The blond, close-cropped man leading the group spoke in a slightly hoarse voice as he recited Reacher's background one detail at a time. When he finished, he gave his conclusion.
"If you hadn't tried to track us in return, it probably would have taken us much longer to find you."
He looked at Reacher and gave a faint smile.
"You're a smart, slippery, and strong bastard, big guy."
Reacher showed no particular reaction to the man's words. He simply spoke slowly, his voice low and full of calm confidence.
: "Amphibious Assault Vests—core equipment for Marine Recon and Special Operations units. Made of soft armor paired with SAPI ballistic plates."
"Kevlar protective sleeves, knee pads, and elbow pads. Oakley 6-inch assault boots. Carrying Protech SIG 'Short' gloves and Benchmade Model 550 Griptilian knives."
"The weapons your men were carrying were M4A1 carbines and Mk14 Mod 0 Enhanced Battle Rifles."
"During my capture, I observed your team using standard GPNVG-18 night vision goggles, ENVG goggles, M151 Remote Target Identity Monoculars, and MK VII E Laser Target Designation Systems. You're operating Medium Assault Vehicles and Humvees."
He raised his eyes and looked directly at the man.
"All of that is equipment used by the most advanced special operations combat systems available today. Your team follows the tactical structure and combat doctrine of standard special forces units. But you're not Navy SEALs, and you're not Green Berets. In fact, you don't belong to any official agency at all."
"I was already extremely cautious when I started investigating you, but someone still sold me out. Your connections reach into both politics and the military. You have an efficient rapid-response and transportation network. Even after fully investigating my background, you still chose to arrest me."
His voice grew colder.
"You're the private armed force of some very important person."
Reacher's calm, precise analysis made the man lightly clap his hands in appreciation.
"Compared to your size, your brain is even more impressive," he said with genuine admiration. "And someone as smart as you should understand exactly why we brought you here."
Of course Reacher understood their purpose.
Even so, he replied in a low voice, "I suggest you abandon that idea. You can't afford to provoke him."
"There's no one in this world we can't afford to provoke, Reacher. I only need that answer."
The man was equally confident.
Reacher said nothing more. He simply stared at him, a faint half-smile on his face—an expression somewhere between mockery and amusement.
Strangely, it did not anger the man.
Instead, he spoke evenly.
"He may not have any obvious weaknesses, but you do, Reacher. Your brother, Joe, is Director of Investigations at the Department of Homeland Security. He has a very promising future ahead of him. But if we choose to, it won't take long before we can arrange for you to see his corpse."
The tone was calm, almost casual.
But those words made something shift slightly in Reacher's mind.
So the so-called important figure behind these people truly had significant influence.
If they could touch his brother inside Homeland Security, then that meant they had people inside that department as well.
This organization really was enormous.
Even while his mind continued analyzing the situation with complete calm, his face showed only indifference.
"Then you should also know that my relationship with him isn't exactly close. We haven't contacted each other even once in more than ten years. Do you really think killing him would affect me?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"Anger? Rage? Despair? Do you want me to perform it for you?"
That answer finally made the man lose his composure.
His expression darkened. He bent forward, both hands pressing against the metal table as he leaned closer, staring at Reacher with deliberate intimidation.
"If emotions don't bind you… then what about pain? Physical pain. Mental pain."
His voice dropped lower.
"And I'd really like to know whether or not you're afraid of death, Major."
Faced with such naked intimidation, Reacher remained completely unmoved.
The two men stood there in silent confrontation. When the blond man finally realized that Reacher truly was the hard type—the kind that wouldn't break easily—his patience began to wear thin. He straightened up, clearly preparing to test just how much pain this so-called tough guy could endure.
And then—
BOOM—!!
A world-shaking explosion thundered through everyone's ears.
The entire room trembled violently. The ceiling lights flickered wildly as the sealed chamber shook like it was being torn apart. Everyone inside, including Reacher, was thrown off balance as though the room itself had been lifted and slammed sideways. Bodies crashed heavily into the walls before dropping to the floor with dull thuds.
"Ugh—what the hell happened?!"
Reacher and the others hit the walls and fell hard, the impacts echoing in the enclosed room.
Fortunately, everyone present was physically strong enough that the collision wasn't enough to seriously injure them, let alone kill them. They quickly climbed back to their feet.
And as soon as they did, they saw Reacher standing there as well—only now, there was a smile on his face.
The blond man immediately felt something go wrong.
It wasn't just because of Reacher's expression. It was the sudden explosion… and the strange oppressive feeling that had followed it.
A suffocating, terrifying presence lingered faintly in the air.
He pulled out his communication device and shouted into it.
"Command room! What happened?!"
Only static answered him.
A harsh zzzt—zzzt filled the speaker. No response.
Reacher leaned against the wall, his hands and feet still locked in chains, stabilizing himself as the room continued to shake.
Because of that trembling, he had already figured something out.
This wasn't a building.
This prison room was inside a large ship—and the ship was still moving across the ocean.
He knew that feeling well.
"I told you," Reacher said calmly, "you picked the wrong person to mess with, bastard."
The blond man and his two subordinates immediately drew their guns and aimed them at him.
"How is that possible?" the man snapped. "How could anyone find this place? We're in the middle of the ocean!"
Reacher gave a small shrug, though there was genuine surprise hidden deep in his eyes.
"To begin with," he said, "did it ever occur to you that if I have no ID, no driver's license, no address, no phone, and I never use credit cards… maybe I have another way of contacting my friends?"
In truth, even Reacher himself hadn't immediately figured out he was on a ship. If a large vessel moved smoothly enough on calm seas, the sealed room made it almost impossible to notice the subtle motion.
So he genuinely hadn't expected Neagley's side to locate him this quickly.
Of course, there was no way he would tell that to the man in front of him.
"Damn it… you people have an off-grid contact network."
The blond man understood instantly, and his face turned dark.
That had been their oversight.
Still, he didn't think everything was lost.
At the very least, they still had Reacher as a bargaining chip.
"Then now," he said coldly, the gun still aimed directly at Reacher, "you're our life insurance."
"You'd better behave."
After saying that, he turned and gave a look to his two men.
One of them stepped forward, grabbed Reacher's thick arm, and yanked him away from the wall. The other pressed the muzzle of his gun against Reacher's forehead.
"Move."
The soldier shoved him forward expressionlessly as they walked out of the sealed room.
Outside was a corridor inside the ship.
The moment they stepped out, they saw the armed guards who had originally been standing watch at the door now lying limp on the ground.
"Dead?!"
The blond man crouched down and checked one of them. The moment he confirmed there was no breathing, an indescribable fear rose uncontrollably in his chest.
Only one door separated them.
And yet he hadn't noticed at all when the men outside had died.
That kind of silent, effortless killing—without warning, without struggle—was enough to make anyone afraid.
What made it worse was the silence.
He hadn't heard anything.
No shouting. No gunfire. No screams.
Nothing.
Only the sound of ocean waves, the friction of the ship cutting through the water, the steady hum of the engine…
…and perhaps, faintly, the sound of helicopter rotors in the distance.
There were more than thirty soldiers on this ship under his command, along with over thirty crew members—captain, sailors, and support staff.
Sixty to seventy people in total.
And now… not a single sound of chaos could be heard.
What did that mean?