Дэвид Балдаччи - The Escape

Bobby had never gotten over this “weakness.” Which was probably why he opted for the Air Force instead of the Army. And staked out his career with technology rather than guns and cojones the size of Nebraska.

When Puller had found out from Captain Macri that the prison computer system had been hacked, he had initially thought that his brother, who knew his way around computers better than just about anyone, might somehow have done it. But then they never let his brother near a computer at the DB. And he’d been sitting in his cell and seemed genuinely surprised when the power went out. So if not his brother, who?

Puller was thinking all of this when the door opened and in walked a woman about his age. She was tall, slender, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, dressed in a black pantsuit with a white blouse, the collar flipped up in a way that even Puller, who knew nothing of women’s fashions, thought looked sort of chic. She had shoulder-length auburn hair, a freckled face, and a flint-sharp nose. She looked like she had been an athlete in college, and carried herself in a confident manner.

“Agent Puller?”

Momentarily thrown by this unusual greeting, he rose and said, “I’m Chief Warrant Officer John Puller, with the 701st CID out of Quantico.”

She put out a hand. “Veronica Knox.” He shook her hand and she held up her creds, which dangled on a lanyard. “INSCOM,” she said, referring to the United States Army’s Intelligence and Security Command.

“Where are you based out of?” he asked.

“I’m a floater going to the trouble spots. That’s why I’m here.”

“Okay. And your rank?”

“Why?”

“It’s just sort of standard to know.”

“Captain.”

“Okay, ma’am.” Puller’s antennae were tingling.

“CID is already here investigating.”

“I know they are,” he said.

“You’re not part of that team.”

“I know that too, ma’am.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘ma’am.’”

“All right.”

“And the escapee is your older brother,” she pointed out.

“I’m afraid it’s three strikes and you’re out, Captain Knox.”

She ignored this comment, sat down, and looked at the frozen image of Robert Puller on the screen. She flicked a finger at it.

“The man of the hour. Find any clues?”

“Not yet.”

“I know you have authorization to be here. We got that order. But why are you here?”

“Same reason you are. Trying to figure out what happened.”

“CID has enough free assets to double up on this?”

“No, we’re pretty much stretched thin like every other Army element.”

“So?” she said expectantly.

“So what?”

“Why are you here?” she asked again.

Puller said, “I’ve been ordered to investigate. I’m a soldier, so I follow orders.”

“So am I. And I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

“By who?” Puller said sharply.

“You just need to know that I have been. If you want to find out the source, feel free.”

“And you can’t just tell me why?”

“I don’t know you. So I don’t know if I can trust you. Not yet.”

“You’re not in uniform.”

“Neither are you.”

“I will be. At some point.”

“Maybe I will be too.” She glanced at the screen again. “You sure nothing caught your eye?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s hope we can get beyond that.”

The way she said this made Puller stare at her strangely. “I’ve looked into the transformers at the substation and the generator.”

She shook her head dismissively. “Lightning overload, and microorganisms, and a pair of dumbass E-4s who’re going to get sliced and diced by their CO.”

“Exactly the way I saw it,” he replied, again watching her closely. “So we’re a team?”

She shrugged. “Only because the Army says so. I usually work alone.”

“At CID we work in groups.”

“Different strokes,” she retorted.

“What’s your take on the sound-making device? Shots and explosion?”

She looked at the screen. “Maybe your brother had it.”

“Where would he get something like that? And there’s his cell right there. You see anything like that in there? Because I don’t.”

She shot back, “I’m sure you know him better than I do. Maybe better than anyone, which might be the reason you’re here.”

Puller eyed the door. “You gone over the visitors’ log yet?”

“Next on my bucket list.”

“Shall we?”

She held the door open for him. “After you.”

AS THEY WALKED down the hall, Puller said, “You talk to Al Jordan, guy who replaced the transformers?”

“I did,” Knox replied.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did he mention anything that got your antennae up?”

“Like what?” she said.

“Like the people who came and took the blown-up transformers away?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Did you ask to see the transformers?”

“No,” she said.

“Okay.”

She stopped walking, and he did too after a few paces. He turned to face her.

“What are you driving at, Puller?”

“Just asking questions and hoping to get some answers that make some sense.”

“What about the transformers?”

“Everybody thinks the storm blew them up.”

“And you don’t think that was the case?” she asked.

“I don’t think anything. I just follow the evidence. But a pretty simple examination of the transformers’ debris would have shown whether there was a bomb involved.”

“A bomb?” she said skeptically.

“A bomb,” he repeated. “Can’t blow something up without a few essential elements. The explosive, the detonator, a timer or a remote switch.”

“That I know. But your theory is someone blew up the transformers and sabotaged the backup generator in order to break your brother out of prison?” She paused, frowning. “You didn’t tell me you were a conspiracy freak.”

“And you think a storm just rolled along, blew out the main power, the backup coincidentally failed, and my brother walked out on his own, taking advantage of an opportunity that had occurred in just a few seconds while a company of MPs from Leavenworth was charging in? And for some reason the sounds of gunfire and an explosion just happened to coincide with it all going down? And an unidentified dead body left behind?” He cocked his head and looked at her more closely. “And I can tell from the expression on your face that you’ve already thought of this, which means everything that came before between you and me was an act on your part.”

She registered surprise. “Really? Based on an expression?”

He said, “I interrogate people for a living. Reading faces is part of that. People can lie with words, but their faces, and in particular their eyes, give them away. They always do. And yours just did. So what exactly is going on here?”

She tapped her heel against the floor, her arms folded across her chest. “This is a delicate situation,” she said. “Very delicate.”

He drew closer. “I can see that. But feel free to elaborate on the point.”

“I just know my marching orders were to tread lightly. And to work with you. And that’s what I intend to do.”

“Nothing more to add?” he asked.

“Not right now. Shall we go see to the visitors’ log?”

The visitors’ records at the DB were housed electronically. Puller and Knox were given access to them at a computer terminal in a cubicle adjacent to the visitors’ room. Puller had decided to go back at least six months and maybe longer if nothing stood out. They sat next to each other, knees occasionally touching because of their long legs and the cubicle’s small space.