prevent a disaster of enormous proportions during his investigation into the murder of a military family in West Virginia. For that, his brother became the only prisoner at the DB ever to receive a commendation for service to his country. And when their aunt had been found murdered in Florida his brother had offered him both commiseration and counsel. That had thawed their relationship somewhat, but nothing could overcome the fact that one of them lived behind bars.
Used to live behind bars, Puller reminded himself, as he crossed the border into Kansas at around ten p.m. the night after leaving Virginia. It was dark and his options were limited. He didn’t want to stay where he usually did when visiting his brother at the DB. That would be too easy for others to find out and follow him from there.
He kept driving and about ten minutes later stopped at a motel that looked like it had been built in the fifties and then forgotten about. The small office proved this observation correct, even down to the rotary dial telephone, thick phone book, and bulky metal cash register. There was not a computer screen in sight. The woman behind the counter looked like she had been here from day one and had forgotten to change her clothes and hairstyle during that time. He paid for two nights in cash and took the old-fashioned bulky room key from her aged, shaky hand.
A few minutes later he was in his room with his cat, AWOL, huddled on a thin mattress with damp sheets because the wall air conditioner was basically a humidifier casting wisps of wet air into the room’s atmosphere where they eventually fell back to earth, or at least to the sheets. Puller stretched out on the bed, damp linens and all, and checked his emails. There was one from his CO reiterating to Puller that this case was off-limits. He didn’t answer. What would be the point?
Then he did the only thing he could after driving nearly halfway across the country—he fell asleep. He had been able to rest in the middle of both combat and murder investigations. But tonight his slumber was continually interrupted by thoughts of what he was going to do tomorrow.
By the time he woke the next morning he still wasn’t sure. He fed and watered AWOL and then let her out. Then he got into his car and drove to a diner down the street from the motel. It was from the fifties too, but its food was timeless: pancakes, bacon, eggs over easy, and hot tea. He ate his fill and then went back to his car and sat in the driver’s seat staring moodily out the window. Wherever he had been deployed, or for whatever purpose, to fight or to investigate, Puller had always been able to devise a plan, a strategy to get the job done. But none of those times had involved searching for an escaped prisoner who happened to be his brother. In many respects he felt paralyzed.
And then a partial answer walked right in front of him. It shouldn’t have been surprising, and it wasn’t. It was one reason he was sitting where he was. The coffee shop across the street was one frequented by personnel at the DB. He knew this from previous visits. He had met or seen many of them during his time here. They weren’t on a first-name basis, of course, but with his size Puller was hard to miss and harder still not to remember.
He waited patiently as uniform after uniform went into the shop and came out with coffee and bags of food. Uniforms he didn’t want. Too many rules and regulations weighed them down like a gangster’s concrete booties. Twenty minutes later his patience was rewarded. The woman had parked at the curb and climbed out of her car. She was in her late forties, maybe early fifties, tallish, stout, with blonde hair that was not her natural color, and wearing black slacks and a red sweater with black flats. He eyed the lanyard and ID around her neck and the USDB parking permit on the front bumper of her car. He had seen her at the prison a few times before.
A civilian, she was in admin at the prison. He couldn’t remember her name, but he figured she was a good place to start. They had talked once or twice, and he thought if he remembered her, she’d remember him.
He got out of the car and crossed the street, entering the shop at about the time she was placing her order. He got in behind her and asked for a large black coffee. When she heard his voice she turned and looked up at him.
“Puller?” she said. “Puller, right? CID?”
He looked at her with his blankest expression. “Yes ma’am, that’s right. Do we know each other?”
“I work at DB. I’m in admin.”
“Oh, that’s right. Ms.?”
“Chelsea Burke. You came by my office once with a question about your…” Her voice trailed off just as Puller knew it would.
He nodded, his blank expression turning to grim. “Right. It’s why I’m here, Ms. Burke.”
“Please, just call me Chelsea.”
“Thanks, I’m John. Look, now that we’ve run into each other, you have a minute?”
She got her coffee and paid her money and Puller did the same. She looked uncertain, but he guided her to a small table near the front of the shop overlooking the street. They sat and Puller took a sip of his coffee while she simply cradled hers and stared anxiously at him.
“It was a shock,” Puller began. “When I heard the news. Happened at night, so I doubt you were even there.”
“I wasn’t,” she conceded.
“People have already been by to see me,” Puller said. “All very hush-hush, but I’m CID. I can see through all that. You probably can too.”
“Is CID involved in this?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that directly, sorry.”
“Oh, of course not. I didn’t mean to—”
He quickly waved off her apology. “No problem, Chelsea, but I like to hit the ground running, and it might have been fortunate I bumped into you.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you’re not military.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Uniforms tend to circle the wagons in events like these. CID’s only concern is getting to the truth.” This was perfectly true, although he had made the statement to cause her to believe that CID—in the form of his presence—was investigating the matter.
“Absolutely,” she said, wide-eyed. He was gratified to see that as she took a sip of her coffee she sat back in her chair and looked more relaxed and engaged.
“I’m sure you can understand that things look very peculiar here. Main power goes, purportedly because of the storm. And then the backup generator dies? You must see that is extremely unlikely to have happened just by accident.”
She was nodding before he finished. “That’s the scuttlebutt, John. It’s like a billion to one. Now, I’ll grant you it was one helluva storm. But the storm could not have had an impact on the generator. It runs off natural gas lines buried underground.”
He sat forward and smiled. “I like how you picked that right up.” He paused. “But you probably see that the generator would not have kicked in and then died if the power hadn’t gone off first.”
She considered this and her eyes widened in realization. “So you think the main power was tampered with too?”
“Right now, I have no firm answers. But it’s certainly possible.”
“DB is going nuts right now trying to figure out what really happened.” She suddenly looked at him nervously. “And your brother and all. I’m sure you’re as worried as anyone.”
“It’s not easy seeing a family member in prison. But my job is to investigate serious military crimes. And duty trumps family in this circumstance, obviously.”
She cradled her cup of coffee and said, “I knew about his commendation. For helping you. I saw the paperwork go through.”
“A lot of lives would have been lost without him.”
“Seems weird, doesn’t it?” began Chelsea.
“What’s that?”
“A man is convicted of treason and then helps his country and gets a commendation but is still in prison. And then he escapes from prison. Just seems off.”
“I’m sure agents have been in to interview you and the rest of the staff.”
“They haven’t gotten to us yet, but I’m sure they will. I know they were at
DB all day yesterday, and I’m sure they’ll be there for a while longer.”
“I wonder if my brother had any recent visitors?” said Puller. He wasn’t looking directly at Chelsea when he threw this out, but in his peripheral vision he was observing her reaction.
“That’s not my department. The log would show that, of course. DB keeps meticulous records of who comes and goes. Well, you know that, as many times as you’ve come to see him.”
“Yes, they do. And I’m sure they’ve already looked at the visitors’ log.” He now looked at her expectantly.
She grew pink under his scrutiny. “I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Aren’t things computerized at DB?”
“Absolutely.”
“So there would be digital files of visitors?”
“Yes, there are.”
He sat forward and tried to choose his next words with particular care.
“Chelsea, something doesn’t smell right to me on this. Now, I’m telling you this on the QT, okay?” She nodded quickly and he continued. “I was approached recently by a couple of generals and someone from NSC—”
“The NSC? National Security Council? Oh my God!”
“Yeah, pretty high-up stuff. Anyway, they approached me with a lot of questions, none of which I had answers for. But I think they want me to get answers. And to do that I need information.” Puller went back over in his head what he had just said and came away confident that he had told her no outright falsehood. Not that that would help him much if the hammer came down. However, he did feel guilty for asking the woman to help him. But her next words made him forget this concern.
“I don’t see how I can help, John. I don’t really have access to much.”
He sat back. “Know anyone who might and who might be willing to talk to me?”
“There’s one of the guards. He’s actually been talking to me about applying to CID. Maybe it could be a scratch each other’s back sort of thing.”
“Maybe it could. What’s his name?”
“Aubrey Davis, PFC. Nice guy. Young, single. He likes his beer but I hear he’s also serious about getting ahead in his career.”
Puller slid his card out and handed it to her. “Tell him to give me a call on my cell, okay?”
She took the card and nodded. “I will. But I can’t guarantee he’ll help you.”
“No one can guarantee that. Most leads fizzle out. I just try to keep plowing through the ones I have and hope they lead to new ones. Thanks again.”
He left her there and returned to his car. Okay, it would take some time for that angle to work out, he knew, if it ever did. If he were really unlucky, this PFC Aubrey Davis might report the inquiry and up the line it would go at top military speed, resulting in Puller’s getting a call from his CO or probably someone even higher up the chain. If he were calamitously unlucky it would not be a phone call, but a truckload of MPs to haul him in to hear the charges read against him for disobeying an order. But in the meantime he had other things to check out. Namely, how the DB had lost both sources of power on the very same night, letting a highly valued prisoner simply walk out.
And leaving a dead man, who was not supposed to be there, behind.
It was impossible the way he had stated it. So in some way he had to have stated it wrong.
And the only way to get it right was to start digging.
With a very big shovel. Without anyone knowing.
A tall order, he knew.
But this was family, which meant he didn’t really have a choice.
CHAPTER
9
PULLER DROVE A circuitous route that took him around the perimeter of the DB and Fort Leavenworth as a whole. His gaze ran over the transmission lines. He had no way of seeing the natural gas generator configuration since that was behind cinderblock walls and the lines themselves were located underground.
He observed a power crew working inside a chain-link fence enclosing what looked to be twin transformers that might have been connected to the prison. This was probably the substation where the transformers had blown. But he couldn’t officially question them about it. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and contemplated what to do. And that’s when he noticed the Hummer pulling in behind him.
The MPs had arrived. Puller sighed, slid his ID out of his pocket, and waited.
Two armed men in uniform climbed out of their vehicle. They put on their caps and approached, one on each side of the car. Puller kept his hands in plain sight and made no sudden moves. He hit the window button with his elbow when the MP on the left reached him.
“What can I do for you?” he asked. “I’ve got my ID here. I’m—”
“We know who you are, sir. And we’ve been instructed to bring you into Fort Leavenworth for a meeting.”
Puller slowly put his ID away. “You want me to follow you? Or would you rather I went in your ride?”
“Ours, if you don’t mind, sir. Just pull yours a little farther off the road. We’ll make sure it’s here when you get back.”
Well, at least he didn’t say if I get back.
Puller rode in the rear seat with one MP next to him. They were both young, in their twenties, ramrod straight, stubborn chins, bulging necks, and eyes that did not see one inch farther than the orders they’d been given. Puller didn’t try to talk to them. They were just the hunting dogs retrieving him to the hunter.
They drove to Fort Leavenworth, where he was handed off to a female lieutenant smartly dressed in her Class B Blues.
They exchanged salutes and she said, “Follow me, please, Chief Puller.”
Well, it seemed everyone knew who he was.
They walked down a long corridor while Army life went on all around them. Military installations were centers of nonstop activity, and yet Puller wasn’t distracted by any of it. He had no idea whether he was walking to his professional death or a stint in the stockade. Or something else entirely. Questions like that got a man to focus.
She opened a door, ushered him in, closed it behind him, and he heard her regulation heels tapping back down the hall. And then he forgot about the lieutenant. Sitting facing him across the small table were the same three gents as before: Army general Rinehart; Schindler, the NSC suit; and the Air Force one-star Daughtrey. Schindler, Daughtrey, and Rinehart, thought Puller. Sounded like a law firm, which didn’t make him feel any better at all.
“Enjoying your visit to Kansas?” began Schindler.
“Up until about ten minutes ago, sir.”
“Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” said Daughtrey tersely.
Puller sat down across from them.
Schindler took a moment to adjust his tie and apply balm to his chapped lips. Then he said, “We understand that you disobeyed a direct order from your CO.”
“What would that be, sir?”
“That would be your driving here through the night with the purpose of investigating your brother’s escape from prison.”
“Investigating?”
“Well, so far you’ve spoken with a woman who works in administration at the prison, Chelsea Burke. And you were hoping to talk with a PFC Davis, who might be able to provide you with some leads. And then you were out observing an electrical substation connected to DB.”
Puller stared across the width of the table, silently marveling at how quickly they had been able to pounce on all this.
“You know all the stuff in the papers about the NSA spying and all, Puller?” said Daughtrey, a tiny smile playing over his lips.
“I read about it.”
“Tip of the iceberg, but ninety percent of an iceberg is hidden underwater. You used your credit card to buy gas and food. We tracked you that way.”
“Good to know, sir,” Puller said sarcastically.
Schindler said, “Intelligence keeps us all safe.”
“So spying on our own people keeps us safe?” said Puller more forcefully than he probably intended. r />
Schindler waved a hand derisively at this comment. “You don’t think there are Americans working with our enemies? Some of our fellow citizens will do anything for money. Hell, some of the biggest banks and hedge fund concerns in this country have been laundering cartel money and aiding terrorism for decades, and all for the almighty dollar.”
“I’ll take your word for it. So what now?”
“Well, now you have a decision to make, Puller,” said Schindler.
“And what’s that?”
“Basically, work for us or face the consequences.”
“And how exactly would I work for you?”
Schindler glanced at his colleagues before continuing. “Doing exactly what you want to do, what you’re here to do, in fact. Investigate your brother’s escape. But the difference is we’re kept in the loop the entire way. You step outside that box, your career is over.”
Rinehart added, “The decision is yours, Puller. And we’ll respect whichever way you choose to go. But if you choose not to work for us,