The Escape (John Puller 3)

Puller had been to the Pentagon countless times in his career and still didn’t know his way around very well. He had become lost more than once when he had strayed from his regular route. But everyone who had ever been here had gotten lost at least once. Those who denied doing so were lying.

As they were walking down one broad corridor they had to quickly move to the side as a motorized cart sped toward them carrying stacks of what looked to be large oxygen tanks. Puller knew that the Pentagon had its own emergency oxygen supply in case of an enemy attack or attempted sabotage. The attack against the Pentagon on 9/11 had raised security here to unprecedented heights, and no one foresaw it ever being lowered.

In getting out of the way of the cart Rinehart stumbled a bit, and Puller instinctively grasped his arm to steady his military superior. They both watched as the motorized cart zipped past.

Puller said, “The Pentagon can get a little dangerous, sir. Even for three-stars.”

Rinehart smiled. “Like jumping foxholes sometimes. As big as this place is, sometimes it seems too damn small to contain everything and everybody.”

They reached an office suite where the name “Lieutenant General Aaron Rinehart” was on the door. The three-star led them inside, past his staff, and into an interior conference room. They sat down and water was poured out by an aide, and then the door closed and they were alone.

Puller sat across the table from the three men and waited expectantly. They had not spoken about anything significant on the drive over, so he was still in the dark about what they wanted.

General Daughtrey leaned forward, seemingly pulling the others along, for they all mimicked his movement. “What we got from your father was one word: ‘bullshit.’”

“He’s nothing if not consistent, then,” replied Puller. “Because that’s the same thing he told me.”

“You read any meaning into that?” asked Schindler.

Puller gazed over at him. “I’m not a shrink, sir. I don’t know what my dad meant by it, if anything.”

“When was the last time you visited your brother at DB?” asked Daughtrey.

“About six weeks ago. I try to get up to see him as often as I can. Sometimes the job gets in the way of that.”

“What did he say during your last visit?”

“Nothing about escaping, I can assure you.”

“Okay, but what did he say?” Daughtrey persisted.

“We talked about our father. He asked how my work at CID was going. I talked to him about being at DB. Asked him how it was going.”

“Did you talk at all about his case?” asked Schindler. “What landed him in DB?”

“It’s not a case anymore, sir. It’s a conviction. And no, we didn’t talk about it. What is there left to say?”

Rinehart asked, “Do you have a theory on what happened with your brother’s escape?”

“I’ve formed no opinion because I don’t know all the facts.”

“The facts are still evolving. Suffice it to say the situation was most unusual.”

“It would seem impossible that he’d be able to escape without some help. The backup generator failed? How likely is that? And who was the dead guy in his cell?”

“So you are in possession of the facts?” said Schindler in an accusatory tone.

“Some, not all. But who could have orchestrated something like that at DB?”

“It is troubling,” said Rinehart, quite unnecessarily.

“Has your brother tried to contact you?” asked Schindler.

“No.”

“If he does you will of course contact your superior immediately.”

“I believe that would be my duty, yes.”

“That wasn’t what I asked, Puller.”

“I would contact my superior, yes.”

Schindler handed him a card. “Actually, I’d rather you contacted me first.”

Puller slipped the card into his pocket without answering.

Daughtrey said, “I’m sure you’ve been warned to stay away from this case?”

“My CO made that pretty clear.”

“But since you’re an investigator, I’m also sure you’re quite interested in getting involved in this case, correct?”

Puller gazed at the one-star. This was interesting territory, he thought.

“I didn’t think it was up to me,” he replied. “A direct order is a direct order. I’ve put too many years in to torpedo my career over this.”

“Over your brother, you mean,” said Daughtrey.

Puller gazed at the man. “Do you want me involved in the investigation?”

“That would go against all applicable military rules,” interjected Rinehart firmly.

“Well, that doesn’t really answer my question, sir.”

“I’m afraid that’s as good of an answer as you’re going to get, Puller,” said Schindler, rising. They all stood.

“I’ve got leave coming up,” said Puller.

Schindler smiled.

“Well, then, I’d use it wisely if I were you.” He tapped Puller’s pocket where he’d put Schindler’s card. “And don’t forget to call me if something pops. Interest in this case goes up so high you’d need a tank of oxygen to breathe.”

Daughtrey said, “One more question, Puller.”

“Yes sir?”

“Did you ever ask your brother if he was guilty?”

The query surprised Puller, and he didn’t like to be surprised.

“I did, once.”

“And what did he tell you?”

“He was noncommittal.”

Daughtrey said, “And what do you think? Was he guilty?”

Puller didn’t answer right away. It didn’t really matter what he thought about his brother’s guilt or innocence. It couldn’t change reality. Yet it seemed that all three men very much wanted to hear his answer.

“I don’t want to believe that my brother was a traitor,” he finally said. That was really the best he could do, and he didn’t intend to say any more on the subject despite being outranked.

Daughtrey said, “He was guilty, Puller. Because the court-martial said he was. Evidence was overwhelming. You may not have been privy to it, but we all were.”

Rinehart said, “That’s all, Chief Puller. You’re dismissed.”

Puller walked out wondering what the hell had just happened.

CHAPTER

6

HE NEEDED TO think this through, but also talk things out with someone. And there was really only one person he could do that with. He lifted his phone from his pocket and punched in the number. She answered two rings later.

“I heard,” Julie Carson said immediately. “You want to talk, right?”

“Yeah. I just saw my father, and then I got a weird sort of third degree from a suit from the NSC and a couple of generals, one Army, one Air Force.”

“What was the NSC’s name?”

“James Schindler. I’ve got his card. He’s based in D.C.”

“Who was the Army guy?” she asked.

“Three-star named Aaron Rinehart, big guy, broken nose, hair shaved close to the scalp. He had about as many decorations on his chest as my father. His name is familiar.”

“I’ve certainly heard of him, but don’t know him personally. Tough, no-nonsense, incredibly well connected, and moving up fast for his fourth star. There’s even talk he’ll be the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs or Chief of Staff of the Army at some point. How about the flyboy?”

“One-star named Daughtrey. He didn’t offer up his first name.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can find out. They’re all in the database somewhere.”

“Thanks, Julie.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.”