The Escape (John Puller, #3)(53)

Five minutes later he slammed his fist against the wall in frustration. His brain, the one thing that had never failed him, just had.





CHAPTER





28



JOHN PULLER HAD gone back and checked out of his motel. His plan was to spend the rest of the day following up leads, and then he was going to head back east, check in, and then report his findings to his new “bosses.” As he drove along the surface streets of Fort Leavenworth, to his left was the Missouri River, also known as “Big Muddy.” He knew that the currents were tricky and drownings all too frequent. And some of them were not accidental. A few years before, a platoon sergeant had dumped his unconscious wife’s body in the river late at night after she had discovered his affair with a subordinate. Whether the poor woman had regained consciousness before she drowned was unknown, but her body had eventually been recovered far downriver where it had snagged on a downed tree. Puller had been put on the case and kept on it for a month. The platoon sergeant was currently in the DB for the rest of his life and his two children would grow up without either parent.

That case he had solved. With this one he still seemed to be at the starting gate.

He pulled to the curb and put the sedan in park. About a half mile from here was the DB. The Castle—the old prison—had had its own farm and dairy cattle operation, where “installation trusty” inmates would work. That had all gone away with the demolition of large parts of the Castle and the completion and opening of the DB. No more milk cows were needed. And who said the DoD didn’t know how to cut costs?

Although there were no cow teats to pull or tractors to drive, the inmates at the DB could lift weights, play softball or soccer, or run on the track outside. They could play basketball in the indoor gym, which was named after a sergeant major who had collapsed on the court and later passed away. They could visit with family and friends. They could perform jobs and learn skills in the commercial laundry, the barbershop, sheet metal and welding facility, woodshop, textile repair section, graphic arts studio, and even an embroidery shop that made nametapes for various military purposes.

As an inmate in solitary confinement, however, Robert Puller could not lift weights or play basketball or softball or work in any of those shops. He was designated as maximum custody, at the top end of the restricted grade. His existence at the DB was a solitary one. And, truth be known, he probably preferred it that way. His intellect was so advanced that he might have found the conversation of other inmates and the rigidity of the routines at the prison more harmful than beneficial. Puller had no doubt that his brother could lose himself in his own mind. And that might be the best way for him to survive in prison.

When Puller had first visited his brother at the DB, it had been conducted in the noncontact visitors’ area, typically reserved for inmates on death row. There a wall of thick glass separated visitor and prisoner and a phone system was used to communicate. Robert Puller had largely been an exemplary prisoner, however, and the more recent visits had taken place in the general visitors’ area, which was open and pretty nice for a prison.

Puller knew that he would never again set foot in the DB’s general visitors’ area if his brother was caught and returned here. He might never be able to visit Bobby again at all, in fact.

He climbed out of the car and looked back in the direction he had left Knox. She was turning out to be a real problem. It had started off bad, gotten better, and after she had shown Puller her scars of war, he thought they had reached some level of détente. But then she’d pulled the “I can’t go there” BS with him, which had been the reason for the verbal drubbing he’d given her in the cemetery.

So right now he was going solo on this. He leaned against the hood of his car and went through some mental notes of where he stood now in the investigation.

He needed to follow up on the Croatian Ivo Mesic. He still had to interview the captain and first sergeant who had headed up the response team at the DB. He needed to make some inroads on the sources of the gun and explosion noises in pod three at the DB. If he didn’t hear back from Shireen Kirk, his JAG contact, by tonight, he would call her. This was despite her telling him that if he didn’t hear from her that was the end of it. Once Puller had a thread to follow he didn’t give up on it.

Then there was Daughtrey’s murder. And finally, at some point he would have to sit down with General Aaron Rinehart and James Schindler from NSC. It was clear that much was murky at both ends of this case, and he didn’t believe Rinehart’s and Schindler’s explanations for being interested in this case. For that matter, he didn’t really believe anyone connected to this case about anything.

And then there was the matter of who had kidnapped him. And who had fired the shots that had saved his life.

As he stared toward the DB in the distance he wondered if his brother would ever return there. He might never be found. Or he might be killed rather than captured.

And if I’m the one who runs him down? What do I do if he doesn’t want to go back to DB? What do I do if he puts up a fight?

Puller’s thoughts drifted back to the standoff in the alley behind the bar in Lawton, Oklahoma. The result was he had walked out alive and PFC Rogers had gone down with a ruined limb.

Could I pull the trigger on Bobby? Could he pull the trigger on me?

“No” and “hell no” were the answers that readily leapt to his mind. But on the other hand, his brother had been in prison for over two years. He had quite likely killed a man during his escape. If he were recaptured they might sentence him to death for the murder, even if there was evidence it was in self-defense. Under that scenario, his brother might want to go down fighting. Or he might just let his brother kill him. Puller didn’t know which one was worse.