Zero Day (John Puller, #1)(4)

Puller stood there and watched as a woman who looked to be the mother of an inmate read the Bible to him. You could bring books in, but you couldn’t give them to the inmate. Neither could you give them a magazine or newspaper. You couldn’t bring in any food, but you could buy your inmate food from the nearby vending machines. They were not allowed to buy things themselves. Perhaps it would have seemed too much like normal life, thought Puller, which was not something prison was designed to provide. Once a visitor entered the room, leaving it instantly terminated the visit. There was only one exception to this rule, of which Puller would never be able to take advantage: breastfeeding. There was a room for that upstairs.

The door at the opposite end of the room opened and a man in an orange jumpsuit walked through. Puller watched him come forward.

He was tall but an inch shorter than Puller, and possessed a more slender build. The face was similar, though the hair was darker and longer. There was a touch of white in places that Puller did not have. Both men’s jaws were square, the line of the noses narrow and slightly off to the right, and the teeth large and even. There was a right-side dimple and eyes that appeared green in artificial light and blue in the sun.

Puller also had a scar across the left side of his neck that angled down toward the back. There were other distinguishing marks on his left leg, right arm, and upper torso both front and rear. They all represented unwelcome intrusions of foreign objects fired with violent velocity into his person. The other man had none of these, and his skin was white and smooth. No suntanning in here.

Puller’s skin had been roughened by brutal heat and wind and equally debilitating cold. He would be described by most as rugged-looking. Not handsome. Never cute. On good days he could perhaps be attractive, or more likely interesting-looking. It would never occur to him to even think about those things. He was a soldier, not a model.

They did not hug. They shook hands briefly.

The other man smiled. “Good to see you, bro.”

The brothers Puller sat.

CHAPTER

3


“LOST WEIGHT?” asked Puller.

His brother, Robert, leaned back in his chair and draped one long leg over his opposite knee.

“Chow here’s not as good as the Air Force.”

“Navy does it the best. Army’s a distant third. But that’s because the wings and the water guys are wimps.”

“Heard you made warrant officer. No longer an SFC.”

“Same job. Little bump in the pay.”

“Way you want it?”

“Way I want it.”

They fell silent. Puller looked to his left, where a young woman was holding hands with her inmate and showing him some pictures. Two little towheads played on the floor at Mom’s feet. Puller gazed back at his brother.

“Lawyers?”

Robert Puller shifted his weight. He too had been watching the young couple. He was thirty-seven, had never been married, and had no children.

“Nothing left for them to do. Dad?”

Puller’s mouth twitched. “The same.”

“Been to see him?”

“Last week,” he said.

“Docs?”

“Like your lawyers, not much they can do.”

“Tell him hello for me.”

“He knows.”

A spark of anger. “I know. I’ve always known that.”

Robert’s raised voice drew a long, hard stare from the burly MP stationed against the wall.

In a lower voice Robert said, “But still tell him I said hello.”

“Need anything?”

“Nothing you can provide. And you don’t have to keep coming.”

“My choice.”

“Younger brother guilt.”

“Younger brother something.”

Robert slid his palm across the tabletop. “It’s not that bad in here. It’s not like Leavenworth.”

“Sure it is. Still a prison.” Puller leaned forward. “Did you do it?”

Robert glanced up. “Wondered why you never asked me that before.”

“I’m asking now.”

“I’ve got nothing to say on that,” replied his brother.

“You think I’m trying to sneak a confession out of you? You’ve already been convicted.”

“No, but you are CID. I know your sense of justice. I don’t want to put you in an untenable conflict of interest or of the soul.”

Puller leaned back. “I compartmentalize.”

“Being John Puller’s son. I know all about that.”

“You always saw it as weight.”

“And it’s not?”

“It is whatever you want to make it. You’re smarter than me. You should have figured that out on your own.”

“And yet we both joined the military.”

“You went officer route, like the old man. I’m just enlisted.”

“And you call me smarter?”

“You’re a nuclear scientist. A mushroom cloud specialist. I’m just a grunt with a badge.”

“With a badge,” repeated his brother. “I guess I’m lucky I got life.”

“They haven’t executed anybody here since ’61.”

“You checked?”