The Escape (26 page)

Carter said, “But you weren’t around him all the time back then, were you, Puller? You were off serving your country. People change.”

“Not like that. Not my brother.”

Carter finished his coffee, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and turned to Rinehart. “I think we’ve exhausted the possibilities of this meeting.”

Rinehart nodded and took a last sip of his port.

Before the men could stand, Puller said to Carter, “And why have you been brought into the tight circle of need-to-know?”

“Puller, Mr. Carter is the director of DTRA, for God’s sake,” Rinehart said sternly. “He oversees a three-billion-dollar budget with personnel deployed in over a dozen countries. His specific security clearances are at the very highest level.”

“I have no doubt they are. I was just inquiring as to why he’s involved in this particular matter.”

Before Rinehart could respond, Carter held up his hand. “I’ll field this one, Aaron, if you don’t mind.” He turned to Puller. “As I said, before I was in charge of DTRA, I worked where your brother was headed before he went to prison. There one of my colleagues was the unfortunate General Tim Daughtrey when he was still a colonel. I never worked with your brother back then, but I had met him. I saw as much potential in him as I’d ever seen in anyone. I didn’t consider myself a mentor to him, because frankly I didn’t think myself smart enough. And Robert Puller had plenty of mentors since everyone was racing to attach themselves to his coattails. I didn’t want to believe that he was guilty, but I have to accept facts too. Now, my immediate interest in this? As you know, your brother was at the heart of many programs, which in turn are at the very core of what this country does in both the intelligence collection and nuclear defense fields. In addition to my duties at DTRA, my main objective at the center is to locate WMDs and prevent them from falling into the hands of our enemies. The work that your brother did at STRATCOM has a direct connection to what I try to do at the center. If he’s escaped and people that he was selling secrets to are active once more, then I need to know what is going on. This country has many enemies and many issues confronting it, everything from cyber warfare to corporate espionage. But there is no more paramount concern than rogue WMDs being used against us. A crew of cyber warriors can attack the grid, knock out data servers, and hack into millions of credit card accounts. But a single WMD of sufficient magnitude can wipe out a city and kill hundreds of thousands of people. Credit cards can be replaced. People can’t. So which do you think is more problematic from a security perspective?”

“Thanks for answering my question, sir,” said Puller.

Carter rose, gave a slight bow followed by a tight smile. “You’re quite welcome.”

R
INEHART AND SCHINDLER
left in a car driven by a man in uniform. Puller was heading out too when Knox gripped his arm, holding him back.

“Just give it a minute, Puller.”

Shortly after that Donovan Carter approached them in the lobby.

“Have time for a nightcap?” he asked, looking at one and then the other.

Puller glanced at Knox, who said, “Sounds like an offer we can’t refuse, sir.”

They walked to the bar on the second floor. There were only a few people left there and they took a table in the back. Carter ordered a whiskey soda, Knox a glass of Prosecco, and Puller a Heineken. When the drinks arrived, Carter extracted a pill from a silver case and swallowed it along with some of his whiskey.

“Painkiller,” he explained.

“Should you be mixing that with alcohol?” asked Knox.

“Probably not, but I’ve been doing it for years with no adverse results. And the whiskey makes it go down a little bit better.”

“Painkillers?” said Puller.

Carter pointed to the damaged side of his face. “In case you failed to notice, I’ve suffered injuries of unfortunately a permanent nature.”

“What happened, if you don’t mind my asking?” said Knox.

“Afghanistan in 2001.”

“Were you in the military?” asked Puller.

“I was there serving my country before the uniforms even showed up. I was captured and tortured. What you see on my face is just the visible marks. There are lots of others under my clothes. The Taliban are quite adept at inflicting pain. And scars.”

“Were you gathering intelligence?” asked Knox.

He nodded. “Intel on the ground was vital before we invaded. Afghanistan is a tough nut to crack. Many nations have tried it. The Brits. The Russians. It’s fairly simple to win the war over there turning rubble to dust, as they say. However, it’s absolutely impossible to win over the country after the tanks stop rolling, as we found to our chagrin.”

“How did you get away?” asked Puller.

“I would like to say that I was rescued, but I wasn’t. I got away on my own. Not sure how. I was out of my mind with pain. But maybe I was so desperate that I just pushed the agony out of my head. I killed the three Taliban guarding me. If I had had time, I would have tortured them before I slit their throats. It seemed fitting. But I didn’t have the option. I dragged myself about three hundred miles across landscape that resembled the moon until I reached safety. Two years of physical therapy allowed me to function physically, walk and talk and use my arms. But the scars are permanent. The pain is permanent. So I take pills and I drink whiskey, but neither to excess. And I serve my country, and I do it well. After my ordeal in Afghanistan people considered me a hero, rightly or not. At least I had the wounds to show for it. And it certainly helped my career path, which was like a rocket launch after that. I jumped back and forth between Capitol Hill and the intelligence field and built up quite an expertise on national security and foreign affairs. Attaining SES status and heading up DTRA and the center are really the highlights for me. I couldn’t expect any more. And now you know more about it than you would ever care to,” he added with a self-conscious smile.

“So why the nightcap? It struck me that you had said all you wanted to say at dinner,” commented Puller.

“I did. But I wasn’t sure that
you
had said all you wanted to say. And if not, I’m here to listen. You’ll find me a good listener. And without the presence of a three-star and the president’s man, I thought you might feel more comfortable in expressing yourselves.”

Knox said bluntly, “Okay, let’s do this. We really don’t think Robert Puller is guilty.”

“Based on what?”

“The evidence at trial was shaky.”

Carter shook his head as he took another sip of his whiskey. “Two eyewitness accounts? Classified data found on his person? A trail of online gambling debts providing the motive? Hardly shaky evidence.”

“The online trail could easily have been fabricated.”

“Perhaps. But the testimony of Reynolds and Robinson?”

Puller studied him carefully. “Inasmuch as you think I can’t be objective about my brother, it may be true that you can’t be objective about Reynolds, since she works for you.”

Carter sat back and considered this statement. “Let’s go down that road for a moment. Let’s assume Reynolds was lying. Why?”

“She was paid to do it,” said Knox.

“So she’s a traitor, paid to implicate your brother. Again, why? What’s so special about him?”

“As you said, he was a very valuable asset to the government.”

“Yes, he was. But our government possesses many valuable people assets, so why go after him in particular?”

“Would there be a reason to get him out of the way at STRATCOM?”

“He was getting ready to leave one branch of STRATCOM after his next promotion, as I said at dinner. He was heading to ISR, which, as you know, is also a command component under STRATCOM. I would have worked with him there, as I also mentioned.”

“Would there be some reason to prevent him from going there?” asked Knox.

Carter shrugged. “I can’t say. ISR has many employees. Was he important enough to pull off such a conspiracy as you’ve described? It would be difficult to believe.”

“You said that you worked with General Daughtrey at ISR when he was still a colonel.”

“That’s right.”

“Since Daughtrey took my brother’s slot at ISR, you implied that might be a motive for my brother to retaliate and kill him. But let’s look at it from the other way.”

Carter put down his drink and said curiously, “How so?”

“Was my brother the first choice for the ISR slot?” said Puller.

“Yes. Hands down.”

“And Daughtrey was the backup?” said Knox.

“Okay, I see where this is going,” replied Carter. “You’re saying Robert Puller was set up to prevent him from going to ISR?”

“Yes, but it also allowed Daughtrey to take his place,” added Puller.

“For what purpose?”

“What did the position entail? What would the person have had access to?” asked Puller.

Carter took another swallow of his drink and rubbed his chin. “Everything, more or less. ISR’s work is broad and far-reaching. From space to underwater and really everything in between. ISR is, in many vital respects, the eyes, ears, and brain of the DoD. Its commander wears dual hats because he also heads up the Defense Intelligence Agency. ISR works with all other major intelligence platforms, NSA, Geospatial, National Reconnaissance. Its responsibilities cross the full military spectrum of requirements, transnational threats, the Global War on Terror, and WMDs. Everything really.”

“So Daughtrey would have had access to all of that?”

“More or less, yes.”

“And then he was murdered,” noted Puller.

“But he had left ISR at that point,” pointed out Carter.

“And went to another component of STRATCOM,” said Knox. “Which one?”

“U.S. Cyber Command.”

Puller nodded. “Another hot spot. How was his work at ISR?”

“I found him extremely talented, hardworking, ambitious.”

“How ambitious?” said Puller quickly.

“Most officers seeking to move up in rank are ambitious. You know that.”

“I’m not talking about medals and stars.”

“Then what?”

Knox said, “Susan Reynolds lives in a million-dollar-plus house, drives a seventy-thousand-dollar car, wears Prada shoes, and has a closet full of Coach bags. And there’s an original Joan Miró painting in her library. I looked the price up. There is no way she could have bought it with even twenty years’ worth of her salary.”

Puller shot her a glance. She hadn’t mentioned the Prada, the Coach bags, or the painting.

She noted his look. “I
am
a girl, Puller, even if I do carry a gun and kick ass. I notice bags and shoes. And I saw the painting when we were there. I was an art history major at Amherst.”

“Joan Miró?” he asked.

“He was a Spaniard, born in Barcelona. He died decades ago.”

“So he’s a renowned artist or something?”

“Well, let’s put it this way, Puller. One of his paintings sold a couple years back at a Sotheby’s auction in London for nearly forty million. So, yeah, I guess you could say the guy was pretty good.”

“Damn,” said Puller.

Carter seemed intrigued by this information. “I’ve never been to her home. And I didn’t know what kind of car she drives. And, quite frankly, I wouldn’t know a Prada shoe if it hit me in the head.”

“The fact is she’s living well beyond her means,” said Knox. “So what is the source of income? And there’s one more thing. She went to work at ISR when Daughtrey did. And now she’s at the WMD Center, while Daughtrey was at Cyber Command. But what if they were still working together? Because it’s all incestuous, right? Dual hatters, STRATCOM covers everything. The intelligence world is as interconnected as it’s ever been.”

“That’s true. But do you mean working together as spies?”

“Spies, moles, whatever you want to call it. Would they have things to sell?”

“Of course they would. Which is why we have background checks and security clearance procedures and periodic testing, polygraphs, and follow-up. And why everyone is watched very closely.”

“Well, you didn’t know about her financial status, did you?”

Carter sat back, still looking dubious, but a bit less so.

Puller said, “So how ambitious was Daughtrey? Not for stars. For money. Anybody check lately? Because in addition to Reynolds, we have Lenora Macri. She was only a lowly captain at Leavenworth. But she had an account in the Caymans under an alias packed with cash. So I wonder how much a one-star would have piled up?”

Carter picked up his glass and then put it back down without taking a drink. “Daughtrey did mention to me once that he was thinking of getting out of the military and starting his own consulting group or maybe going into private contracting to the DoD.”

“That would be a nice way to launder any money he’d been paid,” noted Knox. “Mix it up under consulting contracts and hire a shady CPA to make it look all perfectly aboveboard.”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about. But Daughtrey and Reynolds? Spies?”

“And Robinson?” said Puller.

“What about him?”

“He had a very ill son before my brother went to prison. His insurance would not cover experimental treatments outside of the country. His son was going to die. After my brother goes to prison, his son gets the experimental treatment costing seven figures in Germany and is alive and well.”

Carter snapped, “Why didn’t you mention this at dinner?”

“I’m mentioning it now.”

“So you think Robinson was paid off to lie?”

“Yes. And you were told my brother visited Reynolds. Why take that chance? Revenge at her testifying against him? If so, why not just kill her? Why leave her alive to tell the authorities he’s in the area? If he is a murderer, what’s one more murder to him?”

Carter finished the rest of his whiskey soda. “I wasn’t sure what would come of this conversation when I invited you for a nightcap, but I can honestly tell you I never anticipated this. You have put together a plausible argument that your brother might have been framed, and that the real enemies could still be out there.”

Knox said, “So the question is, what can we do about it? Because most of what we have is conjecture and speculation. That doesn’t work in court.”

“Let me see what I can do from my end. I’ll be in touch. And I’ll be in touch soon.”

He rose, dropped cash on the table for their drinks, and walked out.

Puller said, “Nice catch on the Miró and the purses and shoes.”

“I didn’t tell you because we already knew she had a lot more money than she should have. It didn’t add anything new to the picture.”

“Right. But meeting with Carter like this was a big risk,” he said.

“But if we can’t make headway in our investigation then lighting a fire in a munitions dump might be the only way to go. In fact, if he hadn’t asked for the nightcap I would have. It’s the reason I had us hanging around in the lobby.”

“We’ll know one way or another, soon.”

“Yes we will.”

He said, “But remember, if the munitions dump does ignite, a lot of folks could get caught in the fireball, including us.”