Zero Day (John Puller, #1)(49)

“But you won’t tell anybody I did it,” she said worriedly.

“No one will ever find out from me.”


Back at his motel room, Puller studied the name and address that Sandy had written down for him.

The company name he didn’t recognize. The address was Ohio. He did a Google search on his laptop and pulled up the company’s home page. When he saw what the firm did he wondered if he finally had a break in this case. If he did, it wasn’t that obvious. He phoned the number on the home page but only received a recorded response. The company was closed and would reopen tomorrow morning at nine.

Stymied for the moment, Puller called the hospital where the motel owner Louisa had been taken. He couldn’t find anyone who would tell him her condition, but he did purchase a vase of flowers from the hospital gift shop, paying for it with his credit card. On the card he had them write, “Cat is fine. Hope you are too. Your good egg, Puller.”

He put the phone down, stripped off his clothes, and stepped in the shower. The Army taught you to wash fast and dress faster, so he was dry and clothed five minutes later.

He was just sliding his M11 into the front holster when he saw it.

Someone had slipped a piece of paper under the door to his room.

He immediately checked the window next to the door. He could see no one. The little courtyard was empty of both cars and people. He stripped the pillowcase off one of the bed pillows, knelt down, and used the pillowcase to pick up the paper.

He turned it over. The writing was laser print. The message was straightforward.

I know things you need to know.

There was an address listed.

And then there was one more word printed.

Now.

Puller used the map app on his phone to find the location. From where he was it was a fifteen-minute ride by car. That would probably put him even more in the middle of nowhere than he already was.

Perfect place for an ambush.

Long-range shot.

Or shotgun at close range.

Or ten guys on one. Maybe Dickie and his big friend with the broken nose had decided to get even and would be bringing necessary reinforcements this time.

Puller looked down at his phone. He could call Cole and fill her in. He probably should. He hit the numbers. The phone rang. Went to voice mail. She was probably still in the shower scrubbing death off her.

He left a message telling her about this latest development. He gave her the address he’d been given and then clicked off.

He made one more call, to his friend Kristen Craig at USACIL. He gave the lady a heads-up on what he was sending and what results he was hoping for from the lab.

“How’re things coming on the laptop and the briefcase?” he asked her. “Did you get read into it by DIA?”

“We did,” she answered. “But I have to tell you, I’m disappointed so far.”

“Why?”

“His briefcase had an old sandwich, a few private-sector business cards, and a couple of magazines. The only report in there wasn’t even classified.”

“And the laptop?”

“A little porn and a whole lot of nothing else. I mean, he had work stuff on there, but nothing that would have caused the collapse of Western civilization as we know it if the bad guys got hold of it.”

“DIA know this?”

“Of course. They’re DIA. They had someone come to the lab.”

“Porn, huh?”

“We find that on military laptops all the time, you know that. And this stuff wasn’t hardcore. Just crap you can watch in your hotel room and not see the title on the bill the next morning. Barely titillating with awful production values. But then I’m not a guy.”

“Women have far higher standards. So why all the sirens going off from SecArm?”

“Hey, I’m just a tech; you’re the investigator,” she said in a playful tone.

He clicked off, pondered this; glanced down at the note, pondered that.

He waited for Cole to call him back. She didn’t.

He locked the motel room door on his way out.

He fired up the Malibu, popped the address he’d been given into his GPS, and drove off.

CHAPTER

35


ONE RUSTED, leaning mailbox.

Puller passed by the mailbox and the dirt road that it fronted.

Woods on both sides.

He was surprised a place like this had an address that could be found on his GPS. Big Brother really did have all the info.

He parked a quarter of a mile down, got out, and entered the woods. He worked his way back west. He eyed the small house from behind a stand of trees. In the distance he could hear the distinct sound of a rattlesnake warning someone of its presence.

Puller didn’t move. He just squatted there, eyeing the place.

There was an old truck out front. The guts of another truck rested on the far side of the house. There appeared to be a garage behind the house. Its single door was closed. The place didn’t look like it had been recently inhabited. It wasn’t dark enough yet for lights to have to be on in the house, though the surrounding woods threw everything into a jumble of shadows.

No sounds. No people.

He continued to squat, continued to contemplate what to do.

It was apparent that someone who lived this far away from the murders probably had not seen anything. But they might know something. Like the note had said.