Дэвид Балдаччи - The Escape

They could not communicate with him now. They could not threaten him with the ultimate punishment for his immediate family.

So Robert Puller had decided that this opportunity had come to him for a reason. What he had put away in the back of his head when the threats to his family had surfaced was the fact that if they were trying to falsely accuse him of espionage, then true espionage must have been going on at STRATCOM. And that could do, and might have already done, incalculable damage to America.

Why they had chosen him to implicate was still unknown to Puller. But he was going through the possibilities in his head. And he was certain an answer would emerge.

But he had already reached one conclusion. He had chosen his family over his country, sacrificing himself for their welfare.

Now he was going to choose his country over everything else.

And although his uniform had been taken away from him, he still considered himself a servant of the United States, forever sworn to protect its interests above all others.

And that’s exactly what he intended to do now.

And on top of that was an overwhelming desire to make these sonofabitches finally pay for what they’d done.

NILES ROBINSON NOW worked at a defense contractor in Fairfax. Puller and Knox had met him at his office the next morning. He was a black man in his mid-forties, tall and spare with intelligent brown eyes. He answered their questions readily. He had worked with Robert Puller and thought of him as a friend.

That is until he had seen Puller talking with a man who turned out to be an Iranian agent.

“So you didn’t know he was an agent at the time?” Puller asked.

“No. But I did take pictures of them.”

“Why?” asked Knox sharply.

Robinson gave her a benign stare. “Not to be accused of profiling, but the man was Middle Eastern. And they did seem to be acting furtive.”

“They were in a car, on a public street?”

“Yes.”

“They could have picked a quieter spot,” noted Puller.

“Well, it was late at night and there weren’t many folks about. And they never got out of the car.”

“And it was just a coincidence you were there?” asked Knox.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Oh?” prompted Knox.

“As I testified at the court-martial, I had followed Robert there.”

“And why was that?” asked Puller.

Robinson shifted his gaze to him. “Because, quite frankly, I had misgivings about him.”

“Based on what?” Puller said.

“At STRATCOM you’re taught to be paranoid. And I was. I can’t tell you specifically what aroused my suspicions, but I had them. That wasn’t the first time I had followed him. Other times nothing had happened. But this time, well, I wasn’t sure. That’s why I took the photos.”

“And gave them to your superiors?” said Knox.

“Not immediately. But I did after a coworker caught Robert leaving the facility with a DVD.”

“Why not turn him in immediately?” asked Puller.

“I didn’t know that the person he was meeting with in the car was a spy. I didn’t want to make trouble unnecessarily.”

“But then you did turn in the pictures,” said Knox.

“That’s right. They ran it through a terrorist watch database and out the man popped. A bad guy. A real bad guy.”

“So your suspicions were confirmed?” said Knox.

“Unfortunately, yes. Please understand, I thought the world of Robert. He was incredibly bright and hardworking. He was being groomed for bigger and bigger roles. General Able had made him a personal project, in fact. I couldn’t understand why Robert had done what he had, until the Internet gambling came to light.”

“And that was the motive?” said Knox.

“Millions of them, apparently,” said Robinson evenly.

While Robinson was talking Puller had been looking on the shelf behind the man’s desk. He registered one thing and then looked at Robinson. “We appreciate your help.” He gave the man his card and asked him to call if he had anything to add.

Robinson fingered the card and said, “So any idea how he escaped? I thought DB was impenetrable.”

“Well, apparently it has an Achilles’ heel,” said Puller.

Back in the car Puller settled into his seat and closed his eyes.

“Remember, they both used the same phrase in their report, Puller.”

“They also worked together. They might have discussed it before they gave their statements.”

“So you’re now doubting your brother’s innocence?”

Puller opened his eyes and looked at her. “No. My brother was protecting me and my father. He took the fall because the real traitors put him in an impossible situation.”

“And photos can be altered,” pointed out Knox. “Images added or deleted.”

“Yes, they can. And these days, it’s pretty hard to detect.”

“So we struck out with Robinson,” Knox said. “I think the guy was forewarned we were coming.”

“I’m sure he was. I checked him out. He served his country well. Now he’s on the private side making more money, but there was something about the guy. I didn’t see it in Reynolds.”

“See what?”

“Remorse.”

“You think he feels bad for setting up your brother?”

“Did you notice the photo on the shelf behind his desk?”

“There were a few of them. Which one in particular?”

“The one of the kid in a hospital bed. Shaved head, tubes all over him. I think that was Robinson’s kid. He looked to be about ten. Then there was another picture of Robinson with the boy. The kid looked older and healthy.”

“So his kid was sick. Maybe had cancer.”

“And now he’s good.”

“And your point?”

“Robinson lives in a modest home. He’s shown no signs of coming into wealth. So I wonder if over two years ago his health insurance had topped out. Or did it even cover experimental treatments for cancer? Maybe in other countries? I don’t think federal government health plans do.”

“You think that might be the motive for him to lie about your brother?”

“Watch your kid die or see a coworker go to prison? What would you do?”

“If you’re right, then these people really are bastards.”

“You think you can dig around and find out if I’m right?”

“I’m on it. What are you going to do?”

“Go over the trial record. And try to figure out the Ukrainian angle.”

“Mercenary no doubt,” she said.

“But who hired him?”

“Well, if we answer that, we probably answer everything.”

A DAY LATER PULLER laid aside the last page, sat back, and yawned. He was sitting at a spare office in a former CID building at Fort Belvoir. The trial record he had just finished for the third time had been tedious in nearly all respects, except when it was riveting. He had just had to read through it all to get to those parts.

He rubbed his eyes, drank the last of his lukewarm coffee, and stared out the solitary window where the rain had started to fall gently, although it was forecast to turn into a pretty nasty storm as a front pushed through on its way to the Atlantic.

The door opened and Knox poked her head in.

“They said you were in here. Up for some company?”

He nodded. “I was about to fall asleep. Got started before dawn. Don’t even know what time it is.”

She came in holding a white bag and a carrier with two coffees perched in it. “Actually, it’s almost noon, but I bet you’ve had nothing to eat yet.”

“You’d win that bet,” he admitted.

She handed him a coffee and then reached into the bag and pulled out a sandwich and set it in front of him. Next she placed a large box of steak fries between them as she slid a seat up to the desk on the other side.