Zero Day (John Puller, #1)(79)
Seven, thought Puller. Actually seven people are dead.
“Okay. Anything else you can think of that might help me?”
“Matt did say that he thought whatever it was would happen soon.”
“Soon because they were afraid of exposure? Or soon because the plan had been in place for a while and it was time to execute?”
“Probably both, considering they felt the need to kill Matt and his family.”
“I’m surprised that he didn’t provide you more details.”
She said, “He didn’t leave any evidence of who the person might be? You’re sure?”
“We didn’t find much of anything. We do think a soil sample might be involved.”
She looked at him with a quizzical expression. “A soil sample?”
He nodded. “The killers may have come back for it, in fact. So it must’ve been important. That ring any bells with you?”
“Well, he did say that this thing might have far-reaching implications.”
“But he never said how?”
“No. Now I wished I had pushed him for more details. I just never thought it would end like this. I guess I should have. The Army teaches you to provide for every contingency.”
“We’re human, so that means we’re not perfect.”
“The Army expects us to be perfect,” she shot back.
“No, they just expect us to be better than the other side.”
She eyed the notebook. “How will your report read?”
“That you were very cooperative and provided me with valuable intelligence.”
“I owe you, Puller. I had you all wrong.”
“No, you probably had me pegged right. But your aim was a little off.”
“Hustling for a star and being a female can add up to a lonely life.”
“You’ve got a big family around you. It’s called the United States Army.”
She smiled weakly. “Yeah, I guess so. When this is over, look me up. Maybe we can have a drink.”
“Maybe we can,” said Puller as he closed his notebook and took his leave.
On the way to his car he glanced at his watch. He had one more stop and then he could be back in West Virginia by taking a morning flight.
Unfortunately, he probably wasn’t going to make it.
The four men had surrounded him.
CHAPTER
56
“JOHN PULLER?”
The men had materialized in the parking garage near Puller’s ride. He noted the twin black SUVs idling nearby.
“What does Homeland Security want with me?”
The leader of the bunch, a small, trim man with curly dark hair and frown lines stacked on his forehead, said, “How do you know we’re with DHS?”
Puller pointed at the waist of one man. “He’s got the SIG nine.” He pointed to another man. “He’s carrying the SIG forty cal. DHS is one of the few that lets their people mix and match. Add to that you’ve got a DHS lapel pin on your jacket. And my final clue was the Homeland Security parking sticker on one of your rides over there.”
The man looked around and then smiled. “Good eye. Still need to see our cred packs?”
“Yeah, I do. And I’ll show you mine. Army CID.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I know you know.”
“We need you to come with us.”
“Where and why?”
“The why will be explained by others. The where is not too far.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really, no.”
Puller shrugged. “Then let’s go.”
The ride was ten minutes. They entered another parking garage, swept down two levels, left the vehicles, and took an elevator up five floors. Puller was led down a hall where every single door was shut and secured with key and combo locks. There was nothing to show this was a federal building, which wasn’t unusual, Puller knew. DHS in particular kept ordinary-looking space like this all over the country. But to someone who knew what to look for the place screamed federal. The carpet was government beige, the walls government beige, the doors metal. The government spent a lot of money, Puller knew, but not on the finishes in their office buildings.
He was led into a room and left there at a small table with the door closed and locked from the outside. He counted off five minutes in his head and was beginning to wonder whether someone had forgotten he was there when the door opened.
The man was in his fifties and carried the heft and gravitas of a long government career in a field that did not include paper pushing or staple counting. He held a file. He sat. He rustled through the file and then he finally acknowledged Puller by looking at him.
“You want something to drink?” the man asked. “We got coffee, though ours sucks. We have water. Just tap. The high-end Deer Park perk got whacked last year. Budgets cuts are a bitch. Next they’ll be taking our guns.”
“I’m good.” Puller glanced at the file. “That about me?”
“Not per se, no.” He tapped the file. “I’m Joe Mason, by the way.” He reached across and shook Puller’s hand.
“John Puller.”
“That one I got figured out,” said Mason. He fiddled with the cuticle on one of his fingers. “How’re things coming in West Virginia?”