“You been in contact with Kinsman recently?”
“No.”
“How recently?” Chambers pressed.
“I haven’t seen or spoken to him since I left the Army.”
Chambers tilted his head slightly. “Phone calls?”
“No.”
“Letters?”
“No.”
“Third parties?”
Reacher shook his head. “No. Why? Is he missing?”
Chambers’ eyes narrowed just a fraction.
“No,” Chambers said.
Reacher let that sit. “Dead?”
Chambers held his gaze. “Not to my knowledge.”
“Then what is he?” Reacher asked.
A silence settled between them.
Chambers studied Reacher for a long beat, as if he were measuring the truth against something he already had.
Then he leaned forward again, forearms on the table.
“You sure about that?” he said quietly. “You’ve had no contact with him in the past year?”
“Jesus Christ, you already know the answer to that, too.”
Another silence.
Chambers leaned back again. His jaw tightened just a fraction. Disappointment, Reacher thought. Or frustration.
Or both.
Reacher decided to push once more.
“Let me take a stab in the dark here,” Reacher said. “This isn’t about anything I’ve done. It’s about what you think Kinsman did or that he’s doing. And whether you think I’d help him if he reached out.”
Chambers’ face remained unreadable.
“All right,” Chambers said at last. He stood, smoothing his jacket like the conversation had exhausted him. “That’ll be all for now.”
“Did I hit a little too close to home?” Reacher asked.
Chambers met his gaze, then pushed a slip of paper toward him. “You need to attend this meeting. They’re expecting you in thirty minutes.”
Joe looked at the address. “You’re not even going to give me your acronym? CIA? NSA? DIA? FBI?”
