Дэвид Балдаччи - The Escape

“Yes, it is.”

“You’re divided into eight brigades and various intelligence, operations, and support groups and companies, with a CO who’s a two-star, same rank as the guy currently heading up CID.”

“I know the breakdown of my command, Puller. Feel free to skip the military history lesson.”

“Oh, and you have one more function.” He paused. “The Central Security Service.”

She blinked but otherwise continued to look blankly at him.

“Central Security Service,” he said again. “That’s what they call INSCOM and its counterparts in the Navy and Air Force within NSA. Because the National Security Agency is also part of INSCOM, or INSCOM is part of NSA, however you want to look at it. Funny, you neglected to mention that you were with Central Security.”

“I would find it very hard to believe that anyone in your ‘Rolodex’ would know whether I am or not.”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“NSA?”

She held out her lanyard with her creds on it. “It says INSCOM right here, Puller.”

“I know what it says ,” he replied, and then said nothing else.

She let the lanyard drop and sat back. “And why would it matter to you where I’m actually attached? NSA, INSCOM, United States Army?” She shrugged. “We’re all Americans, Puller. All on the same side.”

He said nothing. He just sat there staring at her with an expression that finally made her look away again.

He dropped some bills on the table for the meal and rose.

She said, “Walking out on me again? It’s starting to get embarrassing. People will surely talk,” she quipped, but her look was bordering on panic.

“Take care of yourself, Knox.”

“Puller, the last time we parted like this, you found a dead body in your room.”

“Are you saying you’re involved in that?”

“No, of course not. But I have been assigned to work with you on this case.”

“Well, I wasn’t assigned to work with you. Now, I can’t stop you from showing up, I guess. But here’s where the partnership ends. At least on my side.”

“You really need to rethink this.”

“And you need to rethink whether dishonesty is really the best policy.”

“I wasn’t dishonest with you,” she said sharply.

“But you weren’t honest, so what would you call it?”

She folded her arms and looked away. This appeared to be an idiosyncrasy of hers, he noted, though he didn’t know if she was truly not conscious of it, or used it to gain an advantage somehow while she thought of another lie.

She glanced up at him. “Can we talk about this in a less public place?”

“Not if you’re just going to keep running in circles. I don’t have time for that.”

“I will be as frank as I can be. How does that sound?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” He turned and walked off.

She jumped up, dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table, and hurried after him.

Outside he was already standing at the side door of his car. “I’ll drive, you can talk,” he said.

She assented to this by opening the passenger door and climbing in.

Puller hung a left at the next intersection and then headed away from town. Leavenworth wasn’t that big and they were soon out of the downtown business district and passing residential streets where houses dotted the dark landscape.

She said, “I need to know if I was positively identified by anyone you talked to as being with CSS.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? It’s not like I advertise my position.”

“So you are with Central Security?”

“ Did anyone?” she persisted.

“No.”

“So it was just a guess on your part?”

“Not entirely.”

“What do you mean?”

“Every uniform I’ve ever met will automatically relay their rank and what unit they’re assigned to. I go to the Pentagon or I go to buy groceries and see another soldier at the checkout, I say, ‘Hey, I’m a chief warrant officer with the 701st CID based out of Quantico. Before that I was a sergeant first class with 3rd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment out of Fort Benning.’ Rank plus squad, platoon, company, battalion, brigade, division, corps, it’s all just part of the DNA. We’re all attached to something. And we want you to know what that something is. Point of pride, point of belonging. It’s a fact of being a soldier. There’s no getting around it.”

“And I didn’t give you my rank until you asked, and I told you,” she said resignedly. “And didn’t specify a particular unit.”

“And when we first met you addressed me as ‘Agent Puller.’ I’m a chief warrant officer. Anyone actually in uniform would automatically address me as ‘Mister’ or ‘Chief.’ Never as ‘Agent.’”

“Strike two,” she said, clearly irritated.

“And you just don’t seem military to me, Knox.”

“Is that right?” she said in a slightly offended tone, and her body stiffened.

“Oh, you look to be in good shape. But that’s not the issue.”

“So what gave me away?”

“I’ve been in the Army for fifteen years. Before that I was an Army brat from the day I was born. I can smell uniforms from under any layer they try to cover themselves with. And with you, I didn’t get a whiff.” He paused. “Were you really in Iraq?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “But not in uniform. I was gathering intelligence.”

He glanced at her. “So you weren’t on the front lines.” She didn’t reply. “Knox, I said–”

“Pull over,” she interrupted.

“What?”

“Just pull over!”

He steered the car to the side of the road and shifted to park.

She turned on the interior dome light, unhitched her shoulder harness, untucked her shirt, and pulled her slacks and underwear on the left side down to near the bottom of her left hip. Puller simply gaped, wondering what the hell was going on.

Until he saw it.

In the middle of the soft white skin was a long ugly scar riding on her left hip that carried around to the fleshy edge of her left buttock. The scar was a dull red, the suture tracks still evident. Though the underlying wound it represented was probably long since healed, it still looked painful.

She said, “I got this courtesy of shrapnel from incoming mortars and RPGs. I was in a motorcade heading into Basra. Rebels were trying to retake it. They were closer and better armed than we thought. Five of my people died. I wasn’t sure I’d walk again. The shrapnel came really close to my spine and I couldn’t feel my legs for about two weeks. Turned out to be concussive paralysis due to the inflammation and swelling. But it finally went away after I lived on prednisone and the surgeons finally got all the metal out and I worked harder than I ever had in my life. And I eventually got all the way back. Except when it rains. Then my hip and butt cheek ache like a bitch. All in all I consider myself the world’s luckiest person. A lot luckier than the rest of my team.”

Puller remained quiet for a few seconds and then said, “Just so you know, while I doubted where you came from, I never doubted your patriotism. Or your courage.”

She slowly pulled her slacks and underwear back up and tucked in her shirt.

“I can’t believe I just did that. Hell, I’ve dated guys for months who never saw that. ” She paused and looked out the window. “I just…I just didn’t want you to think I couldn’t hold up my end of the load, Puller. Because I can. I know this part of the world is still very much a man’s world. But I’m damn good at what I do.”

“Like your patriotism and courage, I never doubted that either, Knox.”

She turned to him. “In my line of work sometimes I have to deceive. But I don’t like having to mislead people like you.”