Дэвид Балдаччи - The Escape

Carter seemed intrigued by this information. “I’ve never been to her home. And I didn’t know what kind of car she drives. And, quite frankly, I wouldn’t know a Prada shoe if it hit me in the head.”

“The fact is she’s living well beyond her means,” said Knox. “So what is the source of income? And there’s one more thing. She went to work at ISR when Daughtrey did. And now she’s at the WMD Center, while Daughtrey was at Cyber Command. But what if they were still working together? Because it’s all incestuous, right? Dual hatters, STRATCOM covers everything. The intelligence world is as interconnected as it’s ever been.”

“That’s true. But do you mean working together as spies?”

“Spies, moles, whatever you want to call it. Would they have things to sell?”

“Of course they would. Which is why we have background checks and security clearance procedures and periodic testing, polygraphs, and follow-up. And why everyone is watched very closely.”

“Well, you didn’t know about her financial status, did you?”

Carter sat back, still looking dubious, but a bit less so.

Puller said, “So how ambitious was Daughtrey? Not for stars. For money. Anybody check lately? Because in addition to Reynolds, we have Lenora Macri. She was only a lowly captain at Leavenworth. But she had an account in the Caymans under an alias packed with cash. So I wonder how much a one-star would have piled up?”

Carter picked up his glass and then put it back down without taking a drink. “Daughtrey did mention to me once that he was thinking of getting out of the military and starting his own consulting group or maybe going into private contracting to the DoD.”

“That would be a nice way to launder any money he’d been paid,” noted Knox. “Mix it up under consulting contracts and hire a shady CPA to make it look all perfectly aboveboard.”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about. But Daughtrey and Reynolds? Spies?”

“And Robinson?” said Puller.

“What about him?”

“He had a very ill son before my brother went to prison. His insurance would not cover experimental treatments outside of the country. His son was going to die. After my brother goes to prison, his son gets the experimental treatment costing seven figures in Germany and is alive and well.”

Carter snapped, “Why didn’t you mention this at dinner?”

“I’m mentioning it now.”

“So you think Robinson was paid off to lie?”

“Yes. And you were told my brother visited Reynolds. Why take that chance? Revenge at her testifying against him? If so, why not just kill her? Why leave her alive to tell the authorities he’s in the area? If he is a murderer, what’s one more murder to him?”

Carter finished the rest of his whiskey soda. “I wasn’t sure what would come of this conversation when I invited you for a nightcap, but I can honestly tell you I never anticipated this. You have put together a plausible argument that your brother might have been framed, and that the real enemies could still be out there.”

Knox said, “So the question is, what can we do about it? Because most of what we have is conjecture and speculation. That doesn’t work in court.”

“Let me see what I can do from my end. I’ll be in touch. And I’ll be in touch soon.”

He rose, dropped cash on the table for their drinks, and walked out.

Puller said, “Nice catch on the Miró and the purses and shoes.”

“I didn’t tell you because we already knew she had a lot more money than she should have. It didn’t add anything new to the picture.”

“Right. But meeting with Carter like this was a big risk,” he said.

“But if we can’t make headway in our investigation then lighting a fire in a munitions dump might be the only way to go. In fact, if he hadn’t asked for the nightcap I would have. It’s the reason I had us hanging around in the lobby.”

“We’ll know one way or another, soon.”

“Yes we will.”

He said, “But remember, if the munitions dump does ignite, a lot of folks could get caught in the fireball, including us.”

PULLER dropped Knox off at her hotel before heading back to Quantico. He stopped to get some gas near the base. Another vehicle swung into the fuel bay next to his. Someone got out to pump fuel.

Puller had put the nozzle in and was leaning against the hood of his car when the voice said, “Don’t react, Junior. Somebody might be watching.”

Maybe because he was hoping that something like this might eventually happen, Puller didn’t even flinch. He pulled his phone out and pretended to be checking messages, with not a care in the world. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pickup truck parked in the fuel bay next to his. A tall man, nearly as tall as he was, stood next to it, pumping gas. Under the light of the overheads Puller snatched a glimpse of the man he knew was his brother. Yet if the man hadn’t called him Junior he might not have recognized Bobby. There were only three people in the world who had ever called him that: his father, his mother, and his brother.

Bald, tatted arms, goatee, totally different nose and ears. There was a rifle rack in the back window and a “Don’t Tread On Me” sticker on the side of the cab.

“You’ve changed a little bit,” mumbled Puller.

“Just on the outside. Same nerd on the inside.”

Robert opened his wallet and drew out a credit card and swiped it through. He hit the necessary keys and then put the gas nozzle into his tank outlet.

“We have a lot to talk about,” said Puller.

“Yes we do, little brother.”

“I’ve found out a lot.”

“So have I.”

“You were set up.”

“Yep.”

“We’ve gotta make it right.”

“I plan to,” said Robert.

“How do you want to do this?”

“Can’t go to your place. Too obvious.”

Puller pretended to make a call and held the phone up to his ear and said, “I can lose any possible tail and then meet you.”

“I was going to suggest that.”

“You staying somewhere close?”

“I will be. Passed it a couple miles back. The Holiday Inn. You know it?”

“I know it.”

“I’ll park my ride in front of my room. Truck’s hard to miss. Kansas plates.”

“Right.”

“Please make damn sure you’re not followed, bro. That would not be in either of our best interests.”

“They’ll never be able to, Bobby.”

“I know, Junior. I know.”

John Puller finished fueling and drove away. A couple minutes later Robert Puller drove off in the opposite direction.

John Puller reached his apartment complex but kept driving until he got to Quantico. He passed the security checkpoint and headed over to the CID building. He walked down the hallway to an office he shared with other agents. It was empty and he spent about twenty minutes doodling on a piece of paper and also trying to get his nerves settled after just running into his fugitive brother at a gas station.

Despite being on the run, his brother had sounded cool and calm. And Puller had let him dictate the plan going forward, when that was not his natural inclination. Yet between the two boys Robert had always been the leader. Even if he hadn’t been older, Puller thought that would have been the case. Robert just had that way about him.

Puller waited another twenty minutes. During that time he changed out of his dress blues and into a set of fatigues he kept in the locker room. He left the building through a rear entrance and walked over to the motor pool. He checked out a four-door sedan and drove out another gate. He drove for twenty miles through rural roads, turning left and right, backtracking, stopping, going fast, then slow, and making it impossible for anyone to have followed him. He then parked a half mile away from the Holiday Inn and hoofed it the rest of the way through both woods and residential areas.