Дэвид Балдаччи - No Man's Land

“The Grunt closes at two. It’s a two-hour drive from there to here. It’s eight o’clock in the morning. What happened to the other four hours?”

“We didn’t leave right at two. She was still indisposed. We left around four. And we stopped for breakfast at the IHOP, at her request. We took our time. She seemed to be in no rush. And I’d worked all night. I was tired, so I wasn’t trying to break any land speed records.”

He pointed toward the door Davis had entered. “Just ask her if you don’t believe me.”

“What’s going on?”

They all turned to see Davis’s head poking out of what Rogers knew was her bedroom window.

The security man looked up. “Just checking to make sure everything is all right, Ms. Davis.”

“Everything is all right. He drove me home. I wasn’t feeling well. Okay? He works at the Grunt.”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you, that’s all we needed to know.”

The man turned back to Rogers. “Well, thank you for getting her home safely,” he said smoothly, his demeanor now friendly, though Rogers saw his finger flick toward the round selector of his MP, so his friendliness was purely for Davis’s benefit and the flick was for his benefit.

“You’re very welcome,” Rogers said. “I’ll be heading on now. I could use some sleep.”

Davis called down from the window, “Paul, you can crash here for a few hours. It’s probably not safe for you to drive right now.” She added with an impish smile, “You must be exhausted after our little detour.”

Rogers glanced at the security man and could read his expression clearly.

She slept with you?

Yeah, I can’t believe it either , thought Rogers.

“You know, Ms. Davis, that’s actually a good idea. Just a couch or something will be fine.”

“I’ll have them make up a room for you. We have enough of them. And you’ll be back in plenty of time for work.”

The room he was given was right next to hers on the third floor. As he closed the bedroom door behind him he wondered again how everyone here could appear so normal when the owner of the place had just died. He lay on the bed but did not close his eyes. Finally, his eyelids did flutter as the breeze from outside swept in and embraced him.

He had seen that as he had grown older, his stamina, while still Herculean by most standards, was not what it used to be.

He awoke with a jolt and immediately checked his watch. Four hours had passed. The sun was high overhead.

He heard movement in the room next door and then the shower started to run. He imagined Davis naked with the water streaming over her.

He looked out the window that faced the beach. From up here he could see over the walls, down to the sand.

And Rogers was hard pressed to not cry out at what he was seeing.

A team of security was leading the old man, who rode in the same cart, out onto the sand. The only difference was, Davis was not with him. He got out of the cart and was helped to a chair that was set up for him on the sand.

The bodyguards formed a ring around him, their faces pointed outward.

Rogers looked down at his hands.

Who the hell had he been holding?

Who the hell had he been talking to?

Who the fuck had he thrown out the window?

He didn’t hear the water stop next door.

Or hear a hair dryer start up.

He just sat in the chair and stared out the window at a man who should by all rights be dead.

He did hear the knock on the door a few minutes later.

He turned toward it as the door opened.

Davis stood there dressed in white capri pants, sandals, a pale blue striped shirt, and a wide-brimmed sun hat. A pair of sunglasses dangled from her fingers.

“I’m heading down to the beach. You want to come?”

“I have to get back. It’s getting late.”

“When can I see you again?”

He stood. “Look, I’m old and you’re young. I’m poor and you’re not. You can have any guy you want. Rich, handsome ones like Mr. Quentin.”

“I’m not looking to marry you, Paul. I just want to know when we can hook up again.”

“I work tonight. You planning to come to the bar?”

“I wasn’t. But I am now.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then. If you’re in the VIP room I can’t go in there. Only Mr. Quentin’s guests can.”

“Stop calling him Mr. Quentin. You make him sound far more important than he is.”

“Well, he’s a very important client of the Grunt.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you tonight.”

Rogers pointed out the window. “I see a man on the beach with a bunch of guards. Is that where you’re going?”

She nodded.

“Is that the person who adopted you?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” she said, but in a humorous tone. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

“Thanks for breakfast. And the rest,” she added, flicking a smile at him.

She left and he watched a few minutes later as she walked out to the beach and joined the old man.

Rogers drove back to Hampton more confused than he’d ever been.

AFTER LEAVING KNOX, Puller had hoofed it to a rental place and a half hour later driven out in a Mitsubishi Outlander.

He had not discounted anything that Knox had told him. In fact, he believed every word.

If this project at Building Q had ended in the murders of four women, and possibly his mother as well, that would be a secret the government would go to great lengths to bury. And for very good reason.

Money drove the Defense Department as much as anything else. If this story got out, Puller could see billions and maybe tens of billions of dollars of defense spending drying up. And shoulder stars, promotions, and retirement packages might be eviscerated as fingers were pointed and blame placed.

And a lot of private contractors who made their living off Uncle Sam would see their bottom lines crash and burn, their stock prices crater, and their huge executive paychecks disappear.

What would folks do to prevent that?

Pretty much anything they have to.

He got a room at a motel, paying in cash. He’d had to use a credit card for the rental because there was no other way. They could track him that way, but he needed wheels. He hunkered down for the night while he thought over everything Knox had told him.

He was tempted to call his brother but didn’t want to do anything that might get Bobby put back in jail.

He ate breakfast the next morning at a place near the motel. After that he drove straight to Fort Monroe, parked, and hoofed it the rest of the way on foot.

He had a map of the fort and quickly located Building Q.

The first thing he noted was that it was obviously still active. The parking lot was full, the perimeter fenced and guarded. People came and went. Trucks arrived, unloaded or loaded, and left.

What he couldn’t see was what the hell they were doing inside there.

Over the hours he watched many people come and go. Some were older. Some younger. Men and women, with the majority being men. He read their body language and processed the possibilities.

He had counted nearly fifty people arriving and leaving when he settled on the one he wanted. He had seen her come and go twice now. Perhaps for a break. She had gotten into her car one of those times and headed out.

He snapped a picture of her with his phone as she was sitting idle at the security gate. As she passed by his hiding place, he noted her appearance up close. Around thirty, petite, unassuming. She had avoided direct eye contact with the security guards. Perhaps an introvert? She drove a beige Ford Fiesta that was as nondescript as she was.

Those were all good things for what he wanted to do.