The person lifted the rifle out. Checked the action. Smooth. No grit. No hesitation.
The ammunition was in a separate case. Custom loads. Sierra MatchKing bullets. 190 grain. Boat tail hollow point. Powder charge worked up over hundreds of test rounds. Consistent velocity within five feet per second. Consistent accuracy within a quarter minute of angle.
The person selected twenty rounds, placed them in a padded case and closed it.
Everything was then packed. The rifle. The scope. The ammunition. A rangefinder. A ballistic calculator. A weather meter. Tools for adjustments. Cleaning supplies. Everything needed for a long-range shot.
Everything needed to kill two men.
PART FOUR
16
The conference room at Buzzard Point was a paragon of muted frustration.
Agent Winthrow stood at the head of the table, her arms crossed, watching the wall map where colored pins marked militia activity across seventeen states.
The Army Intelligence officer sat rigid in his chair, pale eyes fixed on a folder in front of him. The CIA man occupied the corner, brown suit blending into the shadows, saying nothing.
And the tall man stood near the window, relaxed but present.
"Idaho team reports no movement at the Hayden Lake compound," Winthrow said. "Surveillance continues. Montana has three active sites under watch. We've got cooperation from sheriffs in two counties, resistance in four others."
"Wiretaps?" the Army officer asked.
"Seventeen lines. Mostly chatter. Some coded language we're working to decrypt. Nothing actionable yet."
The Army officer opened his folder. "And Michigan? What did the crime scene people say?"
Winthrow didn't hesitate. "Murder and torture. Koshak died slowly. No prints as of yet. No leads.”
“What about Reacher and Simmons?” he asked.
“They’re in position. I told them to stand by.”
"Stand by?" the Army officer asked. "We don’t have time for that. Reacher was supposed to have inside intelligence."
Winthrow looked at him. "Excuse me?"
"They've been there three days. What do we have? A dead CI. A fight in the parking lot. And two federal agents whose cover is so blown the locals are jumping them."
He leaned forward.
"Treasury has no business running field operations. Reacher's a financial crimes analyst. He tracks money, not militants. Simmons is ATF, fine, but he's undercover and that cover is compromised. They're not producing intelligence. They're not getting closer to Kinsman. They're a liability."
"They found the CI," Winthrow said.
"Dead. That's hardly what anyone could call progress."
"It's a lead."
"It's a body." The Army officer closed the folder. "We need operators. People trained for this. Not a Treasury agent whose face is already known playing detective and an ATF man short on experience."
Winthrow's jaw tightened. "Reacher has relevant experience. Army Intelligence background. He understands how these networks operate. And the parking lot incident tells me they're close to something. People don't send three men to deliver a message unless they're worried."
"Or unless they're stupid," the Army officer said. "Which most of these militia types are."
The CIA man finally spoke. His voice was quiet, almost conversational. "Stupid people don't coordinate across state lines. They don't build training camps or stockpile military-grade explosives. Underestimating them is how we got The Order. How we got CSA."
