The Escape (11 page)

P
ULLER WAS DRIVING
and Knox sat beside him staring moodily out the window.

“How did you think of the manner in which the neck was broken?” she asked, turning to him. “A horizontal break? You showed the ME how it could be done.”

“The snap-crackle-pop. At least that’s what we call it. It’s a technique they teach in the Rangers and the Marine Corps. It’s used to quickly kill, typically perimeter security of a target you’re trying to take. Hand and forearm cups the top of the head. Other hand and forearm rests at the base of the neck. You apply the requisite foot-pounds of force in separate directions, the neck snaps right in two. Clean and quick and silent.”

“But they don’t teach that in the Air Force?”

“I don’t know what they teach in the Air Force other than to tell their people not to jump out of a perfectly good plane. They leave that to us grunts toting rifles and eighty-pound rucks.”

“Okay, but did you by chance teach your brother the maneuver?”

Now Puller glanced at her. “Are you interrogating me?”

“No, just asking a simple question.”

“I don’t remember. That’s my simple answer.”

She glanced once more out the window. “Looks like a storm is rolling in,” she observed.

“Then maybe we’ll have another blackout and another prison escape,” retorted Puller.

She shot him a glance. “Don’t even joke about something like that.”

“We need to ID that guy.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t want to wait however long it’s going to take the guys in Dover to do it. And since I don’t think he’s an American, they probably won’t find anything anyway.”

“And the ME said he didn’t get a hit in the military database off the prints or facial recognition. So it’s doubtful he’s military.”

“At least not
our
military. Which leads to another question.”

“What’s that?”

“Four platoons.”

“Right, but now we think your brother might have taken the dead guy’s place. After killing him,” she tacked on, perhaps just to see Puller’s reaction.

He ignored this. “How did the dead guy get into Fort Leavenworth? And how did he manage to join a company of soldiers going to quell a possible crisis at DB?”

“Well, he must’ve gotten onto the base somehow. And it was chaotic. If he was dressed in riot gear I doubt anyone took the time to do roll call.”

“Which means this all was planned out, Knox. The transformers blowing. The backup gas generator breaking down. The sounds of explosion and gunfire. The Army manual is clear on that. You call in reinforcements. Whoever planned this, they knew how the Army would react and they had a guy at Leavenworth ready to join in.”

“But why, Puller? What was he going to accomplish?”

“Helping my brother to escape, maybe?”

“But the guy ended up dead.”

Puller said, “Maybe the plan changed. Maybe someone else other than my brother killed him.”

“How was he planning on getting your brother out? There’s no evidence that he had a second set of riot gear with him. Your brother probably took his gear. In fact, that’s the only way he could have gotten out. So, the guy
had
to die. And they were about the same size.” She looked at Puller. “Your brother’s about six-three? About two hundred pounds or so?”

“Around that.”

“So was the dead guy.”

“But why go in on a mission like that if you know it’s suicidal?”

“Maybe he didn’t know it was suicidal,” replied Knox.

“Well, if he didn’t then he had to believe he was going in there for some reason that had the possibility of him getting out alive. And we have to find out who came and took those transformers.” He eyed her pointedly when he said this. “That’s what started this whole chain of events. The transformers blowing.”

“Puller, I don’t know who did that. I’m telling you the truth.”

“I did some reading online. INSCOM conducts operations for military commanders.”

“No big secret.”

“But you’re also tasked to do the same for ‘national decision makers.’ That term is both suggestive and fluid. Could include folks like the president, the secretary of state, Speaker of the House.”

“I’m not here on behalf of any of them, I can assure you.”

“And the head of NSA also runs the U.S. Cyber Command.”

“I was aware of that.”

“Interesting.”

She shrugged. “There’s a lot of overlap. Some claim they’re mirror images of each other. Although NSA operates under Title 50 while Cyber Command checks in under Title 10 authority.”

“Is that an important distinction?”

“Maybe, maybe not. There’s talk that the entities will have different leaders in the future. Fact is they’re now both full-time jobs. But they’ll always be operationally related.”

“And they’re both based at Fort Meade.”

“Yes.”

“Kissing cousins, then.”

“Not a term I’d use,” she said, sounding slightly offended.

“Somebody came and got the transformers, Knox. And the guy they took them from said they outranked him. But that’s all he would say. That tells me he was told to say no more. Even to the official investigators.”

“Which tells you what?”

“That there are multiple investigations—both official and unofficial—going on here along with multiple agendas. It’s hard enough to solve a crime without all that baggage. And that baggage is definitely coming from spook central. I can feel it in my official Army jockey shorts.”

“Well, what exactly do you want me to do about it?”

“We’re a team. Or at least that’s what you led me to believe. So based on that the answer to your question should be pretty obvious.”

“You want me to find out if anybody on the intelligence side had anything to do with the transformers’ disappearance?”

He forced a smile. “I’ll make you into an investigator yet, Knox.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, she said, “Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of. Speaking of spooks, any ideas on Daughtrey?”

“If my brother killed the man back in the prison, he could have killed Daughtrey.”

“Why?”

“They both worked at STRATCOM.”

“So you think that’s at the center of this?”

“I have no idea. You know more about that world than I do. And it’s a big one. A lot bigger than most people realize.”

“Did you know that Cyber Command technically comes under STRATCOM’s leadership?”

He looked at her questioningly. “But how does that work with NSA?”

“It’s all very incestuous, Puller. NSA operates from under hundreds of intelligence platforms. You never know where the tentacles are going to reach.”

“Then how the hell does anybody keep all of it straight?”

“I think that’s the point. They don’t want anyone knowing enough to keep things straight. Then they might have to start answering some tough questions.”

“Makes congressional oversight damn difficult.”

“Damn near impossible,” amended Knox. “Which, again, is the central point.”

He eyed her curiously. “These are puzzling observations coming from someone in the intelligence sector.”

“Just because I work there doesn’t mean I have to drink all the Kool-Aid. And have you wondered about something else?”

“What?”

“What your brother was sent to prison for.”

“He was charged with national security crimes. Treason.”

She said in a scolding tone, “And you weren’t curious about the
exact
circumstances? That’s surprising for an
investigator
.”

“I did wonder. I wondered a lot. As soon as I got back from deployment overseas I checked into it. My brother was already in prison. But I did investigate.”

“And?”

“And the file was sealed. I couldn’t get anyone to even return a phone call or meet with me. Everything was completely hushed up. Not even the media really got wind of anything. It didn’t make any of the newspapers and I only saw one item about it on CNN, and then it just went away like dust in a black hole in space.”

“So you don’t know what he was convicted of?”

He glanced sharply at her. “Why? Do you know anything about it?”

“I think we might want to find out about it.”

Puller kept driving as he thought about this.

She said, “Or do you not want to know if your brother is really guilty or not?”

“He was convicted.”

“And in your experience an innocent person has never been convicted?”

“Not that many.”

“
One
is too many,” said Knox.

“But if the file is sealed on my brother’s case?”

“You’re the investigator. You must have some ideas on how to find out things. And if I’m going to stick my neck out about these transformers gone missing, you can do the same with your brother’s case.”

And she said no more as they drove along right into the gathering storm that might as well have been inside the car as well as outside it.

H
E AWOKE AT
noon and slowly looked around.

Robert Puller had been dreaming that he had escaped from the DB. So when he woke, he thought he would see the interior of his prison cell.

But I did escape. I am free. For now.

A few minutes later he showered, careful to keep the soap and water off his altered face, and changed into his one other set of clothes. He would have to go shopping soon if he managed to maintain his freedom. He looked at himself in the mirror, if only to confirm that he still didn’t look a thing like himself. He just needed to avoid being arrested, because he couldn’t change his fingerprints, DNA, or retinal marker. His belly grumbling again, he drove to a twenty-four-hour diner and ate at the counter. Over his scrambled eggs, bacon, and buttered biscuits he read the local paper, a copy of which was sitting on the counter. The story he stumbled on had not made the front page and he wondered why.

Air Force General Found Dead in Motel Room in Leavenworth, Kansas.

He read on. Timothy Daughtrey, age forty-three and a one-star general in the Air Force, had been visiting the area on military business. He had not been staying at the motel. And there was no information on how he got there or the motive for his death, nor were there any suspects. There was a hotline number for people to call with information.

Puller searched his memory. Daughtrey. Timothy Daughtrey. He didn’t recall the name, but then again the Air Force was a pretty big entity. It might be totally unrelated or it might be directly connected to what was going on with him.

He finished his breakfast and carried the paper with him back to the motel. He got online and did a search on the dead general. There were numerous references to him, including a Wikipedia page. He ran his eye down the page.

There it is.

He was with U.S. Cyber, a command component of STRATCOM.

Daughtrey had been assigned there just over four months earlier, well after Puller had gone to the DB.

His career looked pretty straightforward. There was even a YouTube video of the man pontificating about military matters on some obscure show that probably only people in uniform, and only certain ones of those, would bother to watch. He seemed intelligent and straightforward on the video. Stupid people did not get assigned to STRATCOM. But he was assuredly not straightforward. Such people also did not get assigned to STRATCOM. In fact, reading between the lines of the video interview, Puller came away with the impression that Daughtrey had learned more about the interviewer than the journalist had learned about him, or, more importantly, about STRATCOM.

Yet now he was dead and they had no leads. Murdered in Leavenworth while there on military business. And what business would that be? U.S. Cyber Command was headquartered at Fort Meade in Maryland. The closest Air Force base out here was McConnell in Wichita. But if he were doing STRATCOM business in this part of the country he would have likely gone to Offutt AFB in Nebraska. The satellite office that Puller had worked at in Kansas had closed and the operation had been consolidated at the partially renovated Offutt.

So why was he in Leavenworth, Kansas? The answer seemed suddenly obvious.

Because that’s where I escaped from.

As he looked at the face of the dead man on the YouTube video, Puller nodded. That had to be the connection.
He
had to be the connection.

He looked at the newspaper article once more. The motel where the body had been found was a relatively short drive away. He was making no progress with his database searches on the dead man back at the prison. He was still debating when to head out of Kansas and on to another location that might yield answers. But he had time for a side trip. In fact, in some respects, he had all the time in the world.

He left his room and got into his truck and drove back to Leavenworth. He found the motel, passed by it, and noted the military guards posted out front to secure the crime scene. The motel was like the one he was staying in right now in KC. Cheap, run-down, as well as off the beaten path.

A one-star’s travel allowance would have paid for a much nicer place. Puller also knew Daughtrey could have stayed, as a professional courtesy, in officer quarters at Fort Leavenworth. The various service branches were nothing if not hospitable to each other, if only to show off what they had.

He parked on the street and doubled back, walking slowly past the motel’s entrance before heading on. He reached the corner and stepped partway into an alley, keeping the place under observation. He felt his heart beating faster and knew that being out in the open like this was still a new thing for him. He had been on twenty-three and one at the DB: solitary confinement for twenty-three hours before being allowed out of his cage for a single hour. Now to be freely walking the streets and filling his belly in a diner in the middle of dozens of people was a heady change. He refocused on the motel, and moments later his decision to come here paid off in a way Robert Puller could never have imagined.

A white Chevy sedan pulled up to the curb in front of the motel. Puller locked on this ride because the make, model, and color screamed military. A man and a woman got out.

When Robert Puller saw his brother emerge from the car, he froze, yet only for a second. Then he inched more deeply into the alley, but kept his gaze squarely on his younger brother’s tall, imposing physical presence.

What the hell was he doing here?

This wasn’t a CID case. And even if it were, the Army would never have allowed John Puller to work on it, if only because it might have a connection to his brother’s case. The military not only disliked appearances of impropriety, it loathed them.

But there he was, in the flesh, and he was heading past the guards after flashing his creds. The woman with him was tall, slender, and auburn-haired, but Puller did not get a good look at her face.

So my brother is investigating this case. And I wonder what else he’s investigating?

Would the military really let one brother go after another?

Robert Puller had thought a lot about his brother and what he would make of his older sibling doing a bunk from the DB and leaving behind a dead body. But never once, with all his brilliance and built-in paranoia from working so long in the intelligence field, had he imagined his brother working an investigation whose one goal would be to bring Robert Puller in, dead or alive, as melodramatic as that sounded.

And certain people might very well prefer me dead.

He waited for his brother to disappear from his line of sight and then left the alley and quickly made his way back to his truck. He was confident of his new face and altered appearance. But he had learned that his younger brother’s powers of observation were far beyond the norm. Sometimes they were even scary. So he was taking no chances.

He reached his truck, climbed in, and then just sat there.

His thoughts were now totally focused on one thing, and they had nothing to do with a dead man in a prison cell.

His brother was
here
.

And Robert Puller did not even want to think about where things might end up.

Things were already complicated enough.

Now? What he was trying to do seemed impossible.

Because his little brother might be standing right in the way.