He focused particularly hard now, awaiting her response as he watched her reflection in the glass.
She lifted her eyebrows and rubbed at her nose. “Russia,” she said.
Puller relaxed just a bit. “Okay, and he persuaded you to do what exactly?”
“What we set you up for. Providing backdoor access to our systems.”
“But after you set me up they checked for that. Why call attention to the fact?”
“They checked your access points, not anyone else’s.”
“So you threw me to the wolves to throw them off you?”
“Something like that.”
“And the back doors are still there?”
“I would assume they are.”
“And they’ve been used?”
“I doubt they paid not to use them.”
“And now you’ve been assigned to the WMD Center. Interesting.”
“That has nothing to do with anything. The Russians have WMDs. They don’t need anyone else’s.”
“That’s if you assume I believe you that it was the Russians behind this. I don’t.”
“You’ve poisoned me. Do you think I’d lie?”
“Of course I think you would. That’s what you are, a liar.”
“You have no chance, Puller. No chance at all. You’re going to die.”
“The Russians are easy to blame things on. So you mentioning them as your source is not particularly creative. I would have expected better from you.”
Reynolds blurted out, “How much time do I have left? Give me the damn antidote.”
Puller continued, as though he hadn’t heard her, “Niles Robinson said he saw me with an Iranian agent. Again, he wouldn’t have said that if Iran had actually been involved. So we can leave that rogue nation out of the mix. I’m just thinking out loud here. Feel free to jump in anytime with the actual answer.” He reached his hand into his pocket.
“You asshole! I bet you don’t even have the atropine.”
He plunged the tip of another syringe into her neck and depressed the plunger. In a few seconds she toppled over in her chair and lay there unconscious from the sedative he’d administered. The “poison” had been a simple saline solution.
He had already searched her house and found her gun cache in the safe. She had made a mistake there, using the same code as her house alarm. One pistol was missing from its box, which was how he had deduced that she was armed. He had taken pictures with his phone of any documents that looked promising. And he had hacked her computer and downloaded files to his portable drive.
He let himself out, took off his mask, walked to his truck parked across the street, and drove off. There had been pluses and minuses to his visit with Reynolds. The plus was she had admitted setting him up. And she had provided him some clues to the truth. The negative was obvious. She would tell others that he had been to her home and threatened her. This would alert them that he was in the area. And this would also increase everyone’s conviction that he was indeed guilty. Not that they needed any such convincing.
But in the end, it had been worth it, because for the first time ever he felt like he was finally going to figure this all out.
CHAPTER
39
DOUG 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.
CHAPTER
40
CHARLOTTE, 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