After she’d cleared security, Kim noticed the television mounted on the wall above the reception desk. The story that had filled the national newscasts for days was all about the mysterious poisoning of a North Korean diplomat in New York, identified by the American news media as Hana Pak.
After being hospitalized for a couple of days, the man had died. She’d heard lots of saber-rattling from the North Korean government, but he had no family and few friends. Not many who knew him or knew of him mourned Hana Pak.
She took the elevator and walked down the corridor to the Boss’s office, removing her trench coat and folding the wet sides together. She draped it over her arm, knocked on the big wooden door, and entered.
She glanced out the window behind his desk.
The view wasn’t that impressive. When she’d worked in a Chicago law firm, her first job after law school, her boss had been a mid-level partner. He’d had a much better office than this, with a stunning view of the city. His annual income was about ten times higher than the director of the bureau, too.
She could have surpassed her old boss by now. Sometimes she regretted getting off the glide path to a big law leadership job. Finding her soul mate. Starting a family. She’d left all of that behind a long time ago, too. Had she made the right choices?
Some days, she really wondered.
A television played Hana Pak news, which had been all over every broadcast station. The Boss was half listening while standing near the large desk, a hammer in his hand. He was hanging a framed photo of himself with the president. When she entered, he gave the nail two solid whacks and squared the picture on the wall. He placed the hammer on his desk and gestured her toward a chair.
He picked up the remote and turned off the TV.
“Strange story, isn’t it?” Kim said, shaking her head. “Some North Korean diplomat who never comes to the US is in New York for two days, and someone kills him.”
“Pak was a butcher who had a lot of enemies. One was finally able to kill him. No real surprise. Did the world a favor,” he replied absently.
“You knew the guy?” She stood behind the chair he’d offered.
“Anyone who served in South Korea for any period of time bumped up against Pak, one way or another. Never a pleasant experience.” The Boss shrugged and changed the subject. “I’m worried about you, Otto.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. His simple statement seemed ominous, considering the source. She knew he had no affection for her. The feeling was mutual now, although their relationship had been much better once. Another thing that had changed.
He settled into the oversized black leather chair, his back toward the window, and folded his hands over a slim blue folder on the desktop. He waved her to sit in one of the chairs opposite the desk and waited until she perched on it.
“You haven’t begun to romanticize Reacher, have you?” he asked.
The question was bizarre, and it immediately raised her blood pressure. She arched her eyebrows, stalling. “Whatever do you mean?”
“This assignment is difficult. Not many could handle the demands. I thought you were up to it. Your record suggested that you were the best agent for the job.” He paused, staring at her as if he could see all the way to her soul. “Was I wrong?”
CHAPTER THREE
Wednesday, May 11
Washington, DC
9:35 a.m.
What could she say to that?
The Reacher assignment wasn’t merely difficult. It was damned impossible. Had been from the start.
She’d seen more action and collateral damage in the past few weeks than in all of her life before. Her assignment was so far from difficult that the understatement was laughable.
Yet, it seemed like he wanted a response from her, so she simply said, “I appreciate your confidence.”
She left out the “Sir.” They were long past that level.
“I have confidence that Reacher is the best man for the job we need him to do. I’m worried that my confidence in you has been misplaced,” he replied sternly, like a father chastising his daughter for breaking curfew. “You haven’t found Reacher yet. I’m beginning to wonder if you ever will.”
As if he’d believed in the team when Gaspar was her partner. But now that Gaspar had retired, she was somehow lacking. That’s what she interpreted from his tone.
Kim felt fury rising in her gut. Who was he to find her wanting? She was the one who’d been out there, in the fight, dodging bullets and worse while he sat back and watched.
He was welcome to do the job himself if he thought he could do it better. Or find someone else to use for cannon fodder.
Grace under pressure, her mother’s voice repeated in her head. She didn’t speak every thought that came into her head.
She nodded. “It would help if I knew what the job is that you want Reacher to do.”
“Still classified and above your clearance.” He frowned. “You don’t need to know.”
“It would help me to understand what I’m doing. Perform better,” she said stubbornly.
“If you can’t work under these parameters, now’s the time to say so, Otto,” he stated flatly.
She held her temper. The straitjacket was okay when she thought she was merely conducting a background check on a job candidate.
Now that her assignment had been upgraded to a manhunt, she wanted more intel.
Not that it mattered what she wanted.
She wasn’t going to get more intel.
Take it or leave it.
And leaving it was simply not an option.
The Boss tapped the blue folder with two fingers. “The last few reports you’ve filed seem…misguided. Off-center.”
“How so?” she asked, controlling her anger with the sheer force of will.
He frowned and leaned in, an expression resembling concern on his face. As if he cared what happened to her. She knew damn well he didn’t give a whit.
Matter-of-factly, he said, “You’ve gone off-mission. Reacher is not some sort of romantic hero. Not even remotely. Get that out of your head.”
“You’re kidding me.” Her tone was barely civil, wondering where this was going and how soon she could escape.
“Make no mistake, Otto. Reacher can seem like a good man. He’s not. Underneath a paper-thin suit of civility, he’s a vicious killer. Particularly when provoked. And a lot of things provoke him.”
She nodded. Tell me something I don’t know.
“The army created him. Intentionally. We spent a lot of time and a lot of money training him to be exactly what he is,” he lowered his chin and stared over his reading glasses. “And he’s damned good at it. You’ve seen all his commendations, medals. You know he’s an expert.”
“Yeah, I understand that, even from the thin file of intel you gave me,” she said, pure rage bubbling beneath the words.
She could have said there was more to Reacher than his skills as a soldier.
She’d seen Reacher’s aftermath, up close and personal. She knew how he rolled.
She might have pointed out that Reacher had saved her life. More than once.
But she didn’t say any of those things.
What would be the point? Arguing with the Boss solved nothing. Unless she wanted to quit now. Which she most definitely did not.