The Escape (John Puller 3)

“So when did the death penalty get pulled off the table?” asked Puller.

This comment drew

a sharp glance from Fletcher.

Puller said, “We know the charge was changed from spying, which carries a mandatory death penalty in times of war, to espionage, which doesn’t automatically mandate death. Why did that happen?” He leaned forward. “Because the record of the court-martial proceedings I looked at had you filing the motion for the change in the charges against Robert Puller. It didn’t come from the defense side.”

Fletcher clasped his hands in front of him and looked to be in deep thought. “That directive came from above.”

“How far above?”

“Well above me. But, frankly, I think the genesis for it came from outside the legal side of the military. And outside even the Air Force.”

Puller said, “How could that be? Robert Puller was in the Air Force. They would unquestionably have jurisdiction over him and the case.”

“You’re right in all respects. But I think it was because his father was a legendary Army general, if you want the truth. The DoD apparently thought that putting to death the son of such a hero would not be a good thing.”

Puller sat back. This hadn’t occurred to him.

Fletcher studied him. “He’s your father too, of course.”

“So you made the connection with the last name?”

“No, I knew before. When you’re prosecuting someone for a serious crime, you check out his family. I know all about you. And I’m absolutely stunned that you’re being allowed to investigate your brother’s escape from DB.”

“You’re not the only one,” said Puller. “So you think it had to do with our father?”

“Well, there was the letter he wrote.”

Puller didn’t seem to be able to process this statement. Knox glanced at him, saw his rigid look, and said to Fletcher, “What letter?”

“From General Puller, pleading for his son to not be tried for spying. It was quite moving.”

“When was it sent?” asked Knox, while still glancing nervously at Puller.

“Early on in the proceedings. The judge accepted the motion I filed, and of course the defense had no objection.”

Puller finally found his voice and said, “The letter wasn’t in the file.”

“I’m not surprised about that. It wasn’t technically part of the record.”

“Do you remember what else it said?” asked Puller.

“I actually kept a copy. If you give me your email I can scan it in and forward it to you.”

Puller gave him a business card and said, “Thanks, I’d appreciate that.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” asked Fletcher.

Knox said hastily. “If there is we’ll get back to you.”

They left a moody-looking Fletcher sitting behind his desk.

As they walked out Knox said, “You obviously didn’t know your father had written a letter.”

“He was at the VA by then. I didn’t think he had the capacity to even write his own name.”

“Well, he might have found the capacity to help a son fighting for his life.”

“But it seemed to me that he didn’t care what happened to Bobby.”

“Maybe your dad didn’t want to admit his feelings to you. Some men have a problem with that. You think your father fits into that category?”

“As far as I knew, my father never had any feelings,” said Puller tersely.

CHAPTER

40

CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA, was the next stop on their list. They made it from Charlottesville in a little over four hours with Puller driving fast the whole way. He liked to drive because it gave him time to think. And he had a lot to think about, particularly about a letter a father had written in an attempt to save his oldest son from a death sentence.

“I don’t have any pennies on me, but I’ll fork over folding money to see inside your head.”

He looked over at Knox, who was staring at him with a worried expression.

“I was thinking about my dad.”

“And why he wrote the letter?”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“Despite what you said, I’m sure your father has feelings.”

“I’ve heard him go off about my brother when I visited him at the VA. Unless I was somehow misconstruing his shouts and cursing, I’m not sure he was a real fan of what my brother allegedly did.”

“Well, knowing what we know now about your brother’s motivation to tank his own defense to protect you and your father, maybe you can tell him one day that his son was innocent.”

“I’d like Bobby to be able to do that himself.”

Knox placed a hand on his shoulder. “I hope he can too.”

“I want to ask defense counsel point-blank why he didn’t pursue that angle. I mean, if he knew Bobby was being threatened, why wasn’t there an investigation?”

“Well, according to what Shireen Kirk told you, there was no evidence to that effect except your brother’s statement. And he wouldn’t let counsel pursue it, namely because he thought harm would come to you and your father.”

“So he lets an innocent man go to prison?”

“No, he put on the defense he had and a panel of his peers sent Robert Puller to prison.”

“You know it’s not that simple or straightforward.”

“What I know is that we need more proof than we have right now.”

“Macri was bought off. And Susan Reynolds is lying. And so was Niles Robinson.”

“I believe it. But can we convince others? Even with the financial evidence we have? And more important, can we tie it into your brother’s case? Because all most people know is that he escaped from DB and left a dead man behind. Whether that man should have been there or not is largely irrelevant for most people. First and foremost your brother is a killer, at least that’s what they think. Whatever the truth is, it’s complicated, and complicated is not what our information-overloaded society is good at grasping, because they would have to focus for longer than five seconds, which most folks can’t do anymore.”

“So all this is for shit, then? Everything we’re doing?” Puller retorted.

“Of course it’s not. But I want you to understand really clearly that what we have now is not enough. It’s not even close to enough. I don’t see light at the end of the tunnel yet and neither should you. We have to keep plugging.”

“That’s all I ever do, Knox. I just keep plugging.”

Knox had scrounged up government travel vouchers that would allow them to stay at the Ritz-Carlton hotel in downtown Charlotte for a reduced rate that would not cause a DoD bean counter to slash his wrists. They got rooms on the same floor, on either side of the elevator bank. They made arrangements to meet in the lobby thirty minutes later and then go have a late dinner.

Puller quickly showered and put on a set of clean clothes he’d grabbed from his duffel. He made some phone calls, including one to the VA hospital to check on his dad.

“Resting comfortably,” was the reply he got to his question. Puller