Дэвид Балдаччи - The Escape

She slumped down in a chair. “I thought a lot about what you said back at the cemetery.” She gave him a wry look. “Your Custer brother analogy was original, I’ll give you that.”

Puller leaned against the wall and waited for her to continue.

“What do you know about your brother’s court-martial?”

“Nothing. I told you that already. The file was sealed. And I was overseas when it happened. He was charged with and convicted of treason, that’s all I know.”

“Your brother escaping has made a lot of people in the intelligence field very nervous, Puller.”

“That one I’d worked out for myself.”

“I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

“People shouldn’t do a lot of things.”

“I came here not just because of your case notes but because of something else.”

“What?” he asked.

“We traced a series of deposits totaling one million dollars into an account in the Caymans that Captain Macri had set up about a month ago.”

“Her payoff for doing what she did?”

Knox nodded.

“Where did the money come from?”

“Untraceable, even by us. We were fortunate to pick it up on her end, but the origin remains a mystery.”

“How did you get on to her?”

“INSCOM had been getting chatter, nothing definite, but certainly strange, that made them start to focus on DB. We did a personnel rundown. A few people raised enough concerns to warrant markers being placed on them. Macri was one of them.”

“What concerns? I found nothing unusual in her record.”

“She was single, no family in the area, and she was ambitious.”

“So are lots of military folks.”

“And she had considerable personal debt.”

“She was an officer. The Army paid for her ride at West Point.”

“She also dabbled in the stock market. Options on margin accounts. She was in the hole for about eighty thousand dollars. Her payoff would have taken care of that debt and left her a lot of extra to get back on her feet.”

“None of that was in her record.”

“No, it wasn’t. What she does with her personal finances is not really the Army’s business. And the amounts she owed hadn’t been called yet.”

“But you guys found out about it.”

“Yes,” replied Knox.

Puller frowned. “So why the hell didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I’m telling you now even though it’ll probably cost me my job if my superiors find out.” She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in the chair and exhaled a long breath. “We came up through different tracks, Puller. I was bred from day one for clandestine service. That means we trust no one outside our circle and keeping a secret and outright lying are part of the job description. Just as you’re trained to investigate a crime scene, I’m trained to deflect and deceive. I’ve spent years honing those skills, and if they knew I was telling you this, well, I’m not sure what they’d do to me.”

Puller relaxed a bit. “So why are you telling me?”

She laughed, but it died halfway out of her throat and she quickly turned somber. “Because your honesty and, well, this damn nobleness about you, shamed me. I just felt ashamed having to string you along. It was humbling, frankly. When I thought I was well past that emotion. Along with a lot of others,” she added, her voice growing very soft.

“So where does that leave us?” asked Puller quietly after a lengthy pause.

“With me asking for a second chance, or what is it now, a third chance with you? And even if you give me one I won’t blame you if you don’t believe me this time.”

He glanced down at her hip. “That scar is real enough and the wound underneath. You were limping when you walked in here and I saw you wince when you sat down.” He glanced at the other room. “When you fell to the floor to avoid getting shot, I guess you landed right on that hip. Probably hurts like a bitch.”

“Yes, it does,” admitted Knox. “More than a bitch, actually. I’d kill for a Percocet right now.”

“So is the 902d Intelligence Group at Leavenworth under the NSA’s thumb?”

“The NSA is pretty much everywhere, Puller. And the 902d is no exception.”

He nodded. “I appreciate how hard that must have been for you to say.”

“Training is training,” she replied. “But I still have a bit of free will left and I mean to exercise it.”

“Okay. It’s a start.”

Puller’s phone rang. It was Shireen Kirk.

“Hello, Shireen. Can I call you back in a few minutes? I’m a little tied up.”

She said, “No, you can’t call me back. Where are you?”

“Leavenworth.”

“So am I.”

“Excuse me?”

“I just landed and I’m in a cab heading out to find you.”

“What the hell are you doing in Kansas?”

“I don’t want to talk about this over the phone. Can we meet somewhere?”

Puller glanced at Knox, who was watching him closely.

“Yeah, there’s a diner.” He gave her the address. “I’ve got an agent from INSCOM with me. I’d like her to get read in too.”

“I’d rather just talk to you, Puller.”

“It’s going to have to be the both of us, Shireen. I trust her and you can too.”

“I’ll be there in thirty,” Kirk said gruffly and clicked off.

“Who was that?”

“Shireen Kirk. My JAG contact.”

“Where did she come in from?”

“D.C.”

“Why come all the way out here?”

“She wanted to do a face-to-face. It must be important.”

“I appreciate your wanting me to sit in. But if it makes her uncomfortable, I can bow out.”

“No, Knox. We’re a team now. We stick together.”

“You’re sure?”

“Let’s go.”

THEY DROVE SEPARATELY back into Leavenworth and met at the same diner they’d eaten at before. Puller held the door for Knox, who was walking stiffly thanks to her banged-up hip.

“Did you get the Percocet?” he asked.

“No,” she said through gritted teeth. “But I downed four Advil. Just waiting for the suckers to kick in.”

Puller spotted Kirk at a back booth and they headed over.

Kirk was dressed in slacks and a jacket, both of which were ruffled and wrinkled. Her eyes were puffy from lack of sleep, her curly hair was in disarray, she smelled of cigarette smoke, and there was an empty coffee cup in front of her.

Puller introduced the two women. Kirk gave Knox an appraising look and then nodded curtly.

“I don’t know you, Knox, but if Puller vouches for you, then okay.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Don’t thank me, I’m not doing it for you.” She turned to Puller. “I left last night. I had to fly to Chicago, where my connection was canceled. I slept in the airport and spent today trying to get on another flight, till I snagged a seat on a puddle jumper. I could have driven the whole way faster. Friggin’ useless airlines.”

“A phone call would have been a lot faster.”

“I’m hungry, you guys want to order? Because I do.”

They ordered their food and after some chitchat Kirk hunched forward and spoke in a low voice. “You know how a court-martial works, I take it?”

Puller said, “Fortunately, I’ve never experienced one, but, yes, I know how it works. They’re Article 1 legislative courts, meaning Congress controls them.”

Kirk nodded. “The convening authority is the commanding officer. He creates the court-martial and selects the panel members.”

“And that’s the rub,” said Puller. “The CO creates the court and picks the jurors.”

“There are strict guidelines concerning unlawful command influence. Rule 104 of the court-martial process is very explicit. The CO is banned from punishing or influencing members in any way. The system has survived all attacks for over two centuries.”