The Escape (33 page)

J
OHN PULLER KEPT
his regular phone in his right front pocket and his burn phone in the left pocket. He was sitting at Knox’s bedside when the burn phone started to vibrate.

He slid it out and looked at the message. It was short enough that he decoded it quickly. He was on his feet before he had finished reading it.

Knox looked up at him.

“What is it?”

“Gotta go.” He was at the door.

“Puller?”

“You can have my fries.”

Then he was gone.

Knox stared after him for a few seconds and then pulled off the line running to her arm, leapt out of bed, rushed to the closet, grabbed the bag with her bloody clothes in it, and started to get dressed as the monitor alarm began to wail.

Puller was on a dead run to his car. He jumped in, started the engine, and slammed the Malibu into drive. He fishtailed going out of the hospital parking lot and hit the surface road.

His brother had given him his last position, but it would still take a miracle to find him. And by then it could well be too late. No, that wasn’t an option. He hadn’t been there for Knox. But he was going to be there for his brother.

His phone buzzed again. He held it up in front of him as he drove. He gaped at the screen. There was a map on there with a dot. A moving dot. Somehow his brother had sent him a real-time tracking link through the burn phone. He quickly saw where the dot was located, hit a right and then a left, accelerated up the entrance ramp to the interstate, and gunned it. He flew past traffic, heading due east. He raced over the Roosevelt Bridge and into D.C.

He had three choices of direction coming up. As he sped along he eyed the map. Bobby was heading west, which meant he was coming Puller’s way. But he was also heading north, which meant he was also moving away. Puller looked ahead. There was a cop car in the far left lane and Puller was blowing way past the speed limit. Road work was backing up traffic in the center heading onto Constitution Avenue. Puller veered all the way to the right, getting waves of honks from other cars, and fought his way to the exit lane leading to Independence Avenue.

He blew through the next several intersections as his eye continued to follow the dot. Then an idea occurred to him. He thumbed in a two-word text.

Go south
.

A few seconds later he saw the dot turn. He watched its progress as he raced through intersection after intersection, running lights and blasting past cars with inches to spare. If a cop took up the chase, so much the better. But he didn’t see a single patrol car.

He made a quick calculation and next thumbed in
East.

The dot turned yet again. Puller matched the turn, but went right to his brother’s left.

He edged over two more streets and checked the dot.

He thumbed in another text.

Next left.

The dot moved in that direction. Puller looked up ahead as the pickup truck, tires smoking, catapulted onto the street and headed toward him. Puller put the phone down and looked behind his brother’s vehicle. Message time was over. It was now execution time.

There were two bogey cars. His brother had described them in the first text.

Black Mercedes S550 and a black Escalade. The Escalade’s front end was battered. He didn’t know from what. The Mercedes was right on the truck’s bumper and looking for an opening to come up alongside. There was no way on a straightaway that the truck could hold it off.

Puller was racing right at this tight group, barely seconds away.

He thumbed in one more text.

Gun it.

The truck leapt ahead, providing a small gap between it and the Benz.

Puller checked his seat belt, noted the air bag sign on the dash, took a deep breath, and pushed the accelerator to the floor. He hoped the Army had enough insurance on this sucker. And he knew he would spend the rest of his life filling out forms. But better that than attending his brother’s funeral.

He passed Bobby on his left and cut the wheel hard into the gap. His tires screeching, the g-forces ramming him against the side of the car, he flashed directly behind the S550. His left front fender clipped the left rear fender of the other car. He had timed it perfectly, and the Mercedes did a three-sixty. As Puller sped past he could see the shocked faces of the men in the S550. The Mercedes came out of the spin completely out of control, went airborne, and sailed into a sturdy tree on the sidewalk.

The metal gave, the wood did not, and the S550 was down for the count.

The Escalade avoided this melee by falling back. Now it shot forward like a shark after a seal.

Puller had gone up on the opposite sidewalk and clipped a parked car. He cut his wheel to the left and shot through a gap in the line of parked cars, slamming back onto the street. His brother was up ahead and getting farther out of sight. But the Escalade was now right behind Puller and closing fast.

The driver of the SUV gunned his ride and the bumper of the Escalade rammed into the rear of the Malibu, crumpling it.

Puller fishtailed briefly and then regained control. He looked up ahead. His brother was slowing down. Puller cursed, flicked his headlights, and honked his horn in a precise manner.

The truck sped up again.

Good old Morse code, Puller thought. He had just spelled out
G-O
.

His positive feeling was short-lived as the SUV hit him again and then pulled up beside his car.

He knew what was coming next.

The windows of the SUV slid down. Gun muzzles appeared at the openings.

He already had his M11 out. He hit the window switch for the passenger side. As it came down he fired directly at the driver’s window. The window glass didn’t break.

Polycarbonate. Great.

Unfortunately, his windows were not bulletproof.

An instant before they fired he slammed on the brakes, smoking his wheels, and the SUV flew past him. The guns roared and a line of parked cars was suddenly full of bullet holes, hissing radiators, flattening tires, and the sounds of car alarms screaming.

Puller looked around for a cop but again saw not a single one. He expected to hear sirens in the air, but all he heard was his heart hammering in his ears. What, were they all on a break? Was the president out and about in his motorcade and the cops were clearing the streets for the man?

Cars in the lanes ahead had seen what was coming and had pulled off the road, horns blaring.

He cut the wheel to the right and slid in behind the SUV.

They couldn’t fire through the glass in the rear of the SUV, but they might fire out through the side windows. He gauged the height of his hood and that of the SUV’s bumper. Well, he was about to find out if his math was good or not.

He rammed down the gas and the Malibu surged ahead, hit the SUV’s bumper, and stuck there. He kept his foot on the gas and the hood of the Malibu crumpled and then slid downward and under the SUV’s bumper. He kept the gas flat to the floor.

The gun muzzles reappeared at the side windows pointing backward. Puller dropped sideways in his seat as his windshield exploded, covering him with shards of glass. But because the two vehicles were now coupled, he didn’t really need to see to drive. The SUV was steering for him. He was just providing the horsepower.

He waited for their fire to subside and then popped back up and hit the gas harder. The Malibu slid farther under the rear bumper.

One inch, two inches. His hood was crumpling badly; his front bumper was but a memory back in the road.

But now what he had wanted to happen did. The Malibu’s engine chassis, far stronger than the car’s hide, started to bear the weight of the SUV’s rear.

And then the back wheels of the SUV began to rise slightly. He didn’t need them to be completely off the road, just not hugging it.

Then the SUV’s rear window started to open. That could only mean one thing. They were getting ready to fire again and the driver was making sure they would get a direct sightline this time.

Well, we can’t have that
, thought Puller.

He whipped the wheel of the Malibu back and forth and had to grin when the two unbuckled gunmen, who were trying to take aim at him through the rear opening, collided with each other like pinballs. He cut the wheel twice more and their heads thunked together. One of them fell over. The other dropped his weapon and clutched his head, cursing.

The driver of the SUV undoubtedly could sense what Puller was doing, because he heard the SUV’s engine slow and he felt the truck decelerate. The only problem with that was that Puller was running the show now, not the other vehicle. He kept the gas pedal jammed to the floor mat, and the SUV was propelled along by the Malibu’s motion.

Puller eyed what was coming up and gauged the trajectory.

He counted off the seconds in his head, hoping that his brother had long since turned off this road and was gone for good. He couldn’t see around the SUV to check.

He stopped counting at ten, said a silent prayer, and then ripped the wheel to the right.

The Malibu’s front broke free from the SUV’s rear. The truck’s nose went hard to the left. When its back wheels fully touched down they caught right in the middle of the cut. Neither the driver nor the truck was apparently ready for this wild mix of gravitational and centrifugal forces. The SUV corkscrewed, hit the curb, then a parked car, and then a steel bench anchored to the pavement.

And finally, for an exclamation point, it flipped.

It landed on its top, which caved in, and then it rolled, which crushed the driver’s side. It came to a stop on its side after colliding with the corner of a brick-and-masonry town house.

Puller kept rolling and never looked back. He turned left up ahead, then right, and then checked his dot. His brother was up ahead, two streets over and going fast.

Eschewing any more texts, Puller called him.

“You okay?” his brother said anxiously.

“Both bogeys gone and I’m in one piece, although my car’s trashed. You?”

“They made me somehow, John. I have no idea how. I was watching Reynolds eating dinner and then I was suddenly surrounded.”

“Kansas plates?”

“Couldn’t be. I switched them out.”

“They couldn’t have recognized you.”

“No. When I went to her house Reynolds never saw me.”

Then it hit Puller.

“Her house! Bobby, she has a pretty intricate security system. You think she has exterior video cameras?”

“Shit. That must be it. I didn’t see any, but I didn’t check that closely either. She could have seen the images and known what I look like now. I didn’t put my ski mask on until I got to the front door. And I took it off when I left.”

“And a surveillance camera could have picked up your truck on her street. That’s how they might have spotted it tonight.”

“That was a big screwup on my part.”

“The lady’s good, we have to give her that.”

He took a deep breath. “It seems I’m not very good on the ground with this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

“They haven’t caught you yet. And it was pretty nifty how you sent me a real-time map of where you were.”

“Simple, actually. It’s just software.”

“Still, I never would have found you without it.”

“I saw what you did back there. I’d be dead tonight if you hadn’t shown up.”

“Then we’re only even. Did you see anything helpful tonight?”

Robert told him about the dinner between Reynolds and Malcolm Aust.

“So a big cheese in the WMD world?” said Puller.

“One of the biggest. I just don’t how it all fits in. I can’t believe Aust is part of any conspiracy.”

“Who the hell knows, Bobby? The only person I know I can trust is you.”

“So what now?”

“Find a new place to stay and text me with it. Get rid of the truck.”

“I need transportation.”

“I’ll try to find you something. Only after I turn this wreck in the Army might never let me check out another vehicle. I’ll circle back to you as soon as I can.”

“They almost got us tonight,” said Robert. “And don’t say some shit like ‘close only counts in horseshoes.’”

“I won’t, because this ain’t horseshoes. It’s combat only without a declaration of war.”

“We need to go on the offensive instead of just reacting.”

“When you think of a way to do that, be sure to let me know, big brother.”

“Yeah,” said Robert glumly. “Will do, Junior.”

W
ITH NO WINDSHIELD
and a crushed front bumper, Puller decided it would be best to ditch the ride and figure out the paperwork later. Finally he could hear sirens wailing and engines being gunned and he wondered what the cops would find when they got there. Would the guys still be inside the wrecked vehicles? Were they dead? If not, would they answer questions? Would this sucker finally start to unravel?

He hoofed it hard to a metro station and was about to enter the building and hop on a train when a car screeched to a stop directly next to him.

His hand automatically went to his sidearm. The window came down and what he saw truly astonished him.

Knox said, “You need a ride?”

The two stared at each other long enough for it to get uncomfortable. And also long enough for a car waiting behind her to honk its horn.

He opened the door and climbed in next to her.

“Put on your seat belt,” said Knox. “It might get bumpy. But then again it’s been a pretty bumpy night for you already, hasn’t it?”

“How did you find me? You’re supposed to be in a hospital bed.”

“Reach in your left pocket.”

“What?”

“Just do it, Puller.”

He did as she asked and pulled out the small metal object.

“When did you put the tracking device in there?” he asked curtly.

“When I hugged you for the burgers. Susan Reynolds isn’t the only one good at sleight of hand.”

Puller stared fixedly at her. “So you figured out how she put the DVD in my brother’s pocket?”

“Just used a little magic,” said Knox as she pulled out of the metro station.

“Should you be driving in your condition?” he asked.

“I feel fine. I’m more worried about you.”

“Not sure what you’re talking about.”

“That was one wicked piece of driving back there. You should be proud. Take ownership of it, Puller.”

He dropped the tracking device into her cup holder. “I won’t be needing this anymore, and I’m sure you guys like to recycle.”

She ignored this and said, “Care to tell me what went down tonight?”

“Sounds like you had a front-row seat.”

“Actually I was in the nosebleed section. That’s why I’m asking for a recap.”

“So do you know who the guys were in the black vehicles?” he asked.

She smiled, but there was no mirth behind it. “And you’re asking me this why? I was just a spectator.”

“Just thought you might have an educated guess, being a spy and all. This is more your turf than mine.”

“Who were you protecting tonight, Puller?”

“Not sure what you mean?”

“You get a text, tear out of my hospital room without telling me where you’re going or even touching your delicious fries, and the next thing I know you’re playing monster truck derby in the middle of D.C.” She pulled to the curb and put the car in park. Turning to him, she added, “Must’ve been a really important reason. Or more specifically,
person
.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say, Knox.”

“You’re all about the truth, Puller. You preach that all the time. You take me to gravestones of long-dead Custers to make your point. You pound it into my head. You throw it in my face. You make me feel like shit for holding back from you. So do I take your position to mean that that standard only cuts one way? And when you told me you never lied to me and never would, what was that? Having a little fun at the spy lady’s expense, you sonofabitch?”

She ended this tirade by clocking him in the jaw with her left fist, broken fingers and all. The blow stung because she was strong and knew how to throw a punch, but he didn’t feel much of it. Her words were hurting him a lot more.

She rubbed her damaged fingers and he brushed his hand against his chin and then looked out the window.

“If you don’t talk, we don’t get anywhere,” she said.

“Not sure I can do much talking on this one, Knox. Not sure at all.”

As he said this, his gut felt like someone had filled it with dry ice.

“I’m afraid that’s not going to cut it, Puller. There’s way too much at stake.”

He looked over at her. She was holding her phone, her finger poised over the send key.

“Who are you calling?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve got lots of people on speed dial, Puller. And you’d know the names of all of them. You see them in the newspapers and on the news shows. They’re the kind that hold news conferences and set policy and move the country in new directions. They keep us safe and they attack our enemies and they will have no problem stripping off your medals and ribbons and uniform and locking your ass up for the next millennium if the person in the truck back there was who I think it was.”

“And who do you think it was?”

“Are you doing this to annoy me? If so, don’t bother. I don’t believe I could be any more pissed off at you than I am right now.”

“It’s complicated, Knox.”

She laughed derisively. “Oh, really? From where I’m sitting it’s pretty simple. You came down on me for hiding evidence. Okay, fine. I deserved that. Well, now it’s my turn. What’s the penalty for aiding and abetting a convicted felon, Puller? You’re a military cop, you ought to know that off the top of your thick head.”

“I get the point, Knox.”

“No, I don’t think you do. This is not some little criminal case, Puller. This is not one bad guy out there who’s selling drugs on base, or did a little adulterous dance in bed with his CO’s wife, or stabbed someone because he just wanted to. This is national security. This is global. These are the highest stakes you will ever run into in your life. We could be talking about rogue WMDs.”

He sighed and stared over at her. “Been there, done that, Knox.”

Knox’s superior manner disappeared. “What?”

“It’s classified. But with all your speed dial friends, you’d have no problem finding it out. Bobby could explain it to you better than I can.”

Knox pursed her lips. “So it was ‘Bobby’ in the truck tonight?”

“It was.”

“And how long have you known his whereabouts?”

“Not long.”

“And you realized that you had a duty to arrest him?”

“I did.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Obviously not.”

“You’re in a ton of trouble, Puller.”

He nodded at this statement, his gaze directed over her shoulder. “Understatement, actually,” he said.

“So what am I supposed to do? I’ve got a duty too.”

“Then carry it out, Knox. Make the call. I’ll sit here while you do it.”

“You’re a real bastard for putting me in this situation, you know that?”

“Yeah, I pretty much do.”

“Is he filled in on everything?”

Puller nodded.

“Did he have anything to add to the party mix?”

“He did.”

When he said nothing else she snapped, “Well, can I hear it too, or is it some secret brother thing?”

He looked at the phone still clutched in her hand. “Aren’t you going to make the call?”

She looked at her cell phone for a long moment, as though it were a gun she was debating firing or not, before sliding it back into her pocket.

“Not now. Maybe later,” she added warningly. “So fill me in.”

When he was done she said, “Malcolm Aust? He’s sure it was him?”

“Yes. So do you know Aust?”

“Not personally, no. But I certainly know of him. He’s a renowned expert in WMDs. He’s rooted them out all over the world. And he’s one of the top UN inspectors in recent memory.”

“So why have dinner with Reynolds?”

“Your brother said Reynolds was lovey-dovey with him. Could it just be that?”

“Bobby doesn’t think so. He said that would never be enough for Reynolds.”

“He’s probably right about that.”

“So what has Aust done over the years?”

“He was outspoken about Saddam having no WMDs, although he was pretty much ignored. He’s also done work in North Korea, Iran, Libya, and Pakistan. He also helped oversee the destruction of Assad’s chemical weapons in Syria. Although I doubt it was the entire stockpile.”

Puller interrupted her. “Did he have anything to do with START?”

“Of course. It was before my time, but I know about it. We had our team, the Russians had theirs, and Aust headed up an independent observation group sent out on behalf of a number of other interested countries.”

“To make sure the big boys played by the rules.”

“Yeah, and what exactly were they going to do if we didn’t? I doubt France would have declared war against the U.S.” But then her expression changed. “Reynolds was part of that verification team. Do you think she could have met Aust then?”

“I don’t know. I do know what Dan Reynolds told me.”

“That his dad was ticked off at some guy on the verification team.”

“Right. Only what if it wasn’t sexual? Or at least not that alone?”

“Meaning Adam Reynolds might have thought his wife was a traitor back then?”

“And then he dies.”

“But Malcolm Aust is as straight as they come, Puller. He’s never had a hint of scandal. And he’s independently wealthy. He wouldn’t be doing it for the money.”

“What happened with START?”

“Some nukes were dismantled. But things fell apart. Both the U.S. and Russia have substantial stockpiles left. And because Russia isn’t as meticulous in securing nukes as we are, Moscow has the rogue WMD potential. Particularly in some of the former Soviet bloc countries. Those countries don’t have much money and their ability to adequately protect their warheads is seriously in doubt, at least in the eyes of the international community.”

“You think Aust might be upset about that? After all, he was there observing all of it. And when it fell apart? And now we have potential for nuclear material to get into the hands of terrorists?”

“I guess it’s possible.”

Something else occurred to Puller. “And if he was really ticked off that everybody ignored him when he said Iraq had no WMDs, this could be a way to get back at them.”

“But what would his endgame be?” she asked.

“To maybe teach the big boys a lesson they’ll never forget.”