The Secret (Jack Reacher Series #28)

by Lee Child, Andrew Child

Overview

Notes From Your Bookseller

The Jack Reacher series rages on with an interagency investigation headed by Reacher himself. Citizens are dying all over the place and there’s one man who can stop it.

The gripping new Jack Reacher thriller from the #1 New York Times bestselling authors Lee Child and Andrew Child

1992. Eight respectable, upstanding people have been found dead across the United States. These deaths look like accidents and don’t appear to be connected until one body—the victim of a fatal fall from a hospital window—generates some unexpected attention.

That attention comes from the secretary of defense, who promptly calls for an interagency task force to investigate. Jack Reacher is assigned as the army’s representative.

Reacher may be an exceptional soldier, but sweeping other people’s secrets under the carpet isn’t part of his skill set. As he races to discover the link between these victims, and who killed them, he must navigate around the ulterior motives of his new “partners,” all while moving into the sight line of some of the most dangerous people he has ever encountered.

His mission is to uncover the truth. The question is: Will Reacher bring the bad guys to justice the official way . . . or his way?

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780593793619
Publisher:	Diversified Publishing
Publication date:	11/14/2023
Series:	Jack Reacher Series
Edition description:	Large Print
Pages:	384
Sales rank:	88,525
Product dimensions:	6.10(w) x 8.60(h) x 1.10(d)

About the Author

Lee Child is the author of the #1 New York Times bestselling Jack Reacher series and the complete Jack Reacher story collection, No Middle Name. Foreign rights in the Reacher series have sold in one hundred territories. A native of England and a former television director, Lee Child lives in New York City and Wyoming.

Andrew Child, who also writes as Andrew Grant, is the author of RUN, False Positive, False Friend, False Witness, Invisible, and Too Close to Home. He is the #1 bestselling co-author of the Jack Reacher novels The Sentinel, Better Off Dead, and No Plan B. Child and his wife, the novelist Tasha Alexander, live on a wildlife preserve in Wyoming.

Hometown:

Birmingham, England

Date of Birth:

1954

Place of Birth:

Coventry, England

Education:

Sheffield University

Website:

http://www.leechild.com

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

Keith Bridgeman was alone in his room when he closed his eyes. The morning medical rounds were over. Lunch had been delivered and eaten and cleared away. Other people’s visitors had clattered along the corridor in search of relatives and friends. A janitor had swept and mopped and hauled off the day’s trash. And finally a little peace had descended on the ward.

Bridgeman had been in the hospital for a month. Long enough to grow used to its rhythms and routines. He knew it was time for the afternoon lull. A break from getting poked and prodded and being made to get up and move around and stretch. No one was going to bother him for another three hours, minimum. So he could read. Watch TV. Listen to music. Gaze out of the window at the sliver of lake that was visible between the next pair of skyscrapers.

Or he could take a nap.

Bridgeman was sixty-­two years old. He was in rough shape. That was clear. He could debate the cause—­the kind of work he had devoted his life to, the stress he had suffered, the cigarettes and alcohol he had consumed—­but he couldn’t deny the effect. A heart attack so massive that no one had expected him to survive.

Defying odds that great is tiring work. He chose the nap.

These days he always chose the nap.

Bridgeman woke up after only an hour. He was no longer alone. Two other people were in the room with him. Both were women. Maybe in their late twenties. They were the same height. The same slim build. One was on the left side of his bed, nearer to the door. The other was level with her on the right, nearer to the window. They were standing completely still. In silence. Staring at him. Their hair was pulled back, smooth and dark and tight. Their faces were expressionless like mannequins’ and their skin shone in the harsh artificial light as if it were molded from plastic.

The women were wearing white coats over hospital scrubs. The coats were the correct length. They had all the necessary pockets and badges and tags. The scrubs were the right shade of blue. But the women weren’t medics. Bridgeman was sure about that. His sixth sense told him so. It told him they shouldn’t be there. That they were trouble. He scanned each of them in turn. Their hands were empty. Their clothes were not bulging. There was no sign of guns or knives. No sign of any hospital equipment they could use as weapons. But Bridgeman still wasn’t happy. He was in danger. He knew it. He could feel it as keenly as a gazelle that had been ambushed by a pair of lions.

Bridgeman glanced at his left leg. The call button was where the nurse had left it, lying on the sheet between his thigh and the safety rail. His hand darted toward it. It was a fluid movement. Smooth. Fast. But the woman was faster. She snatched the button then dropped it, leaving it dangling on its wire, almost to the floor, well out of Bridgeman’s reach.

Bridgeman felt his heart quiver and tremble in his chest. He heard an electronic beep. It came from a piece of equipment on a stand near the head of the bed. It had a screen with a number in the center of the top half and two jagged lines that zigzagged across the full width of the lower half. The first line showed his pulse. It was spiking wildly. Its peaks were surging closer together like they were chasing one another. The number showed his heart rate. It was climbing. Fast. The beeps grew louder. More frequent. Then the sound became continuous. Insistent. Impossible to ignore. The number stopped rising. It began to flash. It changed direction. And it kept going down until it reached 00. The lines flattened out. First at the left of the screen and then all the way across until both were perfectly horizontal. The display was inert. Lifeless. Except for the desperate electronic howl.

It told of total cardiac failure.

But only for a moment.

The second woman had grabbed Bridgeman’s right wrist when the alarm began to shriek. She had yanked a square blue clip off the tip of his index finger and attached it to her own. The screen flashed twice. Then the sound cut out. The heart rate started to climb. The two lines began to tick their way from left to right. None of the values were quite the same as Bridgeman’s. The woman was younger. Fitter. Healthier. Calmer. But the readings were close enough. Not too high. Not too low. Nothing to trigger another alarm.

Bridgeman clutched his chest with both hands. Sweat was prickling out across his forehead and his scalp. His skin felt clammy. He had to make an effort to breathe.

The woman with the clip on her finger lowered herself into the visitor’s chair next to the window. The woman on the left of the bed waited a moment then looked at Bridgeman and said, “We apologize. We didn’t mean to startle you. We’re not here to hurt you. We just need to talk.”

Bridgeman said nothing.

The woman said, “We have two questions. That’s all. Answer them honestly and you’ll never see us again. I promise.”

Bridgeman didn’t respond.

The woman saw him glancing past her, toward the door. She shook her head. “If you’re hoping the cavalry’s going to come, you’re out of luck. Those clips slip off people’s fingers all the time. And what do they do? Stick them right back on. Anyone at the nurses’ station who heard the alarm will figure that’s what you did. So. First question, OK?”

Bridgeman’s mouth was dry. He did his best to moisten his lips then took a deep breath. But not to answer questions. To call for help the old-­fashioned way.

The woman read his play. She put a finger to her lips and took something out of her coat pocket. A photograph. She held it out for Bridgeman to take. It showed a gloved hand holding a copy of the Tribune next to a window. Bridgeman could read the date on the newspaper. Tuesday, April 7, 1992. It was that day’s edition. Then he saw two figures through the glass. A woman and a child. A little girl. Even though they were facing away from the camera, Bridgeman had no doubt who they were. Or where they were. It was his daughter and granddaughter. In the home he had bought them in Evanston, after his wife died.

The woman took hold of Bridgeman’s arm and felt for his pulse. It was fast and weak. She said, “Come on, now. Calm down. Think of your family. We don’t want to hurt them. Or you. We just need you to understand how serious this situation is. We only have two questions, but they’re important. The sooner you answer, the sooner we’re out of here. Ready?”

Bridgeman nodded and slumped back against his pillow.

“First question. You’re meeting with a journalist the day after tomorrow. Where is the information you’re planning to give her?”

“How do you know about—­”

“Don’t waste time. Answer the question.”

“OK. Look. There is no information. We’re just going to chat.”

“No credible journalist is going to believe a whistleblower without ironclad proof. Where is it?”

“Whistleblower? That’s not what this is. The reporter’s from a little weekly rag in Akron, Ohio. Where I was born. The story’s about my heart attack. My recovery. It’s a miracle, according to the doctors. People back home want to read about it. They say I’m an inspiration.”

“Heart attack? That’s what you’re going with? When you’re sitting on a much bigger story?”

“What bigger story?”

The woman leaned in closer. “Keith, we know what you did. What you all did. Twenty-­three years ago. December 1969.”

“December ’69? How do you know . . . ? Who are you?”

“We’ll come to who we are. Right now you need to tell me what information you’re planning to give this reporter from Akron.”

“No information. I’m going to tell her about my recovery. That’s all. I will never talk about December ’69. Why we were there. What we were doing. What happened. Not to anyone. I swore I wouldn’t and I keep my word. My wife never even knew.”

“So you don’t have any documents or notes hidden in this room?”

“Of course not.”

“Then you won’t mind if I take a look around.”

The woman didn’t wait for an answer. She started with the locker next to the bed. She opened the door and rummaged through Bridgeman’s spare pajamas and books and magazines. She moved on to a leather duffel on the floor near the door. It held a set of clothes. Nothing else. Next she checked the bathroom. Nothing significant there, either. So she moved to the center of the room and put her hands on her hips. “Only one place left to check. The bed.”

Bridgeman didn’t move.

“Do it for your daughter. And your granddaughter. Come on. I’ll be quick.”

Bridgeman felt his pulse start to speed up again. He closed his eyes for a moment. Took a breath. Willed himself to relax. Then pushed back the sheet, swung his legs over the side of the mattress, and slid down onto his feet. He looked at the woman in the chair. “Can I at least sit? I’m older than you. I have one foot in the grave.”

Editorial Reviews

Praise for the Jack Reacher series

“The truth about Reacher gets better and better. . . . This series [is] utterly addictive.”—Janet Maslin, The New York Times

“Jack Reacher is today’s James Bond, a thriller hero we can’t get enough of. I read every one as soon as it appears.”—Ken Follett

“Reacher is the stuff of myth. . . . One of this century’s most original, tantalizing pop-fiction heroes.”—The Washington Post

“I’m a fan.”—James Patterson

“The Reacher novels are easily the best thriller series going.”—NPR

“Reacher is a man for whom the phrase moral compass was invented: His code determines his direction. . . . You need Jack Reacher.”—The Atlantic

“I pick up Jack Reacher when I’m in the mood for someone big to solve my problems.”—Patricia Cornwell

“[A] feverishly thrilling series . . . You can always count on furious action.”—Miami Herald

From the Publisher

09/22/2023

The 28th Reacher novel (following No Plan B) is set in 1992, when he is still a military policeman. The Department of Defense has been keeping a secret since 1969 concerning an accident at a lab where a group of scientists were working. When one of the scientists speaks out and two die by apparent suicide, the DOD forms a task force of marginal officers from various agencies to investigate. It's obvious from the make-up of the task force team and the lack of information given to work with, that the team is set up to fail. Failure will probably involve loss of rank and position for all on the force. Reacher is the Army's representative on the task force, and he leads two of the other agents in tracking down needed information. The killer always seems one step ahead of them. Finding the useful information will involve getting to the bottom of this secret, which will, in turn, put Reacher and the team members in danger as well. VERDICT This is a slow, methodical thriller that fans of the series will enjoy. The authors do a good job of creating characters that work for the story.—Cynde Suite

Library Journal

Scott Brick continues to capture the stoic Jack Reacher in this action-packed series. The audiobook starts with sisters Veronica and Roberta Sanson throwing a man out a hospital window. Cleverly designed "accidental" deaths continue to affect a team of scientists who are involved in a research project in India. When the secretary of defense is alerted to the deaths, he pulls together a team of investigators, including Reacher. Brick does a stellar job of narrating the thrills while maintaining Reacher's matter-of-fact tone even when he's in peril. Brick masterfully increases his pace, adding suspense to the sisters' reign of terror as they move closer to their target. S.K.G. © AudioFile 2023, Portland, Maine

DECEMBER 2023 - AudioFile

2023-08-25
Trouble could be Jack Reacher’s middle name in this 28th adventure in the series.

In Chicago in 1992, Roberta and Veronica Sanson throw a recovering heart-attack patient out a hospital window. Thus begins a series of murders the women commit as they try to get someone to answer an important question about an event that happened in December 1969. On the team investigating the murders is Capt. Jack Reacher of the military police. Previously, he had been demoted from the rank of major, but that is literally another story. Reacher is a strange man, “naturally suited to two states of existence. Instant, explosive action. And near-catatonic stasis. It was the in-between he struggled with.” Faster and smarter than any four bad guys, he’s a superhero who deserves to have an action figure in his likeness if one doesn't exist already. But he and his team have their hands full with the Sanson sisters, who are killers on a mission. Back in 1969, there had been a team of scientists working on a secret project, and the sisters demand to know the name of the eighth team member, who all the victims insist to their death does not exist. The investigative team is puzzled as they realize someone is picking off retired scientists one by one, and “former CIA assets start dropping like flies.” There are some interesting lines: When a high-ranking government official comes under suspicion, Reacher says, “This is America. The law applies to him the same as everyone else.” Readers who follow current events may find the statement pointed. And Roberta chastises a victim: “There you go. Underestimating a woman, again. Will you never learn?” The plot gets a bit complicated, and readers will find a few nice twists. But mainly, Reacher provides the entertainment with his not quite believable fighting skills.

An enjoyable, fast-moving yarn.

Kirkus Reviews