No Plan B (Jack Reacher, #27)

by Lee Child

Minerva Correctional Facility in Winson, Mississippi.

Bruno Hix, Minerva’s Chief Executive and joint founder, at the head of the table. Damon Brockman, Chief Operating Officer and the other joint founder, to Hix’s right. And Curtis Riverdale, the prison’s warden, next to Brockman. The man next to Riverdale, the last one on that side of the table, was wearing a uniform. He was Rod Moseley, Chief of the Winson Police Department.

“It mentions 10:00 a.m. on Friday. Very clearly. The time, the date, the place.”

nodded. “For sure. You can’t miss him. Six-five. Two hundred fifty pounds. Scruffy.”

Jack Reacher arrived in Gerrardsville, Colorado, mid-morning on a Monday, two days before the Minerva guys met in secret for the third time. He had hitched a ride in a truck that was delivering alfalfa bales to a

Less of a jolt than if she’d driven through a deep pothole. Or hit a log. But then, asphalt doesn’t have bones that crush and shatter. Wood doesn’t have organs that rupture and bleed.

Then she dived under its wheels.

The precise aim. There was no way it could have been an accident. She had done it on purpose. He could see no other explanation.

approached he only needed to take a couple of steps to reach her side. His movement was smooth. Fluid. He was more like a shadow than a physical presence.

with broken bones and a concussion. The guy’s foot took care of that. It stopped the woman from moving her own feet. It made sure she pivoted, ankles stationary, arms flailing. And it guaranteed she slammed horizontally onto the ground.

One of her sneakers had fallen off. The guy who had pushed her took a black trash bag from the back pocket of his jeans.

Jabbed at a device that was jammed into his right ear. Barked out a couple of

rummaged inside. The first thing he pulled out was the woman’s wallet. It held a Mississippi driver’s license with the name Angela St. Vrain and an address in a town called Winson. There were three dollars in singles. A wad of receipts

addressed to someone else. Another resident of Winson, Mississippi, called Danny Peel. And it had been opened.

began the life story of a guy named Anton Begovic. Of his adult life, anyway. They told how Begovic had gotten

gambling debt. And a judge ordered Begovic’s release. It was imminent. According to the final record, he was going to be set free at 10:00 a.m. that coming Friday. Reacher

life Jed Starmer didn’t give much thought to the concept of the law. He was aware that laws existed.

mystery about what killed the woman. The who was a different story, though. And so was the why.

Find a job you love and you’ll never work a day in your life. That’s what Lev Emerson

Lev Emerson owned and operated a fire safety business out of a pair of nondescript warehouses on the south side of Chicago. It was a legitimate corporation. It was in good standing with the State of Illinois. It had articles of association. Shareholders. Executive officers. Employees. Accounts with all kinds of recognizable brand-name suppliers. It had plenty of customers, most of whom were satisfied. It paid taxes. It sponsored a local kids’ softball team. And it provided cover

the concrete sidewall on the westbound side. Graeber, his right-hand man, was next to him.

Bruno Hix and Damon Brockman were operating on the assumption that there were four categories of prisoner

fact the oldest. It predated Minerva’s ownership of Winson by several years. It had not been defined by professionals. No doctors were involved in the process. No psychologists. No accountants. Certainly no lawyers. Its members had always been identified by Curtis Riverdale, personally. He relied on his decades of experience. His natural ability to read

at every vehicle he saw. And at every pedestrian who was still out on the street. No one paid any attention to him. All the same Jed hunkered down in his seat when the driver made the final turn into the depot. The last thing he saw was a sign for something called the Texas Prison Shuttle. He had never heard of anything like it and the idea

machines. A group of vending machines full of snacks and drinks. Rows of red plastic seats,

If you don’t want a thing to come back and bite you in the ass, do it yourself. That was a principle Curtis Riverdale had lived by his whole career.

for the Eyeball, Human, Mark One.

Hannah?