He stood still. Borken was behind the desk. His hair gleamed white in the light. The black uniform showed up gray. Borken was just staring silently at him. Then he waved him to a chair. Motioned the guards to wait outside.
Reacher sat heavily. Fatigue was gnawing at him and adrenaline was burning his stomach. The guards tramped across the floor and stepped outside. They closed the door quietly. Borken moved his arm and rolled open a drawer. Took out an ancient handgun. Laid it on the desktop with a loud clatter.
"I made my decision," he said. "About whether you live or die. "
Then he pointed at the old revolver lying on the desk.
"You know what this is?" he asked.
Reacher glanced at it through the glare and nodded.
"It's a Marshal Colt," he said.
Borken nodded.
"You bet your a*s it
