"I agree with your assessment. This isn't a password. But if these numbers represent fractions, as in probabilities, then the person who wrote them was careless—many of them aren't reduced, like 9/12 or 12/15.
That suggests this is a set of statistics. The larger number includes the smaller one—the smaller number likely represents how many times a particular event occurred."
Since Reid was busy, Jack had sent the strange numbers to Chris first. Now, while brushing his teeth after a late night of talking with Reacher, he was listening to Chris's analysis over the phone.
"The problem is," Jack responded, mouth full of toothpaste, "we have no idea what they're actually tracking. Those two files are all we've got.
The flash drive was clean—no deleted files or erased data."
Chris's voice remained as flat as ever. "I don't like guesswork, but I noticed something—each page contains 26 sets of numbers, except for page five, which has 27."
Jack frowned. "And that means?"
"Well, we know that instead of putting all the numbers on one page, the writer deliberately split them into seven pages.
And since each page is consistent—"
"Chris." Jack spit out the toothpaste, grabbed a towel, and cut him off. "Just give me the conclusion."
Chris took the hint. "I believe each page represents one month. These numbers were recorded over seven months."
Jack paused mid-face wipe. "But, uh… except for February and leap years, every month has at least 30 or 31 days—"
He froze, suddenly realizing what he'd overlooked. As a federal employee, he should've noticed it sooner.
"Wait. Six-day workweeks?"
"Exactly." Chris continued, unfazed. "If you work six days a week, then excluding February, each month has either 26 or 27 workdays—unless the first of the month happens to be a Sunday in a 30-day month."
Jack was already reaching for a calendar, but Chris cut him off.
"No need. This data likely covers the last seven months—April to October this year, excluding national holidays."
Jack muttered, "Sounds inhumane."
—
"Anything else?" he asked, now flipping through the printed numbers.
"Yes—something odd. If these numbers track monthly statistics, then the later months show a clear decline—especially the last one.
Look at these: 10/15, 14/21—the gap keeps getting worse."
Chris paused, then added, "If this is some kind of experiment, it's not going well. It's failing."
Jack sighed. "Let's hope this isn't some bioweapon or vaccine trial—where 10 out of 12 test subjects die, then later, they're 'improving' because only 14 out of 21 are dying."
Chris was silent for a long moment.
Then he finally said, "…The numbers should be 1/10, 1/12 if that were the case."
Jack laughed. "Relax. Just joking."
But his good mood didn't last long.
Just as he was about to make breakfast, a grim-faced Danny and an equally serious-looking Stella Bonasera arrived at his door.
—
Hearing their bad news, Jack rushed upstairs.
Just as he reached Reacher's door, a deep, guttural scream erupted from inside—
"NO!"
Jack's heart clenched.
He slammed his shoulder into the door, busting it open—
Only to see Reacher, drenched in sweat, sitting bolt upright in bed, his expression haunted.
"Nightmare?" Jack exhaled.
Reacher wiped his face, still catching his breath.
"I saw Franz."
Jack didn't push for details. He simply said, "Get downstairs.
You'll want to hear this."
—
"Over the past few days, CSI New York and the local police have continued searching the Kazitsch Mountains, hoping to find more evidence near where your friend's body was discovered," Stella explained.
"But due to limited manpower, progress has been slow.
Last night, we found two more bodies.
The cold weather slowed their decomposition, but wild animals had gotten to them—making facial recognition impossible.
Then, during examination, our medical examiner found a tattoo on one of the bodies' backs—what appeared to be a military service number."
Stella pushed two case files across the table.
Reacher didn't need to look—he already knew.
Still, he forced himself to open them.
His eyes locked onto the crime scene photos.
Jose Sanchez.
Manuel Orozco.
Both former 110th Special Investigations members.
Both his people.
Reacher stared at the documents, his face unreadable.
"Orozco's sister was terrified he'd go missing in action," Reacher murmured, voice distant.
"So when he enlisted, she made him tattoo his name and service number on his back.
It was a stupid idea—but she was his only family, and he wanted to make her feel safe."
Reacher's expression twisted into something almost amused—but his eyes were dark with rage.
Some people don't cry or scream when they're at their breaking point.
They just go silent.
And then—
They start killing.
Jack didn't know what Reacher had seen in his nightmare.
But he did know that New York was about to have a serious problem.
He almost felt relieved he hadn't just called Reacher with the news.
If he'd let Reacher find out on his own, he'd probably be chasing a blood trail all over the city right now.
And Jack really didn't want to see his friend's face on a wanted poster.
—
Reacher finally spoke.
"I'll notify Orozco's sister myself.
Danny, you're a cop—can you contact Sanchez's mother?"
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
Jack, however, was focused on something else.
"Reacher—do you have a way to reach the rest of the 110th?
The injuries on Sanchez and Orozco match Franz's exactly.
That means they were also tortured—then thrown out of a helicopter—one or two days after Franz."
Danny, still reeling from the revelation, spoke up.
"Maybe you should make a list—whoever did this must have had a grudge against your unit."
Reacher nodded.
"I'll take care of it.
But first—" He turned to Jack.
Jack sighed.
"Weapons are fine.
But promise me—you won't go solo on this."
Reacher remained silent.
Jack narrowed his eyes.
"If you try to go full lone wolf, I'll call Joey and drag him into this mess.
You don't want me to do that, do you?"
That got Reacher's attention.
"…Fine," he finally said. "You have my word."
With that, he grabbed the burner phone Jack gave him and headed upstairs.
Jack watched him go, then turned back to Stella.
"I need CSI's help."
He wrote down an address and slid it over.
"NYPD's evidence unit already searched Franz's office—but now I need your people to double-check.
That place was thoroughly trashed.
Skip the micro-evidence.
I need you to look at it from a different angle."
______
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