David Baldacci - Zero Day

She tried to edge farther under the sofa.

“Hang on,” he said. Puller lifted one end four feet into the air. Cole stared up at him from the floor. “Now that’s using your brain. And muscle.”

He looked down. “Bit of cardboard, like from a package.”

“And this!” Cole picked up the bit of green paper off the carpet and stood. Puller set the sofa back down.

She examined the bit of paper and handed it to him.

“Looks like the edge from a certified mail receipt.”

“Yes, it does. Only where’s the rest of it? Do we have to X-ray the dog’s stomach?”

“Or maybe the people who killed Wellman took it. They might’ve figured the dog got the package and hid it somewhere. They looked under the couch and there it was.”

Cole looked puzzled. “But how would they know it was even here?”

“They interrogated the Reynoldses. The colonel might’ve told them they were expecting a package.”

“So why didn’t they just intercept it? They could’ve been in the house when Reed delivered the package. They could have signed for it. Impersonated them like that guy did with Eric Treadwell across the street. Reed told us he didn’t know any of them. So he wouldn’t have known the difference. He just wanted the piece of paper signed.”

“But what if they didn’t know about the package until later? Until after it was delivered here?”

“I don’t get that at all, Puller.”

He sat down on the edge of the sofa. “Reed said he was at the door because he needed a signature. That means it’s some sort of special mail. But he doesn’t say what happened to the package. Why would that sort of package be coming to the Halversons? They’re retired. Reed remembered it was actually going to the Reynoldses, but he didn’t tell the police that. Only that it was a package requiring a signature. So the killers might have just deduced what we did. Mailman at the door because of a package. What was in the package? They had to find out.”

Puller looked out the window. Lan Monroe was just pulling to a stop in front of the house. “Why don’t we ask Lan what his evidence list shows?”

“Okay. But I’m telling you I don’t think that package is on there.”

“Then we confirm it.”

Five minutes later they had their confirmation. No package.

Lan looked worried as he surveyed the room. “I never saw anything like that.”

“Dog might’ve eaten it,” said Cole, drawing a long look from Puller. “I guess I could have the vet check or do an X-ray.”

“It’s paper, it probably wouldn’t show up, or else the mutt’s already digested it and pooped it out,” replied Puller.

Cole’s phone buzzed. She saw the caller ID and looked surprised.

“Who is it?” asked Puller.

“Roger Trent.”

“Your mining mogul.”

The phone continued to ring.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” said Puller.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

She opened the phone. “Hello?”

She listened, tried to say something, and then listened some more. “That’ll be fine,” she finally said. “See you then.”

She closed the phone.

“Well?” asked Puller.

“Roger Trent wants to see me. At his house.”

“Why?”

“He says he’s been receiving death threats.”

“You better get going.”

“Why don’t you come with me?”

“Why? You want some backup on this?”

“Couldn’t hurt. And I can tell you’re curious about the man. This way you get to see him up close and personal.”

“Let’s go.”

Cole and Puller drove to Trent’s home in her cruiser.

She said, “I’m taking a shortcut. Cuts off a chunk of time but it’s bumpy.” She hung a hard right and swung onto a narrow road full of potholes.

It looked familiar to Puller. He gazed around and then saw why this was so.

“What the hell is that thing?” He pointed at the towering concrete dome over and around which trees, vines, and bushes had grown. He’d seen it on his way in here the first night, when he’d gotten lost.

“Folks around here call it the Bunker.”

“Okay, but what is it?”

“Used to be some sort of government facility. It was closed up long before I was even born.”

“But certainly the older folks in town know what it was. Some of them had to work there.”

Cole shook her head. “Nope. No one from Drake ever did work there, at least not that I know of.”

“I know the government is a financial black hole, but even D.C. won’t put up a facility like that and not even use it.”

“Oh, they used it.”

She slowed down and Puller focused on the stretch of houses he’d glimpsed the other night. In daylight the place didn’t look much different than it had at night. The houses were at least five decades old and possibly older. Many looked abandoned, but not all of them. They stretched over a web of streets, row after row. They reminded him of military housing. Each one looked the same as its neighbor.

“Are you saying they brought in people from outside the area to work the Bunker?”

She nodded. “And they built all those homes to house them.”

“I see there are people living in them still.”

“Only over the last few years. Economy cratered, people lost their jobs and their homes. These places are old and haven’t been kept up, but when you’re on the street you can’t be choosy.”

“Any problems? Desperate folks sometimes do desperate things, especially when they’re in close proximity to each other.”

“We patrol it pretty regularly. What crime there is has been just petty stuff. People mostly stay to themselves. I guess they’re grateful to have a roof over their heads. County tries to help them out. Blankets, food, water, batteries, books for the kids, stuff like that. We’re over here a lot telling them not to use kerosene heaters and crap like that in the houses for heat. And ways to keep themselves safe. Already had one family nearly die from carbon monoxide poisoning.”

“And the government just lets you use the housing?”

“I think the Feds have forgotten it was ever even here. Sort of like the end of that movie, Raiders of the Lost Ark. One more box in the warehouse.”

Puller glanced back at the Bunker. “When did it shut down?”

“Don’t know exactly. My mom told me it was sometime in the sixties.”

“And all the workers?”

“Packed up and moved out.”

“And the concrete?”

“My daddy said that was something to see when they did it. It’s three feet thick.”

“Three feet!”

“What my daddy said.”

“And nobody in Drake ever talked to these folks, found out what they were doing in that place?”

“From what I heard, the government supplied the workers with most of what they needed. And it was all guys, all of them in their forties and single according to my parents. Of course some would come into town on occasion. My dad said they were real tight-lipped about what they did here.”

“If they were in their forties back then, most if not all of them are probably dead by now.”

“Guess so.”

Puller eyed the Bunker and saw the rusted fencing with barbed wire topper that ran around the facility. In between the structure and the neighborhood was a stand of trees. Next, Puller shifted his gaze to a little boy and girl who were playing in the front yard of one of the houses. The boy was running around in a circle while the girl attempted to catch him. They both fell down in a tangle of arms and legs.

“You have kids?”

Puller turned to see her gazing at him. She had slowed the car to a crawl while she too watched the children.

“No,” he replied. “Never married.”