The Escape (9 page)

T
HE OLD MOTEL
probably had never seen so much activity. Local police were clustered around, talking, moving, observing, and otherwise getting in the way.

An Office of Special Investigations, or OSI, team had been flown in to head up the investigation. They were the Air Force’s counterpart to Puller’s CID. The Air Force had never lost a general in this way before, and as Puller surveyed what was going on he knew that every agent was taking special care to do things by the book.

He had been interrogated four times so far: once by the locals he’d summoned by dialing 911, then by a team sent over from Fort Leavenworth, next by a team of FBI agents in blue windbreakers and caps who looked grim and asked pointed questions and, at least it seemed to Puller, didn’t entirely believe his story and were very curious about whether his brother had tried to contact him. When he had said no, the disbelief in one of the agent’s eyes became palpable. Finally he was interviewed by the OSI personnel after they’d barged onto the scene and staked their claim as the lead investigative agency. The locals and the Army team had quickly backed down, though the FBI guys had pushed back some. Puller had found that the Bureau did not back down from anyone.

His statement had never varied. He had met with Daughtrey along with two other high-ranking personnel from the government. He had been assigned to investigate the escape of Robert Puller from the DB. He had been working the investigation from morning till night. He had arrived at his room about a quarter past eleven and found the general shot dead in his bed.

Puller had briefly been a suspect until Veronica Knox had shown up and corroborated that he had been with her up until a few minutes past eleven that night. Prelims on the TOD, or time of death, indicated Daughtrey had been killed around eight in the evening. That could change some, plus or minus, but for now Puller was in the clear.

Puller had gotten a text from Schindler about an hour after the news had broken about Daughtrey. The NSC suit wanted to meet. Puller had lagged that request because people had been grilling him, and he also didn’t want to leave the crime scene. He wasn’t investigating it, for obvious reasons—he had only been preliminarily crossed off as a suspect, and that status could change. And OSI had made clear it was the lead agency because Daughtrey had been a flyboy. But he still wanted to watch what was going on.

Puller had seen with his own eyes that Daughtrey had been shot once in the direct center of the forehead. There had been no gun evident. No signs of forced entry, though the lock on the motel room door was not complicated. There had been little blood on the bed or on Daughtrey, which told Puller a great deal. At this time of year the sun set a little after seven. It got truly dark about thirty minutes later.

Puller had gotten here about eleven-fifteen. Based on Daughtrey’s presumed time of death at around eight, that meant there was a nearly three-hour window, give or take, in which Daughtrey had been killed and then left here. Because he had been left, not shot here.

“I can see the wheels grinding.”

He looked up to see Knox standing next to him.

“Exciting evening,” she said, surveying the activity in the room.

“A bit more than I wanted, yeah,” said Puller.

“So what’s your take?”

“He wasn’t killed here. He was shot elsewhere and his body dumped here.”

“Lack of blood, bodily fluids, and other forensics residue?” said Knox, and Puller nodded.

“And there was a large exit wound on the back of his head. But the pillow wasn’t damaged from the fired round, and there was very little blood on the pillowcase. So the heart had stopped pumping a long time before he was dumped here. And the room was clean otherwise.”

“OSI figure that too?” asked Knox.

“Yes, at least from the little they’ve told me. For obvious reasons, they can’t share a lot.”

“My statement should have cleared you.”

“It did. For now. Thanks for giving it.”

“Just telling the truth. But why your room as the dumping ground?”

“Putting up a barrier to my investigation? Sending me a message I don’t understand as yet? Just messing with me? Take your pick.”

“We talked to a lot of people yesterday. They all know you’re on the case. Maybe you made somebody nervous.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I did. The question is, who and why?”

Knox looked over as they lifted Daughtrey from the bed, put him in a body bag, and carried him out on a gurney. The OSI team was congregated in a corner going over their notes, Puller could see. There was little evidence to be collected here, other than the body. The local cops, with really nothing else to do, trailed the gurney out of the room.

One of the OSI team came over to Puller and Knox.

“Chief Puller, I’d like to know more about your relationship with General Daughtrey.”

“I didn’t have a relationship. I had an assignment.”

“Was he the only one who assigned it to you?”

“As I said before, there were others, but I’m not at liberty to disclose their names.”

“Well, I’m going to have to insist that you do. This is a murder investigation, Puller. We’ve checked you out. You’re CID. You know how this works. Murder trumps all.”

“Not necessarily,” said Knox, and the OSI man turned his attention to her.

She flashed her creds.

“You gave Puller his alibi.”

“No, I told the truth. And there were lots of people in the restaurant where we ate. You can get their statements.”

“Already working on it. I don’t see INSCOM personnel every day.”

“I would hope not.”

“Is there something bigger going on here that I don’t know about? And could it have to do with a high-profile prisoner going missing from DB who was also in the Air Force?” He glared at Puller. “And who happens to have the same last name as you?” He shook his head, apparently at the perceived absurdity of the situation.

Puller said, “I don’t want to impede your investigation, because it would piss me off if someone were obstructing mine. Let me make some calls and then I’ll tell you all I can tell you. But I take orders too. From a higher authority than either of us.”

The OSI agent stared at him fixedly and then nodded. “I look forward to your call.” He put a hand on Puller’s shoulder. “And you don’t plan to leave the area?”

“Not right now,” said Puller. “But that could change.”

“Don’t let it change without contacting me,” the man said firmly.

After he walked off Knox said, “You should make that call, because the OSI guy doesn’t look to be of a patient nature.”

Puller pulled out his phone and walked outside.

Thirty minutes later Puller was sitting across from Schindler and Rinehart at a facility just off base from Leavenworth. Schindler looked harried. Rinehart looked calm but subdued.

Puller had given them a succinct report of his investigation so far, but leaving out, for his own reasons, the part about the blown transformers being taken by “people.”

“Okay, you’re filled in. Now you need to tell me what you want me to do,” said Puller. “OSI wants names.
Your
names.”

Rinehart shook his head. “That won’t be happening, Puller. I’ll run the interference on that. They’ll back off.”

“Right,” said Puller, not sounding convinced of this. “You’ve got the facts. Your guy was shot somewhere else and left in my room. If it was done to try to incriminate me, it was done pretty amateurishly, because I have a rock-solid alibi.”

“For God’s sake, can we first focus on who would want Daughtrey dead?” interjected Schindler.

Puller noted the man’s tie was askew, his hair ruffled, and he kept picking at his fingernails. He’d expected stronger stuff from the NSC.

“Okay,” he said. “When was the last time you saw him?”

Schindler and Rinehart exchanged glances. Rinehart said, “Shortly after we left you, Daughtrey left us.”

“So around eleven a.m. yesterday?” Puller glanced at his watch. It was now eleven in the morning and he hadn’t yet gone to bed.

“Correct,” answered Rinehart.

“Did he say where he was going? What he was going to do? Someone he was going to meet?”

“No,” said Schindler. “We flew in early yesterday morning, had our meeting with you, and then went our separate ways.”

“Where was he staying? At Leavenworth?”

“No. At the Hilton downtown. I did hear him mention he was going to make a run down to McConnell AFB in the next couple of days.”

“The Air Force base near Wichita?” asked Puller, and Schindler nodded. “He was a one-star, wasn’t he traveling with a staff? Entourage? Security?”

“If so, they traveled here separately,” said Schindler, and Rinehart nodded in agreement. “We flew out together on an Army jet. General Rinehart had his people with him. He’s staying in officer quarters at Leavenworth. I’m also staying at Leavenworth as a guest of the general’s.”

Puller nodded and wrote all of this down. “So who would want to kill Daughtrey? Any ideas?”

Neither man said anything.

“Does that mean you have no ideas, or you can’t tell me the ones you do have?”

“Every man of his rank has made an enemy of someone,” said Rinehart. “But I wouldn’t think to such a degree that they’d blow a hole in his head.”

“He was assigned to STRATCOM?” said Puller suggestively. “Maybe the reason comes from there.”

“I’ll make inquiries,” said Schindler.

Rinehart added, “STRATCOM, after all, is why the three of us were interested in this in the first place.”

“OSI will be on to that angle as well, you can count on that,” said Puller.

“As I said, I will run the interference on that,” said Rinehart.

“Different branch of service,” Puller pointed out, putting away his notebook.

“I’m not without influence over there,” said Rinehart. “And the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was the best man at my wedding right out of West Point.”

Schindler said, “Puller, your mission is still to find your brother. His escape may not be connected to the death of General Daughtrey.”

“Or it may be the reason for it,” replied Puller.

“Or,” said Schindler, “your brother might have been the one who killed him.”

P
ULLER CHECKED INTO
another motel about a half mile from the other one. He locked the door and put a bureau against it, pulled the shades, put his phone on silent mode, turned out all the lights, lay on the bed fully dressed, and fell dead asleep for over six hours with AWOL next to him purring and licking her paws.

When he woke it was dinnertime and he had a voice mail on his phone.

It was Knox. She wanted to meet. He didn’t call her back, at least not yet, because he didn’t know if he wanted to meet. And he also had a few phone calls to make.

Later, he showered and changed into jeans, a windbreaker, and a white collared shirt. He slipped on his shoes and finally called her back while sitting on the bed.

“So where the hell have you been?” she said after two rings.

Already got me on her contacts list, interesting
, he thought.

“Sleeping,” he said.

“Nice.”

“Yes, it was, thanks. What’s up?”

“Developments.”

“What are they?”

“Let’s do it face-to-face,” she said.

They met at the same diner where they’d had dinner the previous night. He had a slab of ribs coated in a Jack Daniel’s rub, coleslaw heavy on the mayo, a side of salted steak fries, and a vegetable that looked green but was otherwise unrecognizable. He was washing it all down with a Budweiser.

Knox had a chef’s salad with dressing on the side and water.

She looked his meal over and said, “You know, you could eat a little better.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure the processed meat in that salad and the chemicals in the dressing won’t give you cancer in ten years.”

She sat back and glanced glumly down at her salad. He quickly looked her over. She was dressed in blue slacks, cream blouse, and a matching jacket. She didn’t look remotely military. He had wondered about this before.

INSCOM. INSCOM on the creds.

He figured he had mysteries at both ends of this sucker, and all down the middle too.

He finished eating, downed the last swallow of his beer, and looked at her expectantly. “Okay, let’s talk developments,” he said in a prompting tone.

“I have info on the people who took the blown transformers.”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and sat back. “How’d you do that?” he asked slowly.

“Made some calls and ran down some leads while you were taking your beauty rest.”

“Uh-huh. And?”

“And they weren’t with the military.”

“You’ve got my attention, Knox. The bay doors are wide open, so drop the bomb.”

“That’s all I have on that. They weren’t military. I don’t know who they are. Yet.”

“Al Jordan said they ‘outranked’ him. That sounds military.”

“I checked with him. It was just a figure of speech. Guys were in suits.”

“No creds shown?”

“He said they were very intimidating.”

“Uh-huh,” said a clearly skeptical Puller. “By the way, technical question, do you treat INSCOM as
military
or not?”

She gazed sternly at him. “What exactly are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m just asking a question.”

“INSCOM is most definitely military. It’s based at Fort Belvoir. That’s an Army installation, in case you didn’t know.”

“Know it well. My CID group used to be there before we got shipped to Quantico.”

“Well then?” she said, almost daring him to make another provocative comment.

He decided to take up the dare. Maybe it was the Jack Daniel’s rub on the ribs, or the little green things masquerading as veggies, which were now simmering uncomfortably in his gut.

“I made a few calls tonight too.”

“Calls to who?” she said stonily.

“I’ve been in the Army long enough to have a pretty deep Rolodex. INSCOM was formed in 1977 at Arlington Hall Station in Virginia. Intelligence, security, electronic warfare all at the level above corps, pretty big footprint.”

“Yes, it is.”

“You’re divided into eight brigades and various intelligence, operations, and support groups and companies, with a CO who’s a two-star, same rank as the guy currently heading up CID.”

“I know the breakdown of my command, Puller. Feel free to skip the military history lesson.”

“Oh, and you have one more function.” He paused. “The Central Security Service.”

She blinked but otherwise continued to look blankly at him.

“Central Security Service,” he said again. “That’s what they call INSCOM and its counterparts in the Navy and Air Force within
NSA
. Because the National Security Agency is also part of INSCOM, or INSCOM is part of NSA, however you want to look at it. Funny, you neglected to mention that you were with Central Security.”

“I would find it very hard to believe that anyone in your ‘Rolodex’ would know whether I am or not.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“NSA?”

She held out her lanyard with her creds on it. “It says INSCOM right here, Puller.”

“I know what it
says
,” he replied, and then said nothing else.

She let the lanyard drop and sat back. “And why would it matter to you where I’m actually attached? NSA, INSCOM, United States Army?” She shrugged. “We’re all Americans, Puller. All on the same side.”

He said nothing. He just sat there staring at her with an expression that finally made her look away again.

He dropped some bills on the table for the meal and rose.

She said, “Walking out on me again? It’s starting to get embarrassing. People will surely talk,” she quipped, but her look was bordering on panic.

“Take care of yourself, Knox.”

“Puller, the last time we parted like this, you found a dead body in your room.”

“Are you saying you’re involved in that?”

“No, of course not. But I have been assigned to work with you on this case.”

“Well,
I
wasn’t assigned to work with
you
. Now, I can’t stop you from showing up, I guess. But here’s where the partnership ends. At least on my side.”

“You really need to rethink this.”

“And you need to rethink whether dishonesty is really the best policy.”

“I wasn’t dishonest with you,” she said sharply.

“But you weren’t honest, so what would you call it?”

She folded her arms and looked away. This appeared to be an idiosyncrasy of hers, he noted, though he didn’t know if she was truly not conscious of it, or used it to gain an advantage somehow while she thought of another lie.

She glanced up at him. “Can we talk about this in a less public place?”

“Not if you’re just going to keep running in circles. I don’t have time for that.”

“I will be as frank as I can be. How does that sound?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” He turned and walked off.

She jumped up, dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and hurried after him.

Outside he was already standing at the side door of his car. “I’ll drive, you can talk,” he said.

She assented to this by opening the passenger door and climbing in.

Puller hung a left at the next intersection and then headed away from town. Leavenworth wasn’t that big and they were soon out of the downtown business district and passing residential streets where houses dotted the dark landscape.

She said, “I need to know if I was positively identified by anyone you talked to as being with CSS.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? It’s not like I advertise my position.”

“So you
are
with Central Security?”

“
Did
anyone?” she persisted.

“No.”

“So it was just a guess on your part?”

“Not entirely.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every uniform I’ve ever met will automatically relay their rank and what unit they’re assigned to. I go to the Pentagon or I go to buy groceries and see another soldier at the checkout, I say, ‘Hey, I’m a chief warrant officer with the 701st CID based out of Quantico. Before that I was a sergeant first class with 3rd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment out of Fort Benning.’ Rank plus squad, platoon, company, battalion, brigade, division, corps, it’s all just part of the DNA. We’re all attached to something. And we want you to know what that something is. Point of pride, point of belonging. It’s a fact of being a soldier. There’s no getting around it.”

“And I didn’t give you my rank until you asked, and I told you,” she said resignedly. “And didn’t specify a particular unit.”

“And when we first met you addressed me as ‘Agent Puller.’ I’m a chief warrant officer. Anyone actually in uniform would automatically address me as ‘Mister’ or ‘Chief.’ Never as ‘Agent.’”

“Strike two,” she said, clearly irritated.

“And you just don’t seem military to me, Knox.”

“Is that right?” she said in a slightly offended tone, and her body stiffened.

“Oh, you look to be in good shape. But that’s not the issue.”

“So what gave me away?”

“I’ve been in the Army for fifteen years. Before that I was an Army brat from the day I was born. I can smell uniforms from under any layer they try to cover themselves with. And with you, I didn’t get a whiff.” He paused. “Were you really in Iraq?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “But not in uniform. I was gathering intelligence.”

He glanced at her. “So you
weren’t
on the front lines.” She didn’t reply. “Knox, I said—”

“Pull over,” she interrupted.

“What?”

“Just pull over!”

He steered the car to the side of the road and shifted to park.

She turned on the interior dome light, unhitched her shoulder harness, untucked her shirt, and pulled her slacks and underwear on the left side down to near the bottom of her left hip. Puller simply gaped, wondering what the hell was going on.

Until he saw it.

In the middle of the soft white skin was a long ugly scar riding on her left hip that carried around to the fleshy edge of her left buttock. The scar was a dull red, the suture tracks still evident. Though the underlying wound it represented was probably long since healed, it still looked painful.

She said, “I got this courtesy of shrapnel from incoming mortars and RPGs. I was in a motorcade heading into Basra. Rebels were trying to retake it. They were closer and better armed than we thought. Five of my people died. I wasn’t sure I’d walk again. The shrapnel came really close to my spine and I couldn’t feel my legs for about two weeks. Turned out to be concussive paralysis due to the inflammation and swelling. But it finally went away after I lived on prednisone and the surgeons finally got all the metal out and I worked harder than I ever had in my life. And I eventually got all the way back. Except when it rains. Then my hip and butt cheek ache like a bitch. All in all I consider myself the world’s luckiest person. A lot luckier than the rest of my team.”

Puller remained quiet for a few seconds and then said, “Just so you know, while I doubted where you came from, I never doubted your patriotism. Or your courage.”

She slowly pulled her slacks and underwear back up and tucked in her shirt.

“I can’t believe I just did that. Hell, I’ve dated guys for months who
never
saw
that
.” She paused and looked out the window. “I just…I just didn’t want you to think I couldn’t hold up my end of the load, Puller. Because I can. I know this part of the world is still very much a man’s world. But I’m damn good at what I do.”

“Like your patriotism and courage, I never doubted that either, Knox.”

She turned to him. “In my line of work sometimes I have to deceive. But I don’t like having to mislead people like you.”

“Okay,” said Puller. “Anything else you need to tell me? Or
can
tell me?”

“I had a dual purpose coming here.”

“The first was to work with me.”

“The second was to watch you, closely.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I thought that would be obvious.”

“Your bosses really think I’m involved in my brother’s escape?”

“No, that’s not it. But they think he may try to contact you at some point.”

“And why do you think he would do that?”

“Because with your father the way he is, you’re the only family he has left. And all reports indicate you two are very tight.”

“So you hoped I would lead you right to him?”

She slipped her shoulder harness back on and clicked the latch. “I never thought it would be that easy or clear, but we couldn’t simply disregard the possibility. Everyone goes after the low-hanging fruit first.”

“My brother is way too smart to make a mistake that stupid.” Puller put the car in drive and got back on the road.

“So where are we going?” she asked.

“To see the body of the dead guy left in my brother’s cell. I was supposed to go this morning, but as you know, another dead body got in the way.”

“It’s sort of late.”

“Yeah, but if we wait any longer, the body might disappear like the transformers.”

They drove along for a few minutes in silence.

“So are we good?” she asked, breaking the quiet.

“For now, Knox.”

“You know, you can call me Veronica.”

He shot her a glance. “I like Knox better. It seems to suit you.”

She frowned. “In what way?”

He pushed the gas down and the Chevy jumped forward. “As in
Fort
Knox.”

When he looked over at her again, she was actually smiling.