The Escape (12 page)

J
OHN PULLER SAT
in his motel room staring at a wall. He and Knox had slept in after their late night. Then they had driven back to the motel where Daughtrey had been found. Puller didn’t know what he expected to find there the second time around. And ultimately he had discovered nothing new or helpful. Then he and Knox had spent the entire day running down more leads, but absolutely nothing had popped on any of them. Now it was night again and their investigation hadn’t progressed one iota.

And something Knox had said was sticking in his head like a Ka-Bar knife driven into his skull.

Or do you not want to know if your brother is really guilty or not?

Do I want to know? Or not?

He slipped his phone out of his pocket. It felt like a brick.

He thumbed through his contacts list until he settled on the one he wanted. He checked his watch. It was late and even later on the East Coast, but the person was a night owl. Puller knew many such night owls; he tended to be one himself.

He listened to the phone ringing. On the third ring he heard the gruff voice.

“Yeah?”

“Shireen?”

“Who the hell is this?” The gruff had moved on to annoyance.

“John Puller.”

Puller heard a thump, like a book had been dropped, and a clink, like a glass with ice in it had just been set down. And knowing Shireen as he did, the glass was not filled with water. More likely gin with a splash of tonic, and ice cubes, because as she had once told him, it was important to keep cool
and
hydrated.

A few moments of silence were followed by, “John Puller? What are you doing with yourself these days?”

Shireen Kirk—her full name, Puller knew, was Cambrai Shireen Kirk—was a Judge Advocate General, or JAG, attorney. She’d had her professional shingle out for nearly twenty years and had been involved in several of the cases that Puller had investigated. Each of those cases had resulted in a conviction. She was now forty-four years old, petite and thin, with reddish-blonde hair cut in a bob and bangs that still showed plenty of her freckles—Irish sprinkles, she had called them once. She was based in D.C. and had a reputation for being brilliant, scrupulously honest, diligent, fair-minded, and a woman who would kick your ass if you lied to her, regardless of military rank. And she could drink anyone of Puller’s acquaintance—and that included many large male beer lifters of prodigious capacity—under the table.

“This and that, Shireen,” replied Puller.

“We haven’t worked a case in a while.”

“Maybe we’re about due.”

“Wait a minute, didn’t you just shoot somebody in Nebraska?”

“Oklahoma.”

“Right, one of those flyover states. Saw something come across my desk about it. You okay?”

“I’m fine. The other guy isn’t. I didn’t kill him, but he’ll be walking funny for a while. Not how I wanted it to go down, but he didn’t give me a choice.”

“Where are you now?”

“Kansas.”

There was a long moment of silence. Puller could almost hear her mind sorting through things and compiling data, with a conclusion soon forthcoming.

“DB,” she said.

“DB’s here, all right.”

“A little surprised you are,” she said warily, as though she were being wiretapped and suspected a legal trap.

“I was too. But it’s all official and authorized.”

She said in an incredulous tone, “You’re not saying you’re investigating the escape?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Get off it! You’re shitting me.”

“No.”

“Has the Army lost its damn mind?”

“I can’t really answer that.”

“Then have you lost
your
mind?”

“I hope not.”

“Well, I
hope
your authorizations go about as high as they can go, otherwise I might be prosecuting you for about a dozen violations of military law, Puller.”

“I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t, Shireen.”

“In writing. Sometimes a CO’s memory sucks when the shit hits the fan.”

“Got ’em in writing. Army three-star and the NSC with trickle down the chain of command to my CO good enough for you?”

“Well sonofabitch, will wonders never cease? Why are you calling? If you’re in Kansas it’s too far to catch a beer together.”

“I’m calling about my brother.”

“What would I know about your brother? Other than he’s apparently escaped from DB? And you’re there, apparently investigating a crime you shouldn’t be within a continent of?”

“That word ‘apparently’ again.”

“What about it?”

“You’re not the first to use it when talking about what happened.”

“Well of course, Puller. Think about it. People don’t escape from DB. And do you believe for one second the Army wants to admit to something like that? The bigwigs are probably still praying he got stuck in a ventilation hole and it was all a big misunderstanding.”

“So my brother?”

She said nothing, but Puller could hear papers rustling and thought he detected the sound of a pen clicking. She seemed prepared to take notes. Whether this was a good thing or not, he wasn’t sure.

“I need to find out about his case.”

“His case?” she said.

“His court-martial.”

“Find out what?”

“Basically everything.”

“You don’t already know about it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It was sealed. I’m assuming because of the issues involved.”

“National security,” she said, and Puller could imagine her head nodding and her perhaps frowning at this. He had found that Shireen Kirk did not like secrets on either end of a case. They were a lot alike in that regard.

“Right. But why do you need to know about his case?”

“I’m trying to find him. If I knew what he went to DB for it might generate some leads for me.”

He hoped the late hour had reduced the efficiency of her bullshit meter.

“O-kay,” she said slowly, skepticism oozing from both syllables.

“I think you’d agree that breaking out of DB is pretty remarkable.”

“I think we can agree on that.”

“And maybe he had help to do it.”

“So you think whoever he was involved with before helped him escape?”

“It’s a theory.”

“He’s been at DB for how long?”

“Over two years.”

“Long time to wait to bust somebody out.”

“Not really. Not if you have to acquire the tools with which to do so.”

“Inside help, you mean?”

“That wouldn’t come easily or cheaply. At least I hope it wouldn’t, since it might implicate folks in uniform.”

“Well, if the file is sealed, I’m not sure there’s much I can do. And if you’ve been authorized to investigate this case you should be able to get it unsealed going through appropriate channels.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But right now I prefer not to employ proper channels. And I was thinking that you might know people who could unseal it.”

“That would take a court order, Puller,” she said sharply. “Because it would have taken a court order to
seal
it.”

“Well, I remember from high school science class that for every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction.”

“Yeah, and I remember from law school that a fool and her license to practice are soon parted.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything unethical, Shireen, because I know you wouldn’t. All I’m asking is for you to just see if there’s any way I can find out about the case. Something I can read. Someone I can talk to. Anything is more than I have right now. The military never throws anything away. There has to be some record of it somewhere.”

There was another pause and Puller started to wonder if she had hung up.

“Shireen?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here. I’m just taking a minute to pull my head out of my ass for even contemplating helping you.”

“But you
are
contemplating?” noted Puller hopefully.

“I’ll make some calls. Anything comes of it, you’ll hear from me. If nothing comes of it, you won’t. Good enough?”

“Good enough. Thanks, Shireen.”

“Don’t thank me. This shit stinks so bad it’s a wonder you’re still breathing.”

“I know it’s out of the ordinary.”

“It’s not just out of the ordinary, it’s unthinkable. Letting you work on this case violates every rule the Army has. And you better get
your
head out of
your
ass and wonder why they’re really letting you do it. Because I can’t think of a single reason that would benefit
you
, three-star and NSC approvals notwithstanding.”

She clicked off and Puller put his phone back in his pocket.

He wasn’t a lawyer, but he had spent enough time around them to know that they could smell a problem and potential downside from the other side of the world. They definitely looked at the glass half empty. And right now, maybe he should too.

Why do they really want me on this case?

Schindler, Daughtrey, and Rinehart had given him reasons for it. They seemed sound and plausible. But after what Shireen had just said they didn’t seem that sound or that plausible. And now Daughtrey was dead.

He was still thinking about this when he heard the woman scream.

H
IS HAND AUTOMATICALLY
dipped to his holster and Puller slid out his M11.

It had been a female screaming, no doubt about that. He hustled to the room’s single window and peered out. Four figures were there. There were three men and one woman, the one who had screamed. He wasn’t speculating. She was screaming right now.

He eyed the men. He couldn’t see their faces. The exterior lighting was poor and their backs were turned to him. He
could
see that two were roughly his size. The other was smallish. The woman was the smallest of them all. And a hand was around her throat as she was being dragged down the stairs.

Puller punched 911 on his phone and reported what he had just seen. Then he threw open the door and stepped out in time to see the group disappearing into an alleyway next to the motel.

He slipped quietly down the stairs, his M11 leading the way, and then sprinted across the courtyard. He stopped at the entrance to the alley and peered around the corner. Farther down the darkened alley he heard the woman scream. And he heard struggling.

There must be another exit from the alley. They might have a car waiting there. He picked up his pace.

And then he was sprawling on the pavement, his gun flying from his grip.

He rolled over and looked up. The three men looked back down at him. They were wearing ski masks. The woman was nowhere around.

This was an ambush and the girl was the bait.

And I’m an idiot because I fell for it.

Three guns were pointed at him, so he had no choice but to get up slowly with his hands raised over his head.

They made him walk down the alley to where an SUV was waiting. He was pushed in, blindfolded, gagged, and his hands bound with a zip tie. The SUV pulled off.

In his head he estimated the drive time at about thirty minutes. That didn’t help much in determining direction or destination, because the vehicle could have doubled back to throw him off. Since it was so late at night the normal sounds of the city weren’t as evident. But he didn’t think they were still in the city.

When they pulled to a stop the door was opened and he was pushed out. His feet crunched gravel. He was led up a short set of steps, through a doorway, and he heard it close behind him. He was pushed down into a chair and the gag removed.

He waited. He wasn’t going to open the conversation, for he assumed that was why he was here. Otherwise, he’d be dead.

When the voice came on, it was hollow–sounding, like the speaker was standing in a hole. The person wasn’t in the room, Puller knew. This was all being done remotely.

“Very cloak-and-dagger, I have to admit,” said the voice, which had clearly been modified electronically. It sounded like Darth Vader, only on an indie film budget. But it might be significant, thought Puller, because he might not want his voice recognized.

He remained quiet, waiting. Whatever the man said, it would be information he didn’t have previously. And if he got out of this alive, it could lead to something.

“I’m not here to make threats, Agent Puller. I’m here to appeal to your patriotism.”

“You could have done that over the phone.”

“That would have been awkward. I prefer this method.”

“Kidnapping?”

“Let’s call it an aggressive call for a meeting.”

“With three guns pointed at me, I guess you can call it what you want.”

“You’re investigating Robert Puller’s escape from prison. You hope to bring him back, alive rather than dead.”

Puller kept his mouth shut.

“I want to know what you’ve found out so far. Do you know where he is?”

“No.”

“Do you have any promising leads?”

“I must have missed the part ordering me to report to some voice.”

“It would be in all of our best interests if you were to cooperate.”

“Not how it works in my world. I’m a soldier. I have chains of command. I don’t step outside them.”

“So you won’t share your investigation results?”

“You’ll have to take that up with the United States Army.”

“You hope to bring your brother in alive. I tell you that this is not possible.”

“Why?”

“This is not possible,” repeated the voice. “If you won’t cooperate then I am asking you to stand down.”

“I was ordered to investigate. I follow orders.”

“There are many outs for you on that score,” said the voice. “The command for you to participate in this investigation runs against every protocol the military has. You should not be part of this. You will ask to stand down on those reasons. Your objectivity has been compromised, and understandably so. It’s your brother, after all. The United States Army is many things, Puller. But it is not unreasonable.”

“And you would know this how?”

“Stand down, Agent Puller. That’s all you have to do.”

“The investigation will continue regardless of whether I’m part of it.”

“That is not your concern. Will you stand down?”

“No.”

“I will ask again. Will you stand down?”

Puller said nothing, because he had nothing else to add to what he’d already said.

“I can only add as an inducement that this is far bigger than a mere prisoner escaping from custody.”

“Care to explain that?”

“To answer that would require disclosures that I am not prepared to make. Suffice it to say, you have my word that I am a patriot. The good of the country is firmly in my mind for whatever actions have been taken in the past or will be taken in the future.”

“You didn’t say what country. I doubt it’s mine.”

“You were described to me as stubborn, and tough and honorable. Those are all ideal attributes for those in uniform. But this, I’m afraid, is the exception that
disproves
that rule. Once more, will you stand down?”

“No.”

“Then I’m afraid it’s out of my hands.”

“
Now
you’re threatening me?”

“If only it were a threat, Agent Puller. Now, I’m afraid, it is a
fact
.”

The voice cut off and the quiet returned.

And then he heard feet moving closer. And the rack on a weapon being slid back. Puller immediately tensed, his quads and calves bracing for what was to come.

The blindfold was taken off and he blinked quickly to adjust to the brightness provided by the overhead light.

A moment later Puller felt a gun muzzle placed against the side of his head.

And then the shots shattered the window and blew out the light.

Puller and the other man froze and then the man with the gun turned toward the window from where the shots had come. That was the only opening Puller needed.

He sprang sideways, thrusting his shoulder into the chest of the man holding the weapon. Bone, muscle, and cartilage met the same. Puller was the bigger man, with a forty-pound advantage on the other. They both flew backward in the direction from which Puller had attacked.

As Puller had hit the other man with his shoulder he’d locked one of his legs around the man’s thigh and the other around his upper calf. Now he ripped the thigh one way and the lower leg the other and listened to the man scream as vital parts of his knee went helter-skelter. He and the now disabled man hit the floor and their momentum propelled them along the smooth boards. The other man crashed headfirst into the far wall and was knocked out by the impact.

Puller’s hands were still tied behind his back. Very flexible for a big man, he turned the slide into a roll and slipped his bound hands under his legs so they were in front of him. He grabbed the toppled chair, swung it around, and crushed the piece of furniture into the chest of the second man who had just rushed into the darkened room. The man had managed to get two errant shots off before he took the chair to the chest and hurtled in the opposite direction and then flipped over a table. He lay there panting and moaning with pain.

Puller knelt next to the first man, searched his pockets, and found both his M11 and his cell phone. He snatched up the chair once more and flung it through the window. A second later he sailed through the shattered glass and landed outside. He was on his feet in an instant, looked in front of him, and then chose a path in under three seconds. When in doubt with people trying to kill you there was no perfect answer. There was only action.

He sprinted off in that direction and quickly reached a curve in the road that would put him out of the sightline of the house.

A minute later two men came careening out of the building where Puller had been held and looked around for their former captive. Not seeing him, they ran to the SUV, climbed in, and the driver started it up. They started to speed off but the vehicle began to wobble badly. The driver put the SUV in park and they jumped out to stare in disbelief at the four slashed tires.

Robert Puller watched all of this from the bushes on the right side of the house. He had fired his weapon through the window, shattering the light. It would have been a difficult pistol shot through glass, but the auto weapon he had was both devastating and incredibly accurate at short range. With the light shot out he knew his brother would have the advantage. Still, he had watched until the chair and then his brother came flying through the smashed window before retreating to his present location. He’d slashed the SUV’s tires before taking up his sentry post at the window.

He quietly retreated to where his truck was parked. He had kept the engine running because it was quieter than trying to later start it. He’d also backed into the spot so he could now pull straight out. He climbed in, slipped the truck into gear, released the brake, eased out, and then basically let the truck’s forward momentum take him where he wanted to go. Once he was sufficiently far away, he hit the gas and sped down the road.

Robert Puller had followed his brother from the motel where General Daughtrey had been found. Then he had continued to follow him all the rest of the day, ending at the place where his brother was staying. He had seen the men force John into the SUV and he had followed them here. He didn’t know what had gone on inside the house. He had heard snatches of a voice, but could not make out what had been said. He didn’t know who the men were. He had made a quick search of the SUV, but there was no registration or other identification documents.

He could have charged into the house, but even with the brutally efficient weapon he was carrying he thought the odds of his winning the battle were too low. And he didn’t want to jeopardize his freedom or his brother’s life on bad odds.

He knew his brother could run a mile in less than six minutes and perform the Army standard two-mile run in a bit under twelve minutes. He checked his watch. John Puller should reach the main highway shortly. He would have found some way to defeat his bindings. He had a gun. He was safe.

Robert Puller pulled off to the side of the road. He did this for two reasons. He wanted to see if anyone was coming after his brother. And he also wanted to give John time to reach the main road. If he passed him in the truck, his brother’s CID instincts would kick in, meaning he would memorize the license plate of the truck, the make and model, and every element of the driver that he could see under the current conditions. And Robert was still paranoid that his brother would be able to see through even his elaborate disguise.

He waited eight minutes and drove down the road at a slow pace until he reached the main road. As he pulled onto it his gaze swept in all directions. He saw him about fifteen seconds later. And he eyed with more than a bit of pride his brother walking along the road, his hands free.

Some people one could completely rely on. And his brother was one of them.

As Robert Puller drove slowly along he saw his brother take out his phone and start punching in numbers. Then he turned off the main road, crossed over a berm, and disappeared on the other side.

You’re welcome, bro. And keep your head down from here on. It’s not going to get any easier. It’s only going to get worse. Trust me. If you still can.

Robert Puller punched the gas and sped on.