The Escape (21 page)

D
OUG FLETCHER WAS
just leaving the JAG building on the grounds of UVA’s prestigious law school when Puller and Knox climbed out of the sedan. He was in his fifties, lean, with hair probably as closely cropped as during his military career, only now it was mostly gray. His jaw was sharply cut and his blue eyes were alert and penetrating, which helped to gain the trust of a judge or jury.

Puller and Knox flashed their cred packs. Fletcher didn’t look surprised by their appearance.

“How can I help you?” he asked, his voice firm and low but carrying a throaty rumble that made it perfectly clear.

Puller explained why they were here and Fletcher nodded.

“I heard about the escape, of course.” He glanced around. “There’s an office space I use back at the JAG School. Perhaps that might be more private.”

They walked there in five minutes. Fletcher closed the door to the small space that had a desk in the center with a computer on it. The walls were lined with wooden shelves filled with dusty tomes and stacks of legal periodicals. Fletcher took his seat behind the desk while Puller and Knox sat opposite.

“We understand that you might have had some doubts about Robert Puller’s guilt,” began Puller.

“I wasn’t the only one,” replied Fletcher.

“The witness statements?”

“Among other things. I guess that could have happened naturally. But I also learned later that Puller had a potential defense with his computer being hacked.”

“Something he wouldn’t acknowledge.”

“He was too smart for his own good. Too smart in fact to allow himself to be seen loading a DVD and then get caught with it in his pocket.”

“And the Iranian spy sighting?” asked Knox.

Fletcher shrugged. “It was very damning testimony. And the witness was credible and had no known grudge against Puller. So what was the motivation to lie?”

“How about a very sick child who needed a treatment that was deemed experimental and thus insurance-proof and also way out of dad’s financial range?” said Puller.

Fletcher leaned forward. “What?”

Knox explained, “Robinson’s son had a very rare form of leukemia. Traditional treatment couldn’t touch it. The experimental option cost over seven figures and was only performed in another country. Before Robert Puller was convicted his son was going to die. After Robert Puller went to DB, Robinson suddenly got the treatment done. And it wasn’t for free.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Fletcher.

Knox again answered. “Because my partner here noticed two pictures of Robinson’s kid in his office. One was of a dying child. The other was an older version obviously doing fine.”

Puller added, “So we ran it down and found what we found.”

“And there was no other explanation?” asked Fletcher. “Donations, the experimental treatment being done gratis?”

“It was paid for. Over a million bucks two months after Robert Puller went to DB.”

“Damn! So if Robinson was paid off?”

“We think Susan Reynolds was too. We interviewed her. And I’ve done enough face-to-faces to realize when someone is lying. She was.”

“And the motivation? Money again?”

Puller said, “For herself. Her husband was killed nearly twenty years ago, leaving her with two small kids to raise. She now lives in a million-dollar home on a government salary.”

“And no one discovered this before now?”

“It was all after the fact. Robinson’s kid was dying. Susan Reynolds was poor. After the trial who’d go back and dig through that. You didn’t, right?”

“No, I didn’t,” Fletcher said a bit guiltily. “I had a full plate of work. No time to step back after a verdict was in. And it wasn’t my job to do so,” he added defensively.

“But now we have to know the truth. Puller is out there somewhere.”

“But didn’t he kill a man to get out?” said Fletcher. “That’s what I heard through the grapevine.”

“That’s one theory,” said Puller. “But it may be more complicated than that.”

Knox said, “You were obviously somewhat skeptical of the witness statements containing the same phraseology. You didn’t follow that up?”

“Again, it wasn’t my job. I pointed it out to the defense, not that they needed me to do that. And the rest of the evidence was very strong. Online gambling, piled-up debts. Means, motive, and opportunity. It was a classic case.”

“Well, the motivation could have been fabricated since we suspect his computer was hacked,” Puller pointed out.

“I can see that now,” replied Fletcher.

“So when did the death penalty get pulled off the table?” asked Puller.

This comment drew a sharp glance from Fletcher.

Puller said, “We know the charge was changed from spying, which carries a mandatory death penalty in times of war, to espionage, which doesn’t automatically mandate death. Why did that happen?” He leaned forward. “Because the record of the court-martial proceedings I looked at had you filing the motion for the change in the charges against Robert Puller. It didn’t come from the defense side.”

Fletcher clasped his hands in front of him and looked to be in deep thought. “That directive came from above.”

“How far above?”

“Well above me. But, frankly, I think the genesis for it came from outside the legal side of the military. And outside even the Air Force.”

Puller said, “How could that be? Robert Puller was in the Air Force. They would unquestionably have jurisdiction over him and the case.”

“You’re right in all respects. But I think it was because his father was a legendary
Army
general, if you want the truth. The DoD apparently thought that putting to death the son of such a hero would not be a good thing.”

Puller sat back. This hadn’t occurred to him.

Fletcher studied him. “He’s
your
father too, of course.”

“So you made the connection with the last name?”

“No, I knew before. When you’re prosecuting someone for a serious crime, you check out his family. I know all about you. And I’m absolutely stunned that you’re being allowed to investigate your brother’s escape from DB.”

“You’re not the only one,” said Puller. “So you think it had to do with our father?”

“Well, there was the letter he wrote.”

Puller didn’t seem to be able to process this statement. Knox glanced at him, saw his rigid look, and said to Fletcher, “What letter?”

“From General Puller, pleading for his son to not be tried for spying. It was quite moving.”

“When was it sent?” asked Knox, while still glancing nervously at Puller.

“Early on in the proceedings. The judge accepted the motion I filed, and of course the defense had no objection.”

Puller finally found his voice and said, “The letter wasn’t in the file.”

“I’m not surprised about that. It wasn’t technically part of the record.”

“Do you remember what else it said?” asked Puller.

“I actually kept a copy. If you give me your email I can scan it in and forward it to you.”

Puller gave him a business card and said, “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” asked Fletcher.

Knox said hastily, “If there is we’ll get back to you.”

They left a moody-looking Fletcher sitting behind his desk.

As they walked out Knox said, “You obviously didn’t know your father had written a letter.”

“He was at the VA by then. I didn’t think he had the capacity to even write his own name.”

“Well, he might have found the capacity to help a son fighting for his life.”

“But it seemed to me that he didn’t care what happened to Bobby.”

“Maybe your dad didn’t want to admit his feelings to you. Some men have a problem with that. You think your father fits into that category?”

“As far as I knew, my father never had any feelings,” said Puller tersely.

C
HARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA,
was the next stop on their list. They made it from Charlottesville in a little over four hours with Puller driving fast the whole way. He liked to drive because it gave him time to think. And he had a lot to think about, particularly about a letter a father had written in an attempt to save his oldest son from a death sentence.

“I don’t have any pennies on me, but I’ll fork over folding money to see inside your head.”

He looked over at Knox, who was staring at him with a worried expression.

“I was thinking about my dad.”

“And why he wrote the letter?”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Despite what you said, I’m sure your father
has
feelings.”

“I’ve heard him go off about my brother when I visited him at the VA. Unless I was somehow misconstruing his shouts and cursing, I’m not sure he was a real fan of what my brother allegedly did.”

“Well, knowing what we know now about your brother’s motivation to tank his own defense to protect you and your father, maybe you can tell him one day that his son was innocent.”

“I’d like Bobby to be able to do that himself.”

Knox placed a hand on his shoulder. “I hope he can too.”

“I want to ask defense counsel point-blank why he didn’t pursue that angle. I mean, if he knew Bobby was being threatened, why wasn’t there an investigation?”

“Well, according to what Shireen Kirk told you, there was no evidence to that effect except your brother’s statement. And he wouldn’t let counsel pursue it, namely because he thought harm would come to you and your father.”

“So he lets an innocent man go to prison?”

“No, he put on the defense he had and a panel of his peers sent Robert Puller to prison.”

“You know it’s not that simple or straightforward.”

“What I know is that we need more proof than we have right now.”

“Macri was bought off. And Susan Reynolds is lying. And so was Niles Robinson.”

“I believe it. But can we convince others? Even with the financial evidence we have? And more important, can we tie it into your brother’s case? Because all most people know is that he escaped from DB and left a dead man behind. Whether that man should have been there or not is largely irrelevant for most people. First and foremost your brother is a killer, at least that’s what they think. Whatever the truth is, it’s complicated, and complicated is not what our information-overloaded society is good at grasping, because they would have to focus for longer than five seconds, which most folks can’t do anymore.”

“So all this is for shit, then? Everything we’re doing?” Puller retorted.

“Of course it’s not. But I want you to understand really clearly that what we have now is not enough. It’s not even close to enough. I don’t see light at the end of the tunnel yet and neither should you. We have to keep plugging.”

“That’s all I ever do, Knox. I just keep plugging.”

Knox had scrounged up government travel vouchers that would allow them to stay at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in downtown Charlotte for a reduced rate that would not cause a DoD bean counter to slash his wrists. They got rooms on the same floor, on either side of the elevator bank. They made arrangements to meet in the lobby thirty minutes later and then go have a late dinner.

Puller quickly showered and put on a set of clean clothes he’d grabbed from his duffel. He made some phone calls, including one to the VA hospital to check on his dad.

“Resting comfortably,” was the reply he got to his question. Puller knew that meant the old man wasn’t yelling at anybody.

He left a message on Shireen’s voice mail telling her where they were and what they had found out. He knew he would have to report in soon to General Rinehart and Schindler from the NSC. How much he would tell them he wasn’t sure.

He checked his watch, gunned up, and headed to the elevator.

Knox was standing there waiting for the elevator car to arrive. She wore a cream-colored skirt that hit right above the knee, an emerald green blouse, and high-heeled, open-toed shoes revealing rose-colored nail polish. Her auburn hair was highlighted against the green fabric and was done up in a way that revealed her long, curved neck. She carried a clutch purse and a wrap was loosely draped around her shoulders. He caught a whiff of her perfume and felt a little lightheaded as he approached.

He looked down at his khakis, polo shirt, and old corduroy jacket. “I’m feeling a little underdressed next to you, Knox.”

She smiled. “You look fine.”

“Where to?” he asked when they reached the lobby. “I don’t know the town that well.”

“I made reservations at a place. Easy walking distance.”

He eyed her spikes. “Even in those shoes?”

She smiled. “I have great balance.”

He eyed her purse. “Gunned up?”

She nodded. “Compact but good stopping power. I use it as a backup ordinarily.”

The air was warm and the dark sky clear. The walk was only two blocks. The restaurant was fairly full at the late hour. The clientele was made up of well-dressed twenty-somethings who looked like lawyers, bankers, techies, and other assorted professionals taking a break from busy lives to play. When Puller saw the prices on the menu he glanced sharply at Knox.

“My per diem doesn’t cover this.”

“Relax, it’s on me.”

They split a bottle of wine and Puller had sirloin steak medium rare, while Knox ordered salmon served on a cedar plank. They divided up a piece of carrot cake over coffee for dessert.

They were the last customers to leave the restaurant.

As they walked back, Knox slipped her arm through his. She leaned into him and for some reason he interpreted this as more for support than anything else. When he glanced at her she confirmed this by saying, “I admit, the heels were a bad idea.”

“Well, they look great on you. Just like the dress.”

She squeezed his arm. “I wasn’t sure you had noticed.”

“I noticed,” said Puller. He paused. “Just like I noticed the four guys following us. Two across the street and two behind us.”

Knox kept looking straight ahead. “And they definitely seem interested in us?”

“They were outside the restaurant when we left. They split into pairs and headed our way. And they’re still there matching us stride for stride but keeping just back.”

“And the next block coming up is pretty isolated. And at this hour we’re the only ones out and about.”

“Let’s hang a left down the alleyway up there and see what happens.”

They made the turn and Puller watched as Knox opened her clutch and took out the pistol. She covered it by sliding her hand inside her wrap.

“I hear footsteps coming across the street,” she said.

“See the Dumpster up there?”

“Yes,” she said.

“When we get there let’s fake a little romantic thing.”

“You mean like making out?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said crisply.

“Okay, but what’s the endgame?”

“I want to be able to see the whites of their eyes. And since we’re outnumbered two to one I hope it’ll make them let down their defenses for the second we’ll need.”

They kept walking at a leisurely pace until they reached the Dumpster. Then Puller turned to Knox, brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, circled her waist with his arm, and bent low to kiss her. As his lips rested against Knox’s, Puller had not a romantic thought in his head. He was counting off the footsteps in his head. His left hand was coiled around Knox’s waist but his right hand gripped his M11.

He moved his lips to Knox’s neck and pretended to nuzzle her skin. “Three-two-one,” he whispered in her ear.

They whirled, guns pointed at the four men, who were now only ten feet away. From their stunned expressions they had been caught completely off guard.

“Guns on the ground, now,” barked Puller.

One man did not heed this warning and raised his gun instead and fired. He missed his target and the round clanged off the Dumpster behind Puller. Knox fired and the man dropped to the asphalt. As he fell the other three shot back and retreated. Puller returned the fire.

“Go! Go!” shouted Knox. “I’ve got your six.”

Puller hustled after them. Knox checked the fallen man, looked behind her, threw off her heels, and sprinted after Puller.

The three men reached the end of the alley and Puller heard the vehicle coming fast on the next street. He increased his speed, but he needed to duck behind some garbage cans when one of the men turned and fired at him. By the time he got to the street the SUV was just turning the next corner.

Knox came running up to him.

“Anything?” she asked breathlessly.

He shook his head. “They’re gone. Didn’t get the plate.”

“Let’s check the guy I shot back there. Maybe he has some ID.”

But there was no dead guy. There was blood, but no corpse.

They looked everywhere the wounded man could have gone, but found no sign of him.

Knox looked at Puller, dumbstruck. “I hit him right in the chest.”

“Were they wearing body armor?”

“I couldn’t tell. It was too dark. But there’s blood. I hit him.” She smacked her palm against her forehead. “Serves me right. I should’ve aimed for the head.”

Puller phoned the police and explained the situation. Then he called his superior at CID. The cops showed up minutes later. After that came the local detectives, and after that two CID agents arrived from Fort Bragg over in Fayetteville. They didn’t look pleased at having to make the drive at this time of night. They asked their questions and checked over the crime scene, what there was of one.

One of the agents asked Puller if he had any idea why they’d been targeted. Puller didn’t elaborate but told the agents he and Knox were working a case that was classified.

“Well, good luck with that,” said the agent as he and his partner walked off.

After answering innumerable questions from the local cops and looking through mug books at the precinct and giving their official statements, Puller and Knox didn’t get back to their hotel until three in the morning.

“Did you get a chance to report in to your superiors?” he asked Knox as they rode up in the elevator.

She nodded. “You?”

“They weren’t happy. But it wasn’t like I asked somebody to try to kill us.”

She slipped off her heels before walking out of the elevator, leaning against the wall and rubbing one of her feet.

“Not exactly the night I had planned,” she said, sounding depressed.

“Wouldn’t think so.”

“Who do you think those guys were?”

“Same ones who jumped me at Leavenworth, maybe?”

“Did you recognize any of them?”

“The guys in Kansas wore ski masks.”

“So maybe they followed us across the country?”

“Maybe,” he said.

She looked up at him. “You tired?”

“Not particularly. Must be the adrenaline spike from almost getting killed.”

“The Ritz has round-the-clock room service. How about some wine and a snack? I’m suddenly starving.”

They headed to her room and she placed the order. It came twenty minutes later, and after the attendant left, Knox poured out the wine and handed Puller a plate with some crackers, breads, cheeses, fruit, and a small bowl of nuts. They sat across from each other at the little table the attendant had wheeled in.

“Someone really doesn’t want us to find out the truth, Puller,” she said between sips of wine and bites of cheese.

“That’s usual in my experience. A lot of people lie.”

“Do they try to kill you often,
in your experience
?”

“More than I would like,” he admitted.

They were quiet for a few moments.

“You’re a strange man,” she said in an odd tone.

He swallowed a hunk of cheese. “How so? I always thought I was pretty straightforward.”

“You’re a stand-up guy, all right. Solid, predictable, always looking to do the right thing. You don’t seek glory or medals. You’re all about getting the job done. That is what defines John Puller. I’ve come to accept that as the gospel.”

“So where does the strange part come in?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out. Just call it my gut for now.” She rose. “And now I think we both need some sleep.”

Puller stood and headed for the door. He turned back. “Back in the alley?”

“Yes?” she said.

“You’re a good shot. And fast.”

“I always have been, Puller. Always. That’s how I like to live my life. Fast.” She snatched a quick glance at the bed, and when she looked back she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“We both need some sleep,” she said. “Big day tomorrow.” She glanced up and their gazes met for a brief instant. “Good night, Puller.”

He interpreted her look as hungry. And not for food. And he thought he might be giving her the same look in return.

She rose and went into the bathroom, closing the door.

Puller stood there for a few seconds trying to dissect what had just happened. Part of it seemed straightforward. Part of it was mud.

He returned to his room, took off his clothes, and dropped into bed. It was nearly four in the morning. His internal clock was seriously screwed up. His heart was racing from what had just happened with Knox. The woman was complicated. Utterly professional one moment, then sending weird signals the next. It might be that as a spy she tended to use all of her assets, including her sexual side. She was very, well, alluring, as old-fashioned as that sounded. He took a deep breath and wondered if a cold shower would help.

His phone buzzed. He swore under his breath, but automatically picked up the phone anyway. He always picked up the phone even if he didn’t always answer it. And maybe it was Knox wanting him to—

A text had dropped into his electronic basket. He read it.

And then he sat straight up. It wasn’t from Knox. But it concerned her.

The text had come from a number he didn’t recognize.

He called it back. Twice. No one answered.

He read the text again. It was short, to the point, and capable of only one interpretation.