Zero Day (John Puller, #1)(61)

Everything looked just where he had put it. He checked his little booby-traps to tell him if someone had been here. None were tripped.

He closed and locked the door. Sat on the bed. He added up his growing list of failures.

He had failed to see the trip wire in time.

He had failed to save Louisa.

He checked his watch. Pondered whether to make the call.

Cole would probably already be in bed by now. And what exactly did he have to tell her?

He lay back on the bed. His M11 would rest in his hand all night.

His cell phone buzzed. He looked at the number and inwardly groaned.

“Hello, sir.”

“Damnedest thing, Gunny,” said his father. The old man would alternate referring to Puller as his XO, gunnery sergeant, or sometimes simply “you * PFC.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“No orders from high command and a Saturday night with nothing to do. What say we get together and bang some shots back? We can catch a ride to Hong Kong on a military transport heading out. Know some places. Good times. Lovely ladies.”

Puller untied his jump boots and kicked them off. “I’m on duty, sir.”

“Not if I say you’re not, soldier.”

“Special orders, sir. Straight from HC.”

“Why don’t I know about it?” his father said in a clenched tone.

“Bypassed local chain of command. I didn’t ask why, General. It’s the Army. I just follow lawfully given orders, sir.”

“I’ll make some calls. This bullshit has to stop. They try to run around me one more time they’ll regret it.”

“Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

“Hell to pay.”

“Yes, sir. Have a good time in Hong Kong.”

“You hang tight, Gunny. I’ll be back in touch.”

“Roger that, sir.”

His father clicked off and Puller wondered if they had stopped giving the man his nighttime meds yet. When medicated he usually was sound asleep by this time, but he’d now called his son twice late at night. He’d have to check on that.

He stripped down to his civvies and lay back on the bed.

Every time he had a conversation like this with his father, it seemed to tear a little piece of his reality away. There might come a time when his father called and Puller would actually believe everything the man said. That he was back in the Army, heading up his own corps, that Puller was his XO, or his gunny, or one of his hundred thousand * PFCs.

One day. But not tonight.

He turned out the light and closed his eyes.

He needed to sleep, so he did.

But it was a light sleep. Three seconds to wake, aim, and fire at the enemy.

Bombs, bullets, sudden death.

It was as though he’d never left Afghanistan.

CHAPTER

43


BY 0600 PULLER WAS UP, showered, shaved, and dressed.

He sat outside on the porch in front of the office and drank a cup of his percolator coffee. No one had broken through the yellow tape he’d strung after Wally Cousins had left.

Eight o’clock at the Crib was eggs, ham, and grits with more coffee. Cole was back in uniform, her femininity buried under polyester, police gear, and regulation black shoes.

“Louisa died yesterday,” Puller said.

“I hadn’t heard about that,” replied Cole, her fork poised halfway to her mouth.

He told her about Wally Cousins’s visit to the motel. Cole confirmed that Cousins’s grandmother and Louisa were longtime friends.

“I called the hospital this morning and said I was her grandson,” he said. “They told me that she died in her sleep.”

“Not a bad way to go, I guess.”

Better than a boulder crushing your car with you in it, thought Puller.

“She has no family left here, he said. What’ll happen to her body? Funeral? And what about her motel?”

“I’ll make some calls. We’ll take care of it, Puller. Drake isn’t what it once was, but we still have good folks here that care, who take care of their own.”

“Okay.” He took a sip of coffee. “Do folks really have to move that fast around here when someone dies?”

She shrugged. “I won’t tell you Cousins was wrong. When folks have nothing they do strange things.”

“Like that neighborhood you showed me, next to the concrete dome?”

“I admit some of those folks go scavenging around the area. And sometimes they take things from people who are still alive and kicking. We call that burglary or robbery or grand larceny and they have to pay the price.”

“Jail?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

Puller took a bite of eggs. He’d called his SAC back at Quantico and brought him up to speed on all the latest developments. When he’d mentioned the bombing attempt Don White had said, “You’ve obviously gotten someone excited.”

“Yes, sir,” Puller had said. But he didn’t ask for additional assets. If the SAC wanted to send them, he would. Puller was not going to beg.

He had also arranged to be on a commercial flight out of Charleston later that day. He had to make inquiries at the Pentagon about the late Colonel Matthew Reynolds and he also needed to visit the man’s house in Fairfax City. Puller had hinted that another CID agent back in Virginia could see to this detail as well as he could, but the SAC made it clear that Puller was the entire show right now, at least as far as the U.S. Army was concerned.