All language subtitles for fghjy

Previously on Reacher...

You saw Quinn in Beck's car.

- What are we looking for?
- An Asian-American man

in his 40s, brought in with injuries
consistent with a small-caliber

gunshot wound to the head,
a high fall and drowning.

We found your guy.

- He tell the medical staff
what happened to him?
- Claimed he didn't remember.

You need to find Quinn.
While you're doing that,

you can help me find Teresa.

I worked with a kid like Teresa once.

Sergeant First Class Dominique Kohl.

What did Quinn to do her?

McCabe's the one who kidnapped you?
Cut off your ear?

Yeah.

Who's that?

Smile for the camera, Julius McCabe.

- How's the bodyguard?
- He's in the adjoining room.

He's not saying shit.

Susan Duffy, meet Angel Doll.

Thanks for the hand, Angel Doll.

Tonight's your chance to prove
you've earned your keep, Reacher.

Now tell me where Teresa Daniel is.

McCabe's a stone-cold killer.
I cross him, I'm dead.

- Where's Duke?
- Dead.

This is Angel's gun.
He was in their pocket the entire time.

You're about to be my new number two.

Angel Doll was
the one who set us up.

Guy was as crooked
as a fucking fishhook.

Yeah. Yeah.

No.

The new guy I hired took care of him.

They killed Duke, though.

It's not my fault.

Angel Doll was your guy. You hired him.

He was an ambitious motherfucker,
it got him killed!

Not to mention, he helped them
go after my fucking son.

Son of a bitch.

Who was that?

Julius McCabe.

Guy that I work for.

And you work for him, too, now.

He just made you my new lieutenant.

Biotoxins,

dirty nukes, killer fucking robot dogs
with lasers shooting out of their eyes...

there could be anything in these crates.

Probably the laser dogs.

How much time you got?

I told Beck I was going to pick up food.

Between ordering, waiting,
round trip, I'd say an hour.

How'd it go in Hartford?

According to plan.
Had to burn down the DEA's safe house.

How do I explain that to my bosses?

- That's your problem.
- Hey, big fella,

you don't get to do
whatever the hell you want

- without considering the consequences.
- I did consider.

Figured you'd have to deal
with some bureaucratic horseshit

when they found out about the safe house.

But like I said, that's your problem.

You're pretty smart, you'll handle it.

But I had to replace Duke as number two.

So the safe house was collateral damage.

What happened to Duke?

Same thing as the safe house. Gone.

The fuck, man?

Beck confirmed McCabe is
running this whole thing.

Okay, I have a picture of him
from when we staked out the shipment.

You were right, it's huge.

It's all locked up in the warehouse now,
and the place is guarded like a fortress.

But this guy, here,

looks monied and in charge.

That's got to be Julius McCabe, right?

I knew him as Xavier Quinn.

The guy you thought was dead?

The guy I thought I killed.

- Thanks anyway.
- Let me guess.

Julius McCabe's a dead end?

- Yup.
- Quinn wouldn't use an alias
just to have it lead back to him.

He's too smart.

So this isn't just some guy
you have beef with, is it?

Quinn's someone you wanted dead.

Still want dead. Why?

Hey, you might be bigger than me,
but you are not more important than me,

not on my case.

I was fighting right alongside you
in that warehouse,

and I got a kid's life on a hook
because I put her there.

So open your goddamn mouth and tell me
what you've been keeping to yourself,

because I have a right to know
exactly who we're dealing with.

It started with a file that landed
on my desk years ago.

- You all read up on the Gorowski case?
- Finished ten minutes ago.

Huh. This thing looks like the real deal.

I think you'll need some help
keeping your head above water.

What's this?

Assignment order and personnel file.

You will soon have the assistance

of E7 Sergeant First Class Dominique Kohl.

- I don't babysit.
- You won't need to.

Sergeant Kohl is a doer.

She's gonna help you focus
on the important cases, like Gorowski.

You've got more workload
than you can handle right now.

You're overloaded with all this
ticky-tack nonsense stuff.

Maybe the army should
set you up with a few MPs.

That way you can just work
on the big stuff.

Like what?

A team of special investigators?

She's impressive.

What'd you think?
I was gonna send you some soup sandwich?

When does she get here?

Now.

Sir. Sergeant First Class Kohl
reports as ordered.

At ease, Sergeant. Come in.

So...

...you're my new helper?

Yes, sir.

Cut the sirs. I prefer Reacher.

- Understood, Reacher.
- If you're gonna be here,

my focus right now is
on one particular case

and it could use an extra set of eyes.

May I ask what kind of case?

Espionage.

Top secret weapons-design
blueprints being sold

by a weapons specialist named Gorowski.

Something wrong?

No, Reacher.

- Speak your mind, Sergeant.
- Nothing important.

But I'm realizing now
that you've just learned

that I'd been assigned to you
in the past five minutes.

Why do you say that?

When I learned I'd be working under you,
I asked around.

You have a reputation of being demanding,

yet respectful
to those that you work with.

So if you'd known I was coming,

there would be
a second chair in here, but...

there is none.

I don't like people
hanging out at my office,

so I got rid of the extra chair.

But I found out about you
three minutes ago.

I assume by your tone
you don't like surprises.

I don't like surprises, either.

But I promise
you won't regret bringing me on.

I love my work, and I work very hard.

Good to know.

Take a look at this and tell me
what you think while I get us coffee.

No cream, no sugar, please.

I have a theory about the case.
Can you surmise what it is?

Coercion.

Why?

Specialist Gorowski has
no criminal record.

Perpetrators usually don't commit
their first crime in their 40s,

and not after they join the military.

His civilian life is clean.

His military life is decorated.
He's made a good salary.

No debt to speak of.

Has a family.

You don't wait
until you have stuff to lose

and then decide
to engage in risky behavior.

There's a reason
that over 70% of all crime is

committed by people under 40.

They don't have anything yet.

He just doesn't fit the profile.

Mike.

Bring in a chair for Sergeant Kohl.

Let's get to work.

So she wasn't a "soup sandwich."

Sharp as a tack.

She figured out Gorowski was
making dead drops at a local park,

so I sat in with her on a stakeout.

A little trite, isn't it?

Spy making a drop in a park.

There's a reason Hollywood copies
some things. They work.

It's happening.

Now we wait.

We wait.

What happened there?

On your hand.

Cut from a broadhead.

My dad and I used to go hunting.

For elks.

Where?

Downtown Minneapolis.

Wiseass.

Anywhere that there were elk.

Montana, Arizona, even Pennsylvania.

He would take me everywhere.

From where?

Elkhart, Indiana.

You would leave a place called Elkhart

to go hunt elk?

I know.

So stupid.

- Were you any good?
- Real good.

But couldn't touch Maxwell Kohl.

He could pick pine cones off trees.

Slice bark from 40 yards,
hit an elk from 80.

We made a good team.

You're using the past tense.

No more hunting?

No more Dad.

Died five years ago.

But I still hunt.

And he still comes with me.

How about you?

Where'd you grow up?

All over.

My father was a Marine.

Is that why you served?

Maybe.

Never really gave it much thought.

What's your dad doing now?

Same as your dad.

What was he like?

Plain New Hampshire Yankee
with a disdain for anything fancy.

Had no use for excess or wealth.

Pretty compartmentalized guy.

So you take after him.

Maybe.

Never really gave it much thought.

Pick-up should've happened by now.

I mean, maybe they clocked me, or maybe
Gorowski tipped them not to come.

- He's not coming.
- You can't know for sure.

You never leave valuable
top secret documents this long

in public without somebody
promptly picking them up.

- Could the garbage collectors be
the go-betweens?
- Negative.

I ran them down. They're civilians.

Clean. No ties to Gorowski.

Let's get to it.

W-What if they hired a sniper?

One of us would find out
when the other one's head explodes.

Empty. What the hell?

It was a misdirect.

Gorowski's car was blocking
that trash can when he pulled out.

Wait. Wait, wait.

Real drop happened in the newspaper.

So we're staring at a garbage can

while the documents are
being picked up 30 yards away.

I never should've assumed
it was the envelope.

In an investigation, assumptions kill.

- Good rule.
- It's Garber's.

I fubar'd this whole operation.

Don't worry about what went wrong.

Focus on putting it right.

Another Garber rule?

That one's mine.

Okay.

I think we need to haul in Gorowski.

But we have nothing.

He doesn't know that.

What's your plan here,
exactly, Roland?

Think you'll plead the fifth,

retain counsel
and then things will work out?

Let me be clear.

There isn't a chance in hell
you are gonna lawyer your way out of this.

We picked up your friend.

Got him with the blueprints red-handed.
Want to know the first thing he did?

Smart.

He ratted you out.

We know all about your arrangement.

We know that you are
selling out your country.

We know that you approached him
with an opportunity.

No! No.

He came after me.

- He came to me.
- Bullshit.

Why would he think
for a second that a patriotic,

decorated soldier
would betray his country?

No one would ever approach you
with an offer like that.

Because it wasn't an offer.

- It was a demand.
- A demand?

You could've said no.

No, I couldn't! You don't get it.

He's a psychopath.

He's scared.

Give him time.

That's it.

Let him sit in his fear for a while.

Little longer.

What are you afraid of?

Attagirl.

I can't tell you.

What can't you tell me?

Anything.

- He's dangerous.
- How?

How is he dangerous?

This is the moment, Roland.

Everyone eventually has it.

The moment in your life
where you either do what's right,

or you fuck up so bad
it's not only you who pays the price.

You go away for treason.

You get hanged for treason.

Your wife, your child,

will be dealing with that
long after you're gone.

He took my daughter!

She's four years old.

And he took her.

What do you mean, "took her"?

He lured her
off the preschool playground.

I wasn't even late picking her up.

She just wasn't there.

The teacher's aide said
that her uncle picked her up.

She doesn't have an uncle.

What happened next?

My phone rang.

They were watching me from somewhere.

They told me to smile and to tell
the teacher everything was okay.

I did.

They held her

overnight

just to prove that they could.

She was terrified.

Well played, Kohl.

I had to do what they said,

or the things they said
they would do to her,

I...

I've never been paid a penny.

Never been given a thing.

Just a weak assurance that my family

would be left alone
as long as I did what they say.

Did what who said?

- I need a name.
- No.

You don't know who you're dealing with.

I am not saying any more.

I can't.

Let me tell you
how people like this work.

You give them what they want,

and they own you,
because now they know your weakness.

So why would they ever
let you off the hook?

They'll keep demanding
state secrets from you,

and you will keep serving them up.

A vicious cycle.

And they're the types
who don't like any loose ends.

So once they don't need you anymore,

they will get rid of the only connection

between the security leak and them.

And that's you.

So either you die,

or your family dies

or you all die.

But there's no way you're not paying

full admission on this thing.

Your only way out is us.

I need a name.

Quinn.

Full name.

Full name.

Xavier Quinn.

He's military intelligence.

That's why I couldn't go to the cops.

He's plugged in.

Anything I say to them
would get back to the military

and eventually him.

Quinn has the system wired.

You so much as put in that report
that you picked me up,

he'll know within the day.

Now you have to help me.

Xavier Quinn

is an evil man.

Seems Quinn's modus operandi
hasn't changed.

Still has a thing
for kidnapping and coercion.

He sticks with what works for him.

So how'd you play it?

We tread carefully and dove deep.

Found out all we could on Xavier Quinn.

Military Intelligence Corp.

Middle East Specialist.
Afghanistan Campaign Medal.

Father was a railroad worker,
mother a homemaker.

He somehow stashed away half a mil
in an account I found in Aruba.

Rents a big house in McLean.

Boat. Jaguar.

I spoke with someone in Imagery Analysis.

She's crossed paths with Quinn
a few times.

Says he keeps to himself, pretty vanilla.

Spends weekends
up at a farmhouse in Linton.

What kind of career military man
can afford those kind of assets?

The kind who has
a side gig selling state secrets.

At ease, Private.

Come in.

The phone records you requested.

Those Quinn's?

Affirmative.

I already reviewed his LUDs.

I saw multiple calls to the same person
over several months.

The calls were to...

It's, uh, it's toward the end, page 12.

I highlighted them for you.

Safwan Qasim.

I did a preliminary run on the name.

He's a Syrian national with military ties,

whose cover job is a senior
research fellow at a think tank.

This has got to be the guy
that Quinn is selling secrets to.

Great job, Tony.

Sure.

My pleasure.

Now that we know this,

what's the next step?

- You tell me.
- We pay a visit to Safwan.

It's not our guy.

Damn it.

I know you're itching to take him down,
but you can't forget

Safwan's a government agent,
so his security detail

will be former paramilitary.

We neutralize, but don't kill.

Dead foreigners lead to investigations,
and Quinn could find out and abort.

Also Safwan can't sustain
any visible injuries

or Quinn'll get suspicious.

- Copy that.
- Copy.

Can't be much longer.

Club's gonna close soon.

I wouldn't last five minutes in there.

Don't like crowds?

Music's terrible.

If you can call it music.

Eh, I don't mind it.

I like dancing.

Anytime, anywhere.

Anyone ever want to go dancing, I'm in.

You dance, Kohl?

There he is.

Let's go.

Mr. Qasim!

Possibly. Who's asking?

Major Jack Reacher.

U.S. Military Police.

We've been made aware
of your connection to unlawful trade

of American military secrets.

We'd like to ask you some questions.

I don't think that's going to happen,

Major Reacher.

We're trying to do this nicely.

Once again,
I don't think that's going to happen.

Hey!

Hey, why don't you take a step back, pal?

Don't do it!

Let me guess:
hired help, paid by the hour.

Couple hundred bucks a day
worth dying over?

That's what I thought.

Pick these morons up and get lost.

Now...

about those questions.

I am a foreign national
with many powerful friends.

You're a foreign national who attacked

American military personnel
on American soil.

That makes you an enemy combatant,
which means I can disappear

your ass in less than two hours,
locked up in God knows where,

gone forever, like you never existed.

Or we'll hold you,

you'll help us bring in Xavier Quinn.

And when it's over,
we'll put you on a watch list

and a nice coach seat back home.

Your choice.

Kohl.

Let's go.

Private... Look.

I know you like Kohl.

Like her? Like as a friend--

Shut up. It's obvious.

But you can't let personal feelings
affect your judgment in the field.

Never turn your back on a viable enemy
to save a fellow soldier.

You only get
two dead soldiers that way.

Finish the task at hand.

Trust your partner can do the same.

Understood.

She's not into dancing.

Just ask her to dinner and bring flowers.

But not roses.

Every asshole brings roses.

So you had the weapons specialist supplier
and Syrian buyer.

All that was left was
to pick up the middleman

who put the whole thing together. S--

Uh, this guy is all over me
about wanting a smoke.

Any wiggle room?

What do the regulations say?

No cigarettes, drugs,
or alcohols for detainees.

Then why am I looking at you?

Geez...

He's a good kid, but what the fuck?

So, you were saying,
you were almost home on this thing.

Rounding third, at least.

We were just putting
the paperwork together to present

to the judge for Quinn's arrest warrant.

This'll be a hell of a case
if you can make it.

We'll make it.

Kohl's evidentiary presentation's solid.

The only piece missing
are the blueprints Safwan

will get from Quinn
at the brush pass tomorrow.

That's where we'll need your help, sir.

The blueprints will have
to be authenticated ASAP.

If there's so much
as a comma out of place,

Quinn'll argue that the prints
aren't really official government plans.

We need
an airtight presentation to the court

so we can secure the arrest warrant,
bring in Quinn, get the conviction.

You get me the blueprints,

I can get them authenticated promptly.

Thank you.

Good luck.

All right.

We'll need to proof this thing once more.

Why don't we do it at the bar?

I could use a beer.

You know, Kohl,

there are already gonna be people
who believe you didn't earn this case

because you're a young woman
and you're only here to meet some quota.

If we're seen out socially,

those people will look at this
as something more than what it is

and it'll only add fuel to their fire.

Let's not let some assholes
diminish what you earned.

But I could use a beer, too.

Thanks for looking out, boss.

Thanks for the great work.

The exchange
was executed flawlessly.

Captured on surveillance video.

And as soon as bags changed hands,

Frasconi followed Quinn
so we always had his 20.

Once we got the green light,
we'd move in and make the arrest.

Kohl and I met Safwan
at a prearranged location

where he gave us the blueprints.

We have the entire exchange recorded.

If we need your testimony,

we can find you anywhere in the world,

so don't try to hide.

You have six hours to collect your things
and get out of the country.

You promised me a plane ticket.

Pay your own way, asshole.

Everything in the blueprints
is identical to the real military plans.

Periods, commas, page numbers.

These are genuine, highly classified,

state secrets
that are being sold at a bus stop.

Exactly what we hoped for.

A well-documented pattern

of clandestine meetings,

half a million
in Quinn's offshore account,

top-secret weapons blueprints
in a Syrian agent's possession,

and three MPs to testify in court.

We got him.

You got him.

So go make the arrest.

Really?

You tracked down the leads,
put together the research.

I'm no credit jumper.

Besides, you should be
the arresting officer

for the same reason
we didn't get a drink at the bar.

You don't put the final stamp on this,

everyone will think you were just
along for the ride with a senior officer.

Frasconi can go with you.

Put the cuffs on Quinn, Sergeant.

You earned your moment.

Thank you, Reacher.

Welcome, Kohl.

It was nice,

what you did for Kohl.

Anyone would've done it.

That's not true.

You have junior officers, agents,

operatives in every branch
of federal government

getting rat-fucked
by superiors all the time.

Thanks, pal.

Not talking about you, old man.

My point is, you looked out for her.

She was special to you.

There are very few people
you meet in life that do everything right.

The way they think,
attack problems, conduct themselves.

How they keep things loose
when a joke is needed,

or keep their powder dry
when things get tight.

Dominique Kohl cared about
doing the right things the right way.

She was gonna be great.

Still nothing?

No.

She's probably en route.

It's 35 minutes to McLean.

Add ten for traffic.

Taking him down should take less than one.

Cuffing him and putting him in the car
should take no more than three.

That's 49 minutes tops, beginning to end.

It's been 61 minutes.

Text her.

I don't text people. She knows that.

She'll think I'm micromanaging her.

I'm texting her.

You told me the kid was solid.

I'm sure she's got this handled.

What'd she say?

"Got him. Cuffed. Heading in...

...sir."

What's wrong?

I told her never to call me "sir"
the first day we met.

You never have
to tell Kohl anything twice.

Military police!

Put your hands where we can see them!

On me! On me!

Clear!

- Clear!
- Clear!

You turned your back
to the enemy to help her.

Reacher, up here.

He took her somewhere.

- Helicopters up yet?
- Almost, sir.

Not almost. Now.

General, the report
you requested on Quinn.

Months ago.

Juvie records are near impossible
to get ahold of, sir.

I know. I'm sorry.

"Xavier's recent attack on a teacher,

his history of harming animals
and persistent antisocial behavior

can only lead this therapist

to a diagnosis of malignant narcissistic
personality disorder,

sociopathology, paranoid

and ego-syntonic aggression."

That's Quinn's juvie file.

He could have her almost anywhere.

Quinn took her alive,

which he'd only do if he was trying
to get information out of her.

What information could he need?

Our entire case against him falls apart

if there's no one to testify
to what was observed,

evidentiary chain of custody.

Without my testimony,

Kohl's, Frasconi's...

Quinn walks.

He wants Kohl to tell him the name

of the commanding officer
who oversaw the case

so he can kill me and disappear.

He's gonna torture her,

and it's gonna be brutal...

...'cause she would never give me up.

What did I teach you?

Never get distracted
from the exact job at hand.

Go back to everything you know,

work the clues that you have.

What do we know about Kohl?

She's an outdoorswoman,
she's strong, she's tough,

she's gonna fight back.

She's gonna make noise.

Quinn needs someplace quiet, secluded.

A place where he knows
he feels comfortable and in control.

Quinn's weekend house in Linton.

Tons of land, desolate.

A place no one will hear Kohl scream.

We don't have the address.

Start tracking it down.

I'll head towards Linton.

Call me as soon as you have the address.

Tell me you have it.

We' re close.

I didn't think Quinn would put
a house bought with dirty money

under his name, but there are four homes

held by LLCs in Linton.

Two are rental properties,

both owners are clean.

One was bought by
a development company and torn down.

The last one is a 20-acre farmhouse

on the river.

23 Mallard Road off State Route 4.

I'm minutes away.

I notified county police.
They're about a half hour away.

Doesn't matter.

This doesn't end with
Quinn getting arrested.

Then you know my rule.

Do it once, do it right.

Gun.

You assume you know
the whole story but you don't.

The girl and I were in on this together.

Few weeks ago,
I saw you guys at the park,

knew you were getting close,

so I reached out to Kohl and cut a deal.

She'd string you along,
make you think you're closing in,

and then, at the last moment,

she lets me get away and she gets paid.

But then she tried to fuck me
and take all the cash.

It got ugly,

I snapped, and, yeah, she had to go.

And I know I'm-a have to do
some time for that.

But I prefer 20 years
over a life sentence, so...

let's make a deal.

There are higher-ups,

big military brass, all in on this,

helping me get the blueprints,

setting up my contacts.

Work with me.

This case'll make your career.

What's her first name?

What?

You'd know the first name
of someone you cut a deal with.

So what's her name?

Keep moving.

Turn around.

You got all that money back there.

You could just take it and go.

You don't want a murder rap
coming back on you.

Dominique.

Huh?

That was her name.

I shot him with his .22
so ballistics wouldn't match

to my service firearm.

Small round was the problem.

The bullet lodged in his skull
and never got to his brain.

I assumed he was dead and gone.

I've learned not to make assumptions
in an investigation.

In the barn! Linton PD!

We're armed and approaching!

Raise your hands where we can see 'em!

Major Jack Reacher?

Your commanding officer
General Garber called us.

Who's under the blanket?

Sergeant Dominique Kohl.

Where's Xavier Quinn?

No idea.

He was gone when I got here.

Are you okay?

I'm sorry, man.

But you're gonna get him this time.

What's wrong?

I didn't pay Teresa to go undercover.

I threatened her with a prison sentence.

I made up a story that the DA who
prosecuted her boyfriend on drug charges

felt that Teresa
held back on her testimony

so he'd get a lighter sentence

and now the DA wants Teresa to serve time.

The kid ain't sophisticated,
so she bought it.

I told her that if she helped me,
I'd get the DA off her back.

But I fucked up.

I fucked that kid over,
and now I have to make it right.

Guess we have that in common.

Where's Beck?

Retired for the night.

Got any coffee?

All you have to do is ask.

- I did ask.
- No.

You asked if there was any.
Not the same thing.

May I please have some black coffee?

Where's Mr. Duke?

He no longer works for Beck's company.

I've taken his place.

Coffee, black, coming up.

Everything okay?

- Long night.
- Doing what?

Remembering things.

Well, been a long night for us, too.

Lots to be done
for the boss' 50th birthday.

Are most of the guests coming from work?

Bizarre Bazaar?

No. He hates people from work.

Anyone coming from afar? Overseas, maybe?

No. Why so curious?

I'm the number two now.
I should know who's gonna be there.

Run the names of his friends.

Friends? He has no real friends.

It's all people from town.

Business owners, mayor,

members of the Chamber of Commerce.

People who love his money,

and he loves that they
make him feel important.

He's a lonely, miserable bastard.

But you should've seen him 15 years ago,
when the missus was alive.

A different man.

I'll take the coffee to go.

- Thanks, Agnes.
- Mm-hmm.

I picked these up for you. Fresh clothes.

Beck can't have his number two
looking like number two.

Means I look like merde.

I hope they fit.

The shirts stop at double XL.

Is something wrong?

It's been a while
since I've smelled new clothes.

- I hope you like them.
- Merci.

Hit me.

- What?
- Come on.

No. What if I hurt you?

You're kidding, right?

Come on, you don't want
townies messing with you,

show me what you got.

Hit me in the chest as hard as you can.

Okay. You're doing it wrong.

Yeah, no shit.

First of all, you punch
with your legs, not your fist.

All your power comes from below the waist.

Show me your fighting stance.

Oh, boy.

This is Beck. What's going on?

Your dad never showed you
how to throw a punch?

Yeah, well, my dad doesn't
really give a shit about me.

I mean, he let 'em cut off my ear.

You ever consider
that maybe he was protecting you?

If he'd had gone to the cops,
he'd have went to jail.

They'd seize all his assets.

You have no other family, so they'd have
placed you in the foster system.

Aged out at 18,
wound up poor, alone, on the streets.

You really think that'd be
any kind of life for you?

Well, you're poor,
alone and on the streets.

Yeah, but I'm good at it.

Hard to pivot when your feet
and shoulders are lined up like that.

And you leave yourself wide open.

Open for what? Okay.

Okay.

Strength is not your... strength.

You need strategy.

Tell 'em you'll count to three
and hit 'em on two.

But isn't that unfair?

No one looking to hit a guy like you
cares about a fair fight.

No offense.

None taken.

The weaker guy in the fight

needs to throw the first punch
and make it count.

- Make your first shot your best shot.
- Okay.

Wait. What if I'm not
the weaker guy in the fight?

You will absolutely be
the weaker guy in the fight.

Asshole.

Show me what you got.

Hell of a story
the big guy wove last night.

You making a point?

Maybe. Just, uh...

Has it occurred to you
that if Reacher hadn't fucked things up

with Quinn from the start,
we wouldn't be in this mess?

Reacher kills people off the books

and doesn't seem
to have a problem with it.

He killed Angel Doll.
The guys from Bizarre Bazaar.

Now Duke.

You could go to prison
trying to save Teresa.

You okay with that?

- I am.
- Yeah?

Guess I am, too.

Well, you don't know her.

She's not the girl
I'm willing to go to prison for.

Appreciate it.

Too many places.

Rug manufacturers,
shipping companies, dye companies.

For all we know,
all of these places could be legit,

since Beck's cover is a rug distributor.

He's gonna have
to interact with real citizens

to keep up appearances.

Gonna take a while
going through this long list.

Teresa could be at any one of 'em,
so we're gonna check 'em all.

Starting with this one up ahead.

Yes, ma'am.

- One, two.
- Richard, can you give us a minute, son?

Reacher.

- What's going on?
- I got a call from McCabe.

He sent someone over to Bizarre Bazaar
to get Angel Doll's laptop back,

because all
the shipment schedules are on it.

But it's gone.

Maybe it's in the house
he was hiding in.

I torched it.

No, because it had a tracking app on it,
in case it was lost or stolen.

It shows it's at a commercial
tubing facility that we own.

It's off Route 26.

How do you think it got there?

Angel Doll's guys must've taken it.

They clearly didn't get the message
last night that we're not fucking around.

- Was the laptop there the whole time?
- Don't know.

The app only shows real-time location.

And three of McCabe's guys
are already on their way over there.

Here's the address.

Go help kill whoever the fuck
has that laptop.

You've reached Susan Duffy.

Leave a message
and I'll call you when I can.

Duffy, Quinn's tracking
Angel Doll's laptop.

You need to ditch it
and get out of there, now.

- Nothing?
- Nada.

Not a single fuckin' sign of Teresa.

How far from the next location?

Damn it. No bars.

Steel roof.

McCabe was clear.

Anyone inside ain't supposed to be?

We kill 'em.