"In English," I said. "In Russian it means Reaktivniy Protivotankovyi Granatomet, rocket anti-tank grenade launcher. But it uses a missile, not a grenade."

"Like the long-rod penetrator?" Duffy said.

"Sort of," I said. "But it's explosive."

"It blows up tanks?"

"That's the plan."

"So who's going to buy it from Beck?"

"I don't know."

"Drug dealers?"

"Conceivably. It would be very effective against a house. Or an armored limousine. If your rival bought a bulletproof BMW, you'd need one of these."

"Or terrorists," she said.

I nodded. "Or militia whackos."

"This is very serious."

"They're hard to aim," I said. "The missile is big and slow. Nine times out of ten even a slight crosswind will make you miss. But that's no consolation to whoever else gets. .h.i.t by mistake."

Villanueva wrenched the next lid off.

"Another one," he said. "The same."

"We need to call ATF," Duffy said. "FBI too, probably. Right now."

"Soon," I said.

Villanueva opened the last two crates. Nails squealed and wood split.

"More weird stuff," he said.

I looked. Saw thick metal tubes painted bright yellow. Electronic modules bolted underneath. I looked away.

"Grails," I said. "SA-7 Grails. Russian surface-to-air missiles."

"Heat seekers?"

"You got it."

"For shooting down planes?" Duffy said.

I nodded. "And really good against helicopters."

"What kind of range?" Villanueva asked.

"Good up to nearly ten thousand feet," I said.

"That could take down an airliner."

I nodded.

"Near an airport," I said. "Soon after takeoff. You could use it from a boat in the East River. Imagine hitting a plane coming out of La Guardia. Imagine it crashing in Manhattan. It would be September 11 all over again."

Duffy stared at the yellow tubes.

"Unbelievable," she said.

"This is not about drug dealers anymore," I said. "They've expanded their market. This is about terrorism. It has to be. This one shipment alone would equip a whole terrorist cell.

They could do practically anything with it."

"We need to know who's lining up to buy it. And why they want it."

Then I heard the sound of feet on the floor in the doorway. And the snick of a round seating itself in an automatic pistol's chamber. And a voice.

"We don't ask why they want it," it said. "We never do. We just take their d.a.m.n money."

CHAPTER 14

It was Harley. His mouth was a ragged hole above his goatee. I could see his yellow teeth. He was holding a Para Ordnance P14 in his right hand. The P14 is a solid Canadian-made copy of the Colt 1911 and it was way too heavy for him. His wrists were thin and weak. He would have been better off with a Glock 19, like Duffy's.

"Saw the lights were on," he said. "Thought I'd come in and check."

Then he looked straight at me.

"I guess Paulie screwed up," he said. "And I guess you faked his voice when Mr. Xavier called you on the phone."

I looked at his trigger finger. It was in position. I spent half a second mad at myself for letting him walk in unannounced. Then I moved on to working out how to take him down. Thought: Villanueva is going to yell at me if I take him down before we ask about Teresa.

"You going to introduce me around?" he said.

"This is Harley," I said.

n.o.body spoke.

"Who are these other people?" Harley asked me.

I said nothing.

"We're federal agents," Duffy said.

"So what are you all doing in here?" Harley asked.

He asked the question like he was genuinely interested. He was wearing a different suit.

It was shiny black. He had a silver tie under it. He had showered and washed his hair. His pony tail was secured by a regular brown rubber band.

"We're working in here," Duffy said.

He nodded. "Reacher has seen what we do to government women. He's seen it with his own eyes."

"You should jump ship, Harley," I said. "It's all coming apart now."

"You think?"

"I know."

"See, we don't get that feeling from the computers. Your friend and mine in the body bag, she didn't tell them nothing yet. They're still waiting on her first report. Matter of fact, most days it seems like they've forgotten about her altogether."

"We've nothing to do with computers."

"Even better," he said. "You're freelance operators, n.o.body knows you're here, and I got you all covered."

"Paulie had me covered," I said.

"With a gun?"

"With two."

His eyes flicked down for a second. Then back up.

"I'm smarter than Paulie," he said. "Put your hands on your heads."

We put our hands on our heads.

"Reacher's got a Beretta," he said. "I know that for sure. I'm guessing there are two Glocks in the room as well. Most likely a 17 and a 19. I want to see them all on the floor, nice and slow, one at a time."

n.o.body moved. Harley shaded the P14 toward Duffy.

"The woman first," he said. "Finger and thumb."

Duffy slid her left hand under her jacket and dragged her Glock out, pinched between her finger and thumb. She dropped it on the floor. I moved my arm and started my hand toward my pocket.

"Wait," Harley said. "You're not a trustworthy character."

He stepped forward and reached up and pressed the P14's muzzle into my lower lip, right where Paulie had hit me. Then he reached down with his left hand and burrowed in my pocket. Came out with the Beretta. Dropped it next to Duffy's Glock.

"You next," he said to Villanueva. He kept the P14 where it was. It was cold and hard. I could feel the muzzle's pressure on my loose teeth. Villanueva dropped his Glock on the floor. Harley raked all three guns behind him with his foot. Then he stepped backward.

"OK," he said. "Now get over here by the wall."

He wheeled us around until he was next to the crates and we were lined up against the back wall.

"There's one more of us," Villanueva said. "He isn't here."

Mistake, I thought. Harley just smiled.

"So call him," he said. "Tell him to come on down."

Villanueva said nothing. It felt like a dead end. Then it turned into a trap.

"Call him," Harley said again. "Right now, or I'll start shooting."

n.o.body moved.

"Call him, or the woman gets a bullet in the thigh."

"She's got the phone," Villanueva said.

"In my purse," Duffy said.

"And where's your purse?"

"In the car."

Good answer, I thought.

"Where's the car?" Harley asked.

"Close by," Duffy said.

"The Taurus next to the stuffed animal place?"

Duffy nodded. Harley hesitated.

"You can use the phone in the office," he said. "Call the guy."

"I don't know his number," Duffy said.

Harley just looked at her.

"It's on my speed dial," she said. "I don't have it memorized."

"Where's Teresa Daniel?" I asked.