Die Trying (Jack Reacher, #2)

by Lee Child

NATHAN RUBIN DIED because he got brave. Not the sustained kind of thing that wins you a medal in a war, but the split-second kind of blurting outrage that gets you killed on the street.

This is a truly outstanding opening line.

He blacked out like a television set in a thunder-storm. The world just disappeared in front of him. It collapsed into a thin hot line and sputtered away to nothing.

Both men were at the absolute top of their respective greasy poles. But which greasy pole was taller? It was a problem for Webster. In the end, it was a problem for him because the truth was his pole was shorter. He controlled a budget of two billion dollars and about twenty-five thousand people. The Chairman oversaw a budget of two hundred billion and about a million people. Two million, if you added in the National Guard and the Reserves. The Chairman was in the Oval Office about once a week. Webster got there twice a year, if he was lucky. No wonder this guy’s office was better.

His eyes were closed because the barn was dark and there was nothing to see. But his mind was wide awake. Not racing, but just powering steadily along with that special nighttime intensity you get in the absence of any other distractions.

He was as American as the President, but he’d lived and served all over the world most of his life. Outside the United States. It had left him knowing his own country about as well as the average seven-year-old knows it. So he couldn’t decode the subtle rhythms and feel and smells of America as well as he wanted to. It was possible that somebody else could interpret the unseen contours of the invisible landscape or the feel of the air or the temperature of the night and say yes, I’m in this state now or that state now. It was possible people could do that. But Reacher couldn’t. It gave him a problem.

Holy shit this is an incredible summary of Reacher's whole ethos

Three against one, both times, but they were three amateurs against Jack Reacher, and he felt comfortable enough about those odds.

Baddasssss

She wasn’t asking for his help. And because she wasn’t asking for it, she was going to get it.

REACHER YOU SOFTIE

Longest I’ve ever stayed anywhere was ten consecutive days. Last fall, in Georgia. Ten days, out of fourteen months. Apart from that, I’ve been on the road, more or less all the time.”

THE EVENTS OF THE FIRST BOOK WERE ONLY TEN DAYS?!

Bureau looks after its own, right? Never fails.” The two Bureau chiefs let the lie die into silence and hung up their phones together.

Oh nooooooo

“The answer’s right there in the words you used,” he said. “The reasons would be invented. Fact is, we could do Desert Storm again, if we had to. No problem. Everybody knows that.

GHAHAHAHAH

“Five!” he screamed.

They had pushed open the forbidden door, not knowing what would come bursting back out at them.

“You feel OK?” she asked him. “You killed a man.” He was quiet for a long moment. “He wasn’t the first,” he said. “And I just decided he won’t be the last.”

BadDASS

Within twenty minutes, he was told, you’ll have more backup than you’ve ever dreamed of. Until then, he was told, you’re the most important lawman in America.

I love how Child gives these big moments to ancilary characters

One hundred and thirteen was a prime number. You couldn’t make it by multiplying any other numbers together. Hundred and twelve, you could make by multiplying fifty-six by two, or twenty-eight by four, or fourteen by eight. Hundred and fourteen, you could make by multiplying fifty-seven by two or nineteen by six, or thirty-eight by three. But one hundred and thirteen was prime. No factors. The only way to make a hundred and thirteen was by multiplying a hundred and thirteen by one. Or by firing a shotgun into a truck in a rage.

I truly love how Reacher's brain works

The guy raised both arms in a descriptive little gesture. “This is a brand-new country,” he said.

HOOLEE SHIT this is GREAT

The rule said: hope for the best, but plan for the worst.

“You sure?” Reacher said again. He was keeping his voice somewhere between worried and skeptical. “I never heard about any of this stuff.”

Fucking HYSTERICAL

“With my life,” he said. “I don’t know why he’s there, but I promise you he’s clean, and he’s going to do what needs doing, or he’s going to die trying.”

HE SAID THE THING

Fowler behind the desk, holding out the pack. Reacher shrugged and nodded. Took a cigarette with his free right hand. He hadn’t smoked in ten years, but when somebody offers you a lethal weapon, you take it.

Trés Badäss

Six hours is three hundred and sixty minutes. They wasted the first two sitting in silence. Johnson stared into space. Webster drummed his fingers on the table. Garber stared at McGrath, a wry expression on his face. McGrath was staring at the map. Milosevic and Brogan were standing in the silence, holding the brown bags of breakfast and the Styrofoam cups.

People, Reacher was certain about. Dogs were different. People had freedom of choice. If a man or a woman ran snarling toward him, they did so because they chose to. They were asking for whatever they got. His response was their problem. But dogs were different. No free will. Easily misled. It raised an ethical problem. Shooting a dog because it had been induced to do something unwise was not the sort of thing Reacher wanted to do.

This is an incredible distillation of Reacher's morality.

Time to time, he had heard people talking about dogs. They said: never show fear. Stare the dog down. Don’t let it know you’re afraid. Reacher wasn’t afraid. He was standing there with an M-16 in his hands. The only thing he was worried about was having to use it.

“Used to work for him,” he said. “Garber told us you were clean,” McGrath said. “We didn’t believe him.” “Naturally,” Reacher said. “Garber always tells the truth. So nobody ever believes him.”

“You’re pretty quick for an old guy,” he said. “That’s how I got to be an old guy,” McGrath said back.

Beautiful

despair. He had seen her in his mind at the end of the tunnel. Holly. Then the tunnel seemed to straighten and become a warm smooth tube. An exact fit for his bulky shoulders. Like it was tailored for him, and him alone. A simple horizontal journey. He had learned a long time ago that some things were worth being afraid of. And some things were not. Things that he had done before and survived did not justify fear. To be afraid of a survivable thing was irrational. And whatever else he was, Reacher knew he was a rational man.

“Look at the roof,” Holly told him. McGrath looked. The roof was streaked with dark green paint, but he could see it was peppered with tiny holes. Like somebody had fired a shotgun right through it. “We stared at those damn holes for two whole days,” Holly said. “I’ll remember them the rest of my life.” “There are a hundred and thirteen of them,” Reacher said. “I counted. It’s a prime number.”

What a fucking incredible callback