"Ahhh!"
As Langston screamed in agony, Jack tightened the tourniquet mercilessly. The old bastard sure was tough—he hadn't passed out yet despite all this.
"Are you coming along?" Reacher stood inside the helicopter cabin and waved at Lavoie's three bodyguards, asking loudly.
"Of course." The female ranger was clearly the leader of the three. She waved her hand to signal the other two to follow.
As she passed by Jack, she deliberately teased, "Where did that ridiculous little mustache of yours go, handsome?"
Jack just shrugged and didn't answer. He wasn't in disguise for today's operation—this was his real face.
"The pilot knows the destination," Dickson said quietly as she leaned in toward Jack and Reacher. "They're meeting the middleman at an engineer's house. The engineer will demonstrate how to install the chip into a missile and walk them through the full launch process."
Reacher twitched the corner of his mouth. Among the group, he looked the worst off—not only was his face covered in bruises, he'd also been splattered with blood earlier and had only wiped it off casually with his discarded jacket.
Hearing that, a vicious grin spread across his face, making him look like a vengeful ghost under the dim cabin lights. It sent a chill down one's spine. "Tell him he'd better keep this bird flying steady."
The helicopter slowly lifted into the air. Besides Reacher's special investigators, only the three bodyguards were on board. Not a single member of the fugitive task force was present, except for Jack. In fact, most of them hadn't even revealed themselves.
The female ranger nudged Jack with her elbow and asked casually, "Hey handsome, who were those people down there?"
"We hired a few mercenaries. They provided the gear too," Jack replied with a bright smile, flashing eight gleaming white teeth, looking completely innocent.
The AS332 Super Puma headed northwest. According to the pilot, the house belonging to an engineer from "New Era Technologies" was located on a small farm near Rochester.
Looking at the vast forest stretching into the distance, Reacher could hardly wait. "Tell the pilot to open the rear hatch."
As the high-altitude wind rushed in, Langston—who had been barely conscious and slumped against the cabin wall—suddenly opened his eyes wide.
"Wait, wait!" He tried desperately to crawl into a corner, but Reacher grabbed him by one leg and dragged him toward the open hatch.
"No! No! No! No! No!" Langston flailed his remaining arm wildly, trying to grab onto anything. "I'm still useful! I can help you stop those missiles from falling into terrorist hands!"
Without saying a word, Reacher dragged him to the hatch, grabbed him by the collar, and forced him upright. Langston's legs gave out and kicked helplessly. He couldn't stand at all, practically being lifted by force, with half his body already hanging in the air.
"No! No! No!" Langston's face was covered in tears and snot as he wept like a sixty-year-old child. "Don't kill me! Turn me over to the FBI! I'll cooperate! I'll tell you everything you want to know! I'll help you catch the middleman!"
"No. We don't need you." Reacher released his grip and slowly pried off Langston's left hand, which was clutching his arm.
"No! Ahhhh!!!"
As the big guy fulfilled his earlier promise, Jack handed the first aid kit to Dickson, pulling out alcohol and gauze so she could clean the blood-soaked Reacher.
The rear hatch of the helicopter slowly closed. Reacher pulled out a glass jar from inside his jacket, startling everyone. Jack took it and glanced inside, immediately understanding. He sighed softly.
"If this were a battlefield, at least Swann wouldn't be marked as MIA." O'Donnell gave a bitter smile, picked up the first aid kit that Dickson had tossed aside, took off his jacket, and carefully wrapped the glass jar before placing it inside the box.
—
"There are still a few personal scores to settle, but we'll keep our promise to Lavoie," Jack said with a smile to the three bodyguards.
"Just get it done before dawn," the female ranger replied easily. She even gave someone a flirtatious wink before leading the pilot and engineer toward the barn.
Watching the three bodyguards walk toward the barn and shut the door behind them, O'Donnell couldn't help but sneer, "You really think they'll just let us go after this?"
"I already told Reacher, we need to give our congressman friend a 'chance,'" Jack replied with a wink, and the two of them walked into the house, closing the door behind them.
Inside, the fireplace was blazing. Dickson was adding firewood to it. The farm was at a relatively high elevation. Though it hadn't snowed yet, the nighttime outdoor temperature was already close to freezing.
A large table sat in the middle of the room, on which two portable missile launchers were already loaded and ready. Now they just had to wait for the mysterious middleman—who liked to go by the alias "AM"—to arrive and make the deal.
Negri fiddled curiously with one of the launchers. Seeing the time was about right, she walked over to the window, lifted a corner of the curtain, and peered outside.
In the distance, headlights flickered. A semi-truck hauling a shipping container was approaching the farm.
"They're here." She quickly dropped the curtain, checked her weapon, and moved toward the back.
"Well, that saves us some trouble. They even brought the missiles with them," Jack said as he moved to the door, leaned against the frame, and chambered a round. Looking back at Reacher, who still radiated murderous intent, he sighed.
"Please, whether you're planning to throw him out of a plane or turn him into Swiss cheese, at least let me find out who the buyer is first."
"Got it," Reacher growled, though it was unclear if he actually listened.
Through the thin curtain, they could see the truck stop not far from the house. A man in a short trench coat jumped down from the cab, carrying a large suitcase.
Strangely, the guy walked awkwardly—limping and glancing over his shoulder repeatedly.
Then the passenger-side door of the truck opened, and a tall figure gracefully stepped out. Though the curtain obscured the details, the silhouette was unmistakably feminine.
"'AM' is a woman?" Dickson, who had come to the window to observe, let out a surprised hum.
"And a damn fine-looking one. Smoking hot," O'Donnell added with a lecherous grin as he sneaked a peek through the curtain, only to get elbowed by Dickson.
The man in the trench coat, suitcase in hand, staggered up to the door, glanced back at the woman behind him, took a deep breath, and knocked twice.
Reacher yanked open the door, shoving a gun barrel against the man's forehead, making his eyes go wide with terror. At the same time, Negri, who had circled around from the back, was now under the porch, aiming her MDX508 straight at the woman standing behind the trench coat guy.
"Negri, don't shoot!" Jack, who had been blocked by Reacher's large frame, stepped outside and finally saw the woman's face. He immediately cried out in alarm.
"Jack, miss me?" the woman said playfully, completely unfazed by the gun pointed at her. She winked at him and then threw her arms around him, planting a full-on French kiss right on his lips.
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