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Night School, by Lee Child
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The incomparable hero of Jack Reacher: Never Go Back takes readers to school in his most explosive novel yet. After eleven straight global #1 bestsellers, discover the thrillers that The New York Times calls “utterly addictive.”
It’s 1996, and Reacher is still in the army. In the morning they give him a medal, and in the afternoon they send him back to school. That night he’s off the grid. Out of sight, out of mind.
Two other men are in the classroom—an FBI agent and a CIA analyst. Each is a first-rate operator, each is fresh off a big win, and each is wondering what the hell they are doing there.
Then they find out: A Jihadist sleeper cell in Hamburg, Germany, has received an unexpected visitor—a Saudi courier, seeking safe haven while waiting to rendezvous with persons unknown. A CIA asset, undercover inside the cell, has overheard the courier whisper a chilling message: “The American wants a hundred million dollars.”
For what? And who from? Reacher and his two new friends are told to find the American. Reacher recruits the best soldier he has ever worked with: Sergeant Frances Neagley. Their mission heats up in more ways than one, while always keeping their eyes on the prize: If they don’t get their man, the world will suffer an epic act of terrorism.
From Langley to Hamburg, Jalalabad to Kiev, Night School moves like a bullet through a treacherous landscape of double crosses, faked identities, and new and terrible enemies, as Reacher maneuvers inside the game and outside the law.
Praise for #1 bestselling author Lee Child and his Jack Reacher series
“Reacher [is] one of this century’s most original, tantalizing pop-fiction heroes.”—The Washington Post
- Sales Rank: #215 in Books
- Published on: 2016-11-07
- Released on: 2016-11-07
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 9.00" h x 1.06" w x 6.00" l, 1.43 pounds
- Binding: Hardcover
- 384 pages
Review
Praise for #1 bestselling author Lee Child and his Jack Reacher series
“This series [is] utterly addictive.”—Janet Maslin, The New York Times
“Reacher [is] one of this century’s most original, tantalizing pop-fiction heroes.”—The Washington Post
About the Author
Lee Child is the author of twenty New York Times bestselling Jack Reacher thrillers, eleven of which have reached the #1 position. All have been optioned for major motion pictures—including Jack Reacher (based on One Shot) and Jack Reacher: Never Go Back. 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.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1
In the morning they gave Reacher a medal, and in the afternoon they sent him back to school. The medal was another Legion of Merit. His second. It was a handsome item, enameled in white, with a ribbon halfway between purple and red. Army Regulation 600-8-22 authorized its award for exceptionally meritorious conduct in the performance of outstanding services to the United States in a key position of responsibility. Which was a bar Reacher felt he had cleared, technically. But he figured the real reason he was getting it was the same reason he had gotten it before. It was a transaction. A contractual token. Take the bauble and keep your mouth shut about what we asked you to do for it. Which Reacher would have anyway. It was nothing to boast about. The Balkans, some police work, a search for two local men with wartime secrets to keep, both soon identified, and located, and visited, and shot in the head. All part of the peace process. Interests were served, and the region calmed down a little. Two weeks of his life. Four rounds expended. No big deal.
Army Regulation 600-8-22 was surprisingly vague about exactly how medals should be handed out. It said only that decorations were to be presented with an appropriate air of formality and with fitting ceremony. Which usually meant a large room with gilt furniture and a bunch of flags. And an officer senior in rank to the recipient. Reacher was a major, with twelve years in, but other awards were being given out that morning, including three to a trio of colonels and two to a pair of one-star generals, so the big cheese on deck was a three-star from the Pentagon, who Reacher knew from many years before, when the guy had been a CID battalion commander working out of Fort Myer. A thinker. Certainly enough of a thinker to figure out why an MP major was getting a Legion of Merit. He had a look in his eye. Part wry, and part seal-the-deal serious. Take the bauble and keep your mouth shut. Maybe in the past the guy had done the same thing himself. Maybe more than once. He had a whole fruit salad of ribbons on the left chest of his Class-A coat. Including two Legions of Merit.
The appropriately formal room was deep inside Fort Belvoir in Virginia. Which was close to the Pentagon, which was convenient for the three-star. Convenient for Reacher too, because it was about equally close to Rock Creek, where he had been marking time since he got back. Not so convenient for the other officers, who had flown in from Germany.
There was some milling around, and some small talk, and some shaking of hands, and then everyone went quiet and lined up and stood to attention, and salutes were exchanged, and medals were variously pinned or draped on, and then there was more milling around and small talk and shaking of hands. Reacher edged toward the door, keen to get out, but the three-star caught him before he made it. The guy shook his hand and kept hold of his elbow, and said, “I hear you’re getting new orders.”
Reacher said, “No one told me. Not yet. Where did you hear that?”
“My top sergeant. They all talk to each other. U.S. Army NCOs have the world’s most efficient grapevine. It always amazes me.”
“Where do they say I’m going?”
“They don’t know for sure. But not far. Within driving distance, anyway. Apparently the motor pool got a requisition.”
“When am I supposed to find out?”
“Sometime today.”
“Thank you,” Reacher said. “Good to know.”
The three-star let go of his elbow, and Reacher edged onward, to the door, and through it, and out to a corridor, where a sergeant first-class skidded to a halt and saluted. He was out of breath, like he had run a long way. From a distant part of the installation, maybe, where the real work was done.
The guy said, “Sir, with General Garber’s compliments, he requests that you stop by his office at your earliest convenience.”
Reacher said, “Where am I going, soldier?”
“Driving distance,” the guy said. “But around here, that could be a lot of different things.”
Garber’s office was in the Pentagon, so Reacher caught a ride with two captains who lived at Belvoir but had afternoon shifts in the B-Ring. Garber had a walled-off room all his own, two rings in, two floors up, guarded by a sergeant at a desk outside the door. Who stood up and led Reacher inside, and announced his name, like an old-time butler in a movie. Then the guy sidestepped and began his retreat, but Garber stopped him and said, “Sergeant, I’d like you to stay.”
So the guy did, standing easy, feet planted on the shiny linoleum.
A witness.
Garber said, “Take a seat, Reacher.”
Reacher did, on a visitor chair with tubular legs, which sagged under his weight and tipped him backward, as if a strong wind was blowing.
Garber said, “You have new orders.”
Reacher said, “What and where?”
“You’re going back to school.”
Reacher said nothing.
Garber said, “Disappointed?”
Hence the witness, Reacher supposed. Not a private conversation. Best behavior. He said, “As always, general, I’m happy to go where the army sends me.”
“You don’t sound happy. But you should. Career development is a wonderful thing.”
“Which school?”
“Details are being delivered to your office as we speak.”
“How long will I be gone?”
“That depends on how hard you work. As long as it takes, I guess.”
Reacher got a bus in the Pentagon parking lot and rode two stops to the base of the hill below the Rock Creek HQ. He walked up the slope and went straight to his office. There was a slim file centered on his desk. His name was on it, and some numbers, and a course title: Impact of Recent Forensic Innovation on Inter-Agency Cooperation. Inside were sheets of paper, still warm from the Xerox machine, including a formal notice of temporary detachment to a location that seemed to be a leased facility in a corporate park in McLean, Virginia. He was to report there before five o’clock that afternoon. Civilian dress was to be worn. Residential quarters would be on-site. A personal vehicle would be provided. No driver.
Reacher tucked the file under his arm and walked out of the building. No one watched him go. He was of no interest to anyone. Not anymore. He was a disappointment. An anticlimax. The NCO grapevine had held its breath, and all it had gotten was a meaningless course with a bullshit title. Not exciting at all. So now he was a non-person. Out of circulation. Out of sight, out of mind. Like a ballplayer on the disabled list. A month from then someone might suddenly remember him for a second, and wonder when he was coming back, or if, and then forget him again just as quickly.
The desk sergeant inside the door glanced up, and glanced away, bored.
Reacher had very few civilian clothes, and some of them weren’t really civilian. His off-duty pants were Marine Corps khakis about thirty years old. He knew a guy who knew a guy who worked in a warehouse, where he claimed there was a bale of old stuff wrongly delivered back when LBJ was still president, and then never squared away again afterward. And apparently the point of the story was that old Marine pants looked just like new Ralph Lauren pants. Not that Reacher cared what pants looked like. But five bucks was an attractive price. And the pants were fine. Unworn, never issued, stiffly folded, a little musty, but good for another thirty years at least.
His off-duty T-shirts were no more civilian, being old army items, gone pale and thin with washing. Only his jacket was definitively non-military. It was a tan denim Levi’s item, totally authentic in every respect, including the label, but sewn by an old girlfriend’s mother, in a basement in Seoul.
He changed and packed the rest of his stuff into a duffel and a suit carrier, which he heaved out to the curb, where a black Chevy Caprice was parked. He guessed it was an old MP black-and-white, now retired, with the decals peeled off, and the holes for the light bar and the antennas all sealed up with rubber plugs. The key was in. The seat was worn. But the engine started, and the transmission worked, and the brakes were fine. Reacher swung the thing around like a battleship maneuvering, and headed out toward McLean, Virginia, with the windows down and the radio playing.
The corporate park was one of many, all of them the same, brown and beige, discreet typefaces, neat lawns, some evergreen planting, low two- and three-building campuses spreading outward across empty land, servicing folks who hid behind bland and modest names and tinted glass in their office windows. Reacher found the right place by the street number, and pulled in past a knee-high sign that said Educational Solutions Incorporated, in a typeface so plain it looked childish.
Parked at the door were two more Chevy Caprices. One was black and one was navy blue. They were both newer than Reacher’s. And they were both properly civilian, in that they didn’t have rubber plugs and brush-painted doors. They were government sedans, no doubt about it, clean and shiny, each one with two more antennas than a person needed for listening to the ball game. But the extra two antennas were not the same in both cases. The black car had short needles and the blue car had longer whips, in a different configuration. On a different wavelength. Two separate organizations.
Inter-Agency Cooperation.
Reacher parked alongside, and left his bags in the car. He went in the door, to an empty lobby, which had durable gray carpet underfoot and green potted ferns here and there against the walls. There was a door marked Office. And a door marked Classroom. Which Reacher opened. There was a green chalkboard at the head of the room, and twenty college desks, in four rows of five, each one with a little ledge on the right, for paper and pencil.
Sitting on two of the desks were two guys, both in suits. One suit was black, and one suit was navy blue. Like the cars. Both guys were looking straight ahead, like they had been talking, but had run out of things to say. They were about Reacher’s own age. The one in the black suit was pale with dark hair worn dangerously long for a guy with a government car. The one in the blue suit was pale with colorless hair buzzed short. Like an astronaut. Built like an astronaut, too, or a gymnast not long out of the game.
Reacher stepped in, and they both turned to look.
The dark haired guy said, “Who are you?”
Reacher said, “That depends on who you are.”
“Your identity depends on mine?”
“Whether I tell you or not. Are those your cars outside?”
“Is that significant?”
“Suggestive.”
“How?”
“Because they’re different.”
“Yes,” the guy said. “Those are our cars. And yes, you’re in a classroom with two different representatives of two different government agencies. At cooperation school. Where they’re going to teach us all about how to get along with other organizations. Please don’t tell me you’re from one of them.”
“Military police,” Reacher said. “But don’t worry. I’m sure by five o’clock we’ll have plenty of civilized people here. You can give up on me and get along with them instead.”
The guy with the buzz cut looked up and said, “No, I think we’re it. I think we’re the whole ball game. There are only three bedrooms made up. I took a look around.”
Reacher said, “What kind of a government school has three students only? I never heard of that before.”
“Maybe we’re faculty. Maybe the students live elsewhere.”
The guy with the dark hair said, “Yes, that would make more sense.”
Most helpful customer reviews
100 of 103 people found the following review helpful.
Lee Child's new book, "Night School" - a little less of the Jack Reacher we know and love, but still very good.
By N. Caruso
I’ve read all 20 Jack Reacher novels, written by Lee Child. I jumped at the chance to evaluate copy of his newest book. You don’t read 20 of anything unless you really like the characters, and “Night School” is no different. Taking place back in the mid-90’s Military Police Major Jack Reacher is reassigned to go back to school – but it isn’t what anyone thinks. It’s really just a cover to investigate a possible act of treason and terrorism. Reacher teams up with his old colleague Sgt. Frances Neagley and a group of new folks representing the FBI, CIA and the national Security Council to find out what is happening and how to stop it. The best part of a mystery is finding out what happens, so I won’t spoil anything, but Jack Reacher does his usual thing and in the end prevails in the usual Reacher fashion. The interaction between Neagley and Reacher, along with the other team members is entertaining.
That’s the good part, now the part that isn’t quite as good. I like Reacher novels because over the years he has been consistent - Jack Reacher is a really interesting character – keeps a clock in his head – always know exactly what time it is. Calculates the physics of a punch before he throws it, etc. In this book, Reacher is a bit more superficial. There is a lot less of Reacher’s thought process in this book and I felt it made the book a bit less fun to read. In fact, I can only give it “4 Stars” because it’s good – very good, in fact… but it lacks a bit of what makes Reacher novels so enjoyable.
Reacher fans will love it. Folks new to the series will enjoy it, as well. I enjoyed it. I just wish Lee Child done a bit more to keep Reacher’s character as unique and entertaining as he has done in the past.
112 of 121 people found the following review helpful.
Why Does Lee Child Sell So Many Books?
By Scott E. High
The answer is mostly because of his character Jack Reacher. I find it interesting that Mr. Child twice reiterates Jack's physical description at 6' 5" and 250 lbs. It's almost like Lee Child is trying to reclaim his character as he has been presented in the past 20 novels -- as opposed to having the "movie" Jack Reacher represented by 5' 7" Tom Cruise. No offense to Tom Cruise but I have known Jack Reacher for almost 20 years. And you are no Jack Reacher.
In 1997 Lee Child presented Jack Reacher as a main character in "Killing Floor". Jack is not just a rugged and competent physical specimen, he is highly trained, has great instincts, can calculate numbers (and odds) rapidly in his head, is very intelligent, and can apply his skills immediately and with very little remorse (if any). This combination of attributes also makes him attractive to women. Jack represents what most manly men probably want to be.
I have always been interested in the use of "chaos theory" as a problem solving tool. Chaos theory is a method of problem solving in the field of mathematics that deals with complex systems whose behavior is highly sensitive to slight changes in conditions, often small alterations can give rise to strikingly great consequences. Jack Reacher in combination with his main supporting cast are skilled at tossing out random thoughts that helps them leave no stone unturned. Peoples' minds often work in different ways and sometimes the solution that appears obvious to one person just turns out to be a "head fake". And so they move on to explore other potential outcomes.
But while Jack Reacher is a fascinating character, and reason enough to read any (or all) of the Reacher novels, Lee Child really excels at being a highly gifted story teller. His plots are relevant and timely, the story is often presented from several points of view, and any thriller/detective novel reader will find himself/herself rapidly sucked into the story and given a front row seat to watch the plot unfold. The writing is tight, his descriptions on point, and his use of humor is both cynical and sarcastic. The brilliance that it takes to put such a complex plot together, while still making it interesting and entertaining, is a trait shared by few authors.
My wife always smiles when I laugh out loud while reading. Sometimes the direction the humor comes from is unexpected and in your face, providing an instant surprise that causes your brain to "burp" before it understands what the verbiage really means. When your brain comprehends the message and context, the result is a spontaneous and explosive laugh -- often followed by another one immediately. I love that when it happens! Like most people, I probably don't laugh enough anymore.
So "kudos" to Lee Child and his character. I'd be interested in a poll given where the main objective would be to identify which of these two names are most recognizable -- Lee Child or Jack Reacher? Given the popularity of the novels and movie, I would place my bet on Jack. If you are a fan of detective novels and thrillers, don't miss out on the Jack Reacher series.
64 of 69 people found the following review helpful.
"We truly have no idea what's coming next."
By E. Bukowsky
Lee Child, in "Night School," takes us back to 1996, when Jack Reacher was a thirty-five year old army major who had served his country for twelve years. His superior officer, General Garber, orders him to report to the Pentagon, where he is supposed to take a continuing education course. However, this is merely a ruse to keep anyone from knowing that the President of the United States wants Jack and a select group of agents from the CIA and FBI to prevent a catastrophe.
Alfred Ratcliffe, the National Security Adviser, and Raticliffe's deputy, Dr. Marion Sinclair, inform Reacher and his colleagues that an Iranian spy working for the CIA in Hamburg, Germany, has learned that Middle-Eastern extremists are about to make a major purchase from an unidentified American. We are off to the races, and fortunately, Reacher is on our side. In addition to his prowess in hand-to-hand combat (he is six feet five and two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle), Jack is a thinker who analyzes data, makes critical decisions, deploys resources as needed, and uses his uncanny instincts to excellent advantage. He recruits the intelligent and competent Sergeant Frances Neagley to assist him. Jack and company face a daunting challenge: They must identify the key players in this proposed exchange; find out where and when the sale is supposed to take place; and stop it from happening. All of this must be accomplished without alerting the public. Reacher ignores orders and sidesteps the law when it suits him. He knows that if he succeeds, he will be forgiven, but if he fails, he will be blamed and perhaps face prosecution.
"Night School" is a diverting throwback to the days before 9/11. The Internet and supercomputers had not yet changed the world. In addition to Reacher, a man who makes every word and deed count, the cast includes a German chief of detectives who has good reason to help Jack; a band of Aryan racists eager to pursue their own nefarious agenda; and the shadowy American who intends to enrich himself at the expense of countless innocent lives. This plot-driven story has the usual clichés (a race against time, highly-charged romantic encounters between Jack and his sexy lover, and a final violent confrontation), and the author makes no attempt to delineate his characters with any degree of subtlety. "Night School" may not be great literature, but Child doesn't pretend to be Tolstoy. He delivers a fast-paced novel of action-adventure that has enough thrills to entertain fans of this long-running series.
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