Chapter 3
The man who walked in didn’t bother closing the door behind him.
He was big. Not as big as Joe, but solid in a way that suggested functional strength instead of gym work. Thick shoulders. Barrel chest. Hands like cinder blocks, scarred in places that didn’t come from paper cuts or weekend projects.
Mid-fifties, maybe. Short gray hair clipped close. He wore a plain sport coat over an open-collar shirt and slacks that didn’t quite fit right, like he’d put them on out of obligation.
No tie. No pin. No flag on the lapel.
Not a politician.
A field guy forced indoors.
He stood there for a moment, studying Reacher.
Then he stepped inside and closed the door.
“Joe Reacher,” the man said. His voice was low and even. No accent. No warmth. “I’m Chambers.”
He didn’t offer a hand.
Reacher didn’t either.
Chambers pulled out the chair opposite Reacher and sat, the cheap metal frame protesting under his weight. He placed his hands flat on the table, fingers spread, like he was grounding himself.
“How long were you in Army Intelligence?” Chambers asked.
Reacher didn’t answer right away. He watched Chambers’ eyes and saw nothing but a blank expression.
“Long enough,” Reacher said. “Besides you already know that.”
Chambers nodded. “Field operations.”
“Yes.”
“Central America,” Chambers said.
Reacher said nothing.
Chambers leaned back slightly. “You saw combat.”
“Why am I here?”
Chambers ignored the questions. “You handled assets.”
“Of course.”
“Interrogations.”
Reacher met his eyes. “Yeah, I’m no stranger to them. Want me to critique you so far?”
A flicker of something crossed Chambers’ face. Surprise, maybe, or annoyance.
“Ever operate outside official channels?” Chambers asked.
Reacher shrugged once. “Depends on who you ask.”
Before Chambers could follow up, Reacher added, “Is this the part where you tell me who you work for, or do we circle a few more times first?”
Chambers didn’t react immediately. He glanced at the legal pad—still blank—then back at Reacher.
“Does it matter?” Chambers said.
“Right now it feels like a fishing expedition,” Reacher replied.
Chambers considered that. Then he said, “You’re not the one asking questions here.”
Reacher nodded mildly. “That’s usually what people say when they don’t want to answer one.”
Chambers exhaled through his nose. Almost a smile. Then he tapped the legal pad with one finger.
“Bill Kinsman,” he said.
Reacher kept his expression neutral. “What about him?”
“You served under him.”
“Yes.”
“Your CO.”
“Yes. How far back does this go?” Reacher asked calmly. “Are we talking about something current, or are you reopening a file that should’ve stayed closed?”
Chambers ignored the question.
“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?”
Chambers ignored the question.
Reacher laughed softly and left the room.