Chapter 16
The conference room at Buzzard Point was a paragon of muted frustration.
Agent Winthrow stood at the head of the table, her arms crossed, watching the wall map where colored pins marked militia activity across seventeen states.
The Army Intelligence officer sat rigid in his chair, pale eyes fixed on a folder in front of him. The CIA man occupied the corner, brown suit blending into the shadows, saying nothing.
And the tall man stood near the window, relaxed but present.
"Idaho team reports no movement at the Hayden Lake compound," Winthrow said. "Surveillance continues. Montana has three active sites under watch. We've got cooperation from sheriffs in two counties, resistance in four others."
"Wiretaps?" the Army officer asked.
"Seventeen lines. Mostly chatter. Some coded language we're working to decrypt. Nothing actionable yet."
The Army officer opened his folder. "And Michigan? What did the crime scene people say?"
Winthrow didn't hesitate. "Murder and torture. Koshak died slowly. No prints as of yet. No leads.”
“What about Reacher and Simmons?” he asked.
“They’re in position. I told them to stand by.”
"Stand by?" the Army officer asked. "We don’t have time for that. Reacher was supposed to have inside intelligence."
Winthrow looked at him. "Excuse me?"
"They've been there three days. What do we have? A dead CI. A fight in the parking lot. And two federal agents whose cover is so blown the locals are jumping them."
He leaned forward.
"Treasury has no business running field operations. Reacher's a financial crimes analyst. He tracks money, not militants. Simmons is ATF, fine, but he's undercover and that cover is compromised. They're not producing intelligence. They're not getting closer to Kinsman. They're a liability."
"They found the CI," Winthrow said.
"Dead. That's hardly what anyone could call progress."
"It's a lead."
"It's a body." The Army officer closed the folder. "We need operators. People trained for this. Not a Treasury agent whose face is already known playing detective and an ATF man short on experience."
Winthrow's jaw tightened. "Reacher has relevant experience. Army Intelligence background. He understands how these networks operate. And the parking lot incident tells me they're close to something. People don't send three men to deliver a message unless they're worried."
"Or unless they're stupid," the Army officer said. "Which most of these militia types are."
The CIA man finally spoke. His voice was quiet, almost conversational. "Stupid people don't coordinate across state lines. They don't build training camps or stockpile military-grade explosives. Underestimating them is how we got The Order. How we got CSA."
The Army officer didn't respond.
The tall man turned from the window. "What's the timeline on the other operations?"
Winthrow consulted her notes. "Idaho team estimates two weeks before they have enough for warrants. Montana is slower. The compounds are remote. Hard to surveil without being spotted. We've got informants in three groups, but they're low level. No access to leadership."
"And Kinsman?"
"Still missing. No confirmed sightings since January. Financial activity stopped six weeks ago. Either he's gone to ground or he's dead."
"He's not dead," the tall man said. “Reacher needs to find him. I think he can do it.”
Everyone looked at him.
"If Kinsman were dead, someone would've taken credit. These groups love martyrs. They'd be circulating his name, his story, his ideology. The fact that he's silent means he's operational."
The Army officer shifted in his seat. "Which brings us back to Michigan. If Kinsman's operational, and if Reacher and Simmons are our best shot at finding him, then we need results. Not excuses."
"They've had three days," Winthrow said.
"Three days is a long time when you're blown."
"They're not blown. They're noticed. There's a difference."
"Not to the people who jumped Simmons."
Winthrow set her pen down. "You want to pull them?"
"I want to replace them. With people who know what they're doing."
"Reacher knows what he's doing."
"If you say so."
"He's former Army Intelligence. He's worked counterintelligence. He understands operational security and network analysis. And he's smart enough not to get himself killed."
The Army officer smiled thinly. "Yet."
The tall man raised a hand. Not a command. Just a gesture. The room went quiet.
"We're not pulling them," he said. "Not yet."
The Army officer opened his mouth. The tall man continued.
"But we need movement. Winthrow, call Reacher. Tell him we need actionable intelligence within forty-eight hours. Names. Locations. Connections to Kinsman. Something we can use."
Winthrow nodded. "Understood."
"And tell him the parking lot incident is noted. If their cover is compromised, he needs to adjust. Go deeper or pull back. But he doesn't get to sit in the middle and hope nobody notices."
"I'll make it clear."
The tall man looked at the Army officer. "We keep them in play. For now. But if they don't produce, we reassess."
The Army officer didn't argue. He just closed his folder and leaned back.
The CIA man spoke again, still quiet. "There's another concern."
Everyone turned.
"If Kinsman is operational, and if he's coordinating multiple groups, then he's planning something large. Not a statement. Not a symbolic act. Something that requires logistics, timing, and resources."
"We know," Winthrow said.
"Do we?" The CIA man's expression didn't change. "Because if we're right, and if these groups are converging, then we're not looking at isolated incidents."
The room stayed silent.
"And if that's true," the CIA man said, "then forty-eight hours might not be enough time."
Winthrow picked up the phone.