Daylight (Atlee Pine, #3)(100)

Pine left and went back to her car. She wanted to do something, anything, but there was nothing else to do right now.

She drove back to Lineberry’s condo and dropped into bed fully clothed. She pulled out the photo of her sister and stared at it for the longest time before she fell into a tortured sleep.





CHAPTER





64





PULLER LEANED BACK against his hospital pillow and stared at his phone. He had had to start hiding it from the nurses, who all wanted him to rest and sleep and— Not do my damn job.

He had slept badly, despite the meds, and had been lying there for an hour desperately trying to come up with some way to turn the tables on this thing. He had made three calls. Not a single person had called him back, which was frustrating, but more worrying than frustrating.

His mind raced as he thought about who else might be out there who could help on this. If he could only find a person who had been affected by this, then he might— Idiot.

He pecked in the number on his phone. It went to voice mail. He sighed. Not again. He left a detailed message and then let the phone drop next to him.

He eyed his vitals monitor. They all looked good. He remembered once back in Afghanistan opening his eyes and realizing he was in a field hospital after being wounded. The vitals monitor then had not looked nearly as encouraging. He hadn’t known that one’s blood pressure could go that low and the person still be alive.

He tried to move his injured shoulder just a bit and gritted his teeth. Even with the pain meds that was not a smart thing to do, he realized. And so he stopped and let his body relax. But when he looked at the phone he tensed once more.

Come on, come on, ring.

Five minutes went by, then ten. Ten became twenty.

He was starting to give up hope.

Then it buzzed. He grabbed it so fast with the hand on his good side that his injured side screamed in protest.

“Hello?” he said.

“Puller, it’s Tom Pitts.”

“Thank you for calling me back, sir. And I want to say how sorry I am for what happened to you. I was the one who called you in on this. I never imagined it would cost you your assignment at the Pentagon.”

“No, Puller, I’m the one who needs to apologize. After we met at my office, I made some calls and follow-up inquiries. I thought I was actually making some progress. And then the next thing I knew I got rolled over by an Abrams tank. The Army is a funny mistress, Puller. And when you overlay the politics on top of it—and I’m not just talking about military politics, but on the suit-and-tie side across the Potomac—it gets complicated real fast. Now, I’ve gotten pretty adroit at reading those tea leaves and can usually see trouble coming from miles away. But not on this one. Seven A.M. I was having my first cup of coffee. Eight fifteen, I was ordered to pack my bags and head out to an assignment overseas. In the Netherlands, of all places.”

“Is that where you are now?”

“I fly out the day after tomorrow.”

“Well, again, I’m sorry I got you involved in this, sir.”

“I’m not. It stinks to high heaven. And I don’t intend to take this lying down, Puller. And while I know whoever did this has some major pull, I’m not without firepower when it comes to that.”

“That’s why I was calling, actually. I wanted to fill you in on developments.”

“Where are you calling from?”

Puller hesitated but then decided to just say it. “A hospital bed.”

“What?”

Puller told him about the shooting.

“And you think it’s connected?”

“I know it is, sir.”

“Tell me what you know.”

In brief, organized sentences, Puller told Pitts about Nora Franklin and Adam Gorman. And Peter Driscoll’s grandson Jeff Sands having been killed by the same bullet that had wounded Puller. He also filled in the general on the possible blackmail chamber operating in New York City. And he finished with his brother and an FBI employee gone missing.

“You think they’ve been captured by these people?”

“I can’t think of another reason why they haven’t answered their phones or called us back. I’ve called other people to help me out, but no one came back to me except you.”

“They’re circling the wagons, then,” said Pitts. “I know many folks in the military who have confronted many an enemy on the battlefield and fought him tooth and nail, sustaining injuries and defeat, but fighting on until victory. And I’ve seen these very same people turn into cowards and run and hide at the first hint of a subpoena or a demotion or a call from a suit who doesn’t deserve one ounce of respect. But perhaps unlike the others you called who never called back, I’ve got a dog in this hunt. I earned my four stars, and I earned my position at the Pentagon. And I don’t take kindly to people screwing with me. If they think I’m going to take this lying down, they don’t know shit about me. Even if you hadn’t called, I was going public with this thing before I left the country. When someone hits me, I damn well hit back. Just harder.”

“You sound just like my father.”

“I’ll take that as the highest compliment you could give me.” Then Pitts’s tone changed. It became more thoughtful. “Robert Puller, eh? A lieutenant colonel in the Air Force with the highest security clearances and a wealth of knowledge about our most precious military secrets.”