Дэвид Балдаччи - No Man's Land

He walked up the steps and into the church. It was quiet and cool and a bit musty inside. He surveyed the interior, the blue carpeting and the sign over a shelf of written materials in the back that read Thou Shalt Not Steal .

He walked up the aisle and noted the stained glass windows on either wall.

One was a memorial to a soldier who had died in Korea. The words read, He died so the kids next door may live .

That seemed to be the lot of many a soldier, thought Puller.

You die so others don’t .

Flags hung down from the ceiling on both sides. He looked up at them as he passed by.

Then his eyes finally reached to the small altar.

All the memories overcame him once more like an enemy overrunning his position on a battlefield.

He shut his eyes and let these images wash over him. Taking the seats in the pew, his mother always between his brother and him. They were little boys after all, and seated together they would have at some point during the Mass gotten into trouble.

He could conjure the smell of her perfume, delicate and barely there. The rustle of her skirt, the slight tap of her heel against the back of the pew in front of them. The methodical turning of the hymnal pages.

Standing up to sing, to pray, listening to the homily. Rising again. Genuflecting. Reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Walking up to receive communion, Puller having qualified to do that only the year before his mother vanished.

Swallowing the host and wishing his mother would have allowed him to drink some of Jesus’s blood in the form of the red wine.

Just once.

Putting the crumpled dollar bills in the offering basket.

Singing the final hymn as the priest and the altar boys walked down the center aisle bearing the cross and the Holy Book out into the foyer.

His mother lingering to talk to the priest and some friends, while he and his brother fidgeted, anxious to get home, change their clothes, and run wild outside. Or for Robert Puller to finish reading a book or complete a science project.

Puller blinked and his gaze went toward the altar. A door had opened on one side of it and a man in a white collar had emerged from an inner room. He was carrying some hymnals. When he spotted Puller he put the books down and walked down the center aisle toward him.

He was in his fifties, with a shock of fine white hair that neatly matched the color of the collar. He had on the usual black pants and a black clerical shirt with the white tab collar. His glasses fronted watery blue eyes.

“May I help you?” he asked, offering a smile along with his greeting. The man drew closer and held out his hand. “I’m Father O’Neil.” He peered at Puller more closely. “I’m sorry, young man. Do you attend church here? I’m usually very good at remembering faces.”

“I used to. About thirty years ago.”

“Oh, then as a little boy?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you go back much farther than I do. I’ve only been the pastor here for nine years. I came over from Roanoke.”

“Father Rooney was the pastor when I came here.”

“Father Rooney? That name sounds familiar. There were quite a few priests in between him and me. The Richmond Diocese likes to move us around.”

“Would you have any idea where I could find him?”

O’Neil became slightly guarded. “Can I ask why you’re looking for him?”

“My name is John Puller Jr. My father was in the Army, same as me. I used to come here with my mother and brother when we were little. My mother disappeared from Fort Monroe thirty years ago. She was never found. I’m just trying to piece together what might have happened.”

The watery blue eyes softened even more. “Why now if so much time has gone by?”

Puller took out his CID cred pack.

The priest studied it. “CID? So is this an official investigation?”

“No, just personal. Some things have occurred recently that led me to want to finally find out what happened to her.”

“I can understand that, Agent Puller. Not knowing is a terrible thing.”

“So might you know what happened to Father Rooney? I don’t even know if he’s alive.”

“Well, I can certainly try to find out. I can certainly make some calls. Do you mind waiting, or perhaps coming back later? I have a meeting coming up in about fifteen minutes that I have to prepare for, but I can do it right after that. Say about two hours or so?”

“I’ll be back. And thank you, Father.”

Puller left the church and checked his watch. He didn’t like to waste time. The Army did not teach wasting time – quite the reverse.

Puller hadn’t even reached his Malibu when he heard the man.

“What are you doing here?”

He turned to see CID special agent Ted Hull sitting in the driver’s seat of his Army-issued Malibu that was a clone of Puller’s. The Army bought in bulk with not a thought to diversity of the product. Indeed, in their eyes uniformity was a good thing, whether it was a soldier or a car.

Puller looked back at the church and then walked over to Hull’s ride. “Just revisiting old times.”

Hull eyed him suspiciously. Puller knew he would be doing the exact same thing if the positions were reversed.

“Is that right? At Fort Monroe, the scene of your mother’s disappearance?”

Puller shrugged and leaned closer to the window. “You’re the one who dropped this in my lap. Made me curious. What would you do if it was you and your mother?”

Hull nodded and tapped the steering wheel with his thumbs. “Probably the exact same thing you’re doing.”

Puller straightened. “Well, okay.”

“You find out anything?”

Puller leaned back down. “I’ve talked to a few people. My mother was dressed up that night. She walked; our car was still in the driveway. The church was within walking distance. She was devoutly religious. Maybe she came here.”

“Why here?”

“If she had a problem she might come here to talk about it.”

“You mean like a confession?”

“They don’t have any actual confessionals in the church, they just do it in one of the rooms. But no, I mean like just talking to a priest.”

Hull eyed the church. “The same priest still here?”

“No, but they’re trying to locate him.”

“You think it might be a viable lead?”

“Since I have no others I’ll take what I can get.”

“I didn’t see any record of the CID agents talking to a priest thirty years ago.”

“They didn’t really know my mother. I did. But then again, it may come to nothing.” He looked around. “Place is really different now. I remember when it was full of uniformed people hustling somewhere.”

Hull nodded. “Me too. But we got too many posts and not enough money. So there you go. When will you know if they found the priest?”

“A few hours.”

Hull considered this. “You can’t officially investigate this.”

“I get that.”

“So what are you really doing, Puller?”

“I’m just looking into my mother’s disappearance. No law against that.”

“If your father is a suspect there is. You’re in uniform.”

“But my father is not officially a suspect.”

“Will you give me a call when and if this priest turns up?”

“Be glad to.”

“Don’t throw your career away over this, Puller. I understand a little about what happened with your brother when he was at USDB. Scuttlebutt was you got perilously close to the line there.”

“I’m a soldier. Peril comes with the territory.”

“There are different kinds of peril. And the one coming from your own side is sometimes a lot worse than anything the enemy can chuck at you.”

Hull drove off.

Puller watched him go for a bit before turning his attention elsewhere.