mention that again and I'm calling Roscoe to New York. I bet she'd be thrilled to come if she hears your name," Jack growled before chomping half his cone in one bite.
______
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