The Escape (John Puller, #3)(34)

“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.”

“Okay,” said Puller. “Anything else you need to tell me? Or can tell me?”

“I had a dual purpose coming here.”

“The first was to work with me.”

“The second was to watch you, closely.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I thought that would be obvious.”

“Your bosses really think I’m involved in my brother’s escape?”

“No, that’s not it. But they think he may try to contact you at some point.”

“And why do you think he would do that?”

“Because with your father the way he is, you’re the only family he has left. And all reports indicate you two are very tight.”

“So you hoped I would lead you right to him?”

She slipped her shoulder harness back on and clicked the latch. “I never thought it would be that easy or clear, but we couldn’t simply disregard the possibility. Everyone goes after the low-hanging fruit first.”