Daylight (Atlee Pine, #3)(44)

“NYPD. Get down on the pavement, hands behind your head. Do it. Now.”

Pine sank down to the pavement and put her hands behind her head.

“Don’t shoot,” she cried out.

Damn, this night is just getting better and better.





CHAPTER





29





JOHN PULLER HAD GRABBED a bumpy ride in a jump seat on a military transport plane into Andrews Air Force Base. From there he’d bummed a ride with an agent in the Air Force’s CID with whom he’d worked a joint case. This ride dropped him at the metro, and he rode the subway to his final destination. The Pentagon was the largest office building on earth.

It had been in the middle of a renovation when one of its five sides had received a gut punch on 9/11 in the form of a hijacked American Airlines jumbo jet piloted by Saudis intent on bringing down the country. In addition to all the passengers on the jet, more than a hundred people had died sitting behind their desks or walking along a corridor or just chatting with colleagues. A small memorial chapel had been erected at the spot where the jet had hit. But the facility had been quickly repaired and was now stronger than ever. It would have to be, thought Puller. Because the world kept getting more unpredictable by the minute.

He cleared security after showing his cred pack and relaying to the guards that he was armed. He walked down a labyrinth of corridors without an escort, keeping tightly to the route he knew well. The Pentagon had nearly eighteen miles of halls, with Rings A to E and Corridors One to Ten on the main level. You could work here your entire career and still get lost, although the way it was designed a trip between two points shouldn’t take longer than seven minutes. Puller had never gone awry in finding any location in Afghanistan or Iraq, but he had become lost multiple times here. Each one had been a humbling event, especially the one time when an elderly woman, a veteran and visitor that day, had taken him by the hand and guided him to where he needed to go. Almost the reverse scenario of the vintage image of a Boy Scout helping an older person cross the street.

He entered the office suite, where the spacious anteroom and displayed flags denoted the ultrahigh rank of the man he was meeting tonight. This was the vice chair of the Joint Chiefs. He was the second-highest-ranking person in the U.S. military world. The vice chair received his fourth star upon elevation to the position. By law he could not be in the same military branch as the chairman. Currently the chairman was Air Force; the vice chair wore the same uniform as Puller, which was one of the reasons Puller was here.

The junior officer greeted Puller and led him into the interior office, which was of a size befitting the man’s lofty position. On one wall was the “wall of love,” as the Army liked to call it. It was a photo array of the VIPs smiling, shaking hands, and rubbing shoulders with the current occupant of this office.

And that would be Tom Pitts, around five eleven, built like a chunk of granite, with facial features to match. The grip of his handshake equaled that of Puller, who was around twenty-five years younger. The four stars rode well on his broad shoulders. He was one of only fourteen four-stars in the entire Army, and one of only forty-two in the entire Armed Forces of the United States. A combat veteran, Pitts had more than earned every medal and ribbon.

“I went by to see your old man the other day,” began Pitts.

Puller was a bit surprised by this, and his face showed it as they sat down across from each other on matching couches set next to Pitts’s desk.

“I didn’t know that,” said Puller.

“I would have given you a heads-up, but the fact was it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. We were passing by the VA hospital and . . . I just wanted to see Fighting John Puller.”

“You don’t need my permission, sir. I’m sure he enjoyed seeing you.”

“Your father’s forgotten more about leading soldiers into battle than I’ll ever know.”

Puller looked down. “He’s forgotten a lot, sir. Too much.”

Pitts’s features clouded. “A poor choice of words on my part. I’m sorry. I understand his condition is not . . . going to improve?”

“No sir, not unless there’s a miracle.”

Pitts nodded slowly, his features somber and faraway. Then he snapped back, like a crisp salute. “But you didn’t come here for that. What can I do for you?”

It took Puller about two minutes to fully bring Pitts up to speed. The general’s face grew longer and longer as Puller went on. When he was finished Pitts said, “I’m not sure I’ve heard anything that extraordinary. It’s inexplicable.”

“I thought the same. But with the roadblocks being thrown up, and as you used to be the head of CID, I thought you might want to be made aware.”

“And your chain of command?”

Puller cleared his throat and took a few moments to compose his response with great care. There was nothing so sacred in the Army as the chain of command. A soldier who went outside of it better have a damn good reason, and even that wasn’t always enough.

He ended with, “So, you can see that I went through all the usual channels, sir.”

“Yes, I can. And?”

“And none of my issues have been resolved. And my superiors seem to be as perplexed as I am.”

“That is not acceptable.”