“From a long time ago?” asked Puller.
Rogers glanced up at him.
Puller said, “I think she also tried to kill you. I mean very recently. At the Grunt.”
Rogers kept his gaze on Puller.
“Those guys who attacked the bar? I don’t see them doing what they did that night unless they were paid to do it. And the only thing worth killing there was you.”
Rogers eyed him suspiciously. “Why do you care?”
“We know about the four women who were killed,” said Knox. “And their bodies buried around this area.”
“Five,” said Rogers. “It was five women, not four.”
Puller went rigid and Knox gave him a nervous glance.
“Five?” said Knox. “But only four bodies were ever discovered.”
“They took her. They took the fifth one.”
“Where was this?” asked Puller.
“Fort Monroe.”
“Who took her?” asked Knox.
“Them! They took her.”
“Did you kill those women?” asked Knox.
Rogers said nothing. He just sat there taking measured breaths, his head bowed, his hands clasped in front of him.
“Did you know that her name was Jackie Puller?” asked Knox. “The fifth person that was killed?”
Rogers looked at her from under hooded eyes. “No, it wasn’t.”
Puller stiffened some more and then relaxed. “Then who was it?” he asked. “What was her name?”
“Audrey Moore.”
“Why did you kill her?” asked Puller.
“Who said I did?” Rogers said sharply.
“Assuming that you did, would it have been random?”
Rogers started to rub the spot on his head again.
Puller licked his lips and said, “Do you know what happened to Jackie Puller?”
“She has your last name. Who was she to you?”
“My mother.”
“None of the women were mothers.”
“In my wallet there’s a picture of her from the investigation file. Can you look and tell me if you ever saw her around here?”
“Why do you think I care?”
“Will you just please do it? Please?”
Rogers stared at him for a few moments and then took the damp wallet out and found the picture.
“Do you remember her?” asked Puller.
Rogers put the picture back into the wallet and stuffed it back into Puller’s jacket. “I never saw her. And I would have remembered her.”
Puller gave an imperceptible sigh of relief. “So these other women worked with you?”
Rogers said nothing.
Puller said, “This was three decades ago. Why are you back here now?”
“Unfinished business.”
“Claire Jericho?”
“Unfinished business.”
“We’re not working with her. If anything, we’re working against her.”
“But you’re also looking into the murders of those women.”
“Did you kill them?” Puller asked.
Rogers rose. “I need to decide what to do with you two. But no decision is going to turn out right for you.”
“So you saved us to kill us?” asked Knox. “How does that make sense?”
“You think any of this is supposed to make sense?” Rogers paused. “Was Jericho really in Building Q tonight?”
“Yes,” replied Puller.
“And she tried to kill you?”
“Yes. But I doubt there’s any way we can prove she hacked into my car’s computer.”
Knox said, “What did they do to you, Paul?”
“Why do you give a fuck?” snarled Rogers.
“It’s our job to give a fuck,” barked Puller.
Rogers rubbed the back of his head again. “I…I was the test.”
“The test? For a super soldier thirty years ago?”
Rogers nodded dumbly.
“Was Jericho in charge of the program?” asked Knox.
Rogers shook his head. “Not technically. It was Chris Ballard’s company.”
Knox said, “I know that name, Ballard. He’s retired now.”
“To the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Big mansion on the beach.” Rogers paused and then added, “He’s dead. Or he should be.”
They both looked at him, startled. “Why do you say that?” asked Puller.
“Because I threw him out a window four stories up. But then he came back to life.”
Puller glanced at Knox, who was staring at Rogers, her face drawn in concern.
Rogers saw her look. “I’m not screwed in the head, lady. It couldn’t have been the same guy, of course. But another guy who looked like the one I killed was out on the beach the next day. I don’t know what the hell is going on.”
“Why did you go there? And why did you throw who you thought was Ballard out a window?” asked Puller.
“To get information on Jericho. And when he told me squat I chucked him out the window. He deserved it after what they did to me.”
“Why didn’t you just leave the test program?” asked Knox.
“You think I had that option? I was a prisoner.”
“But you did eventually get away,” pointed out Puller.
Rogers nodded. “I planned it for months. They never saw it coming. See, they built me too good. They didn’t figure in cunning and my ability to lie. They gave me that and I used it against them.”
“So they messed with your mind too?” said Knox.
“They messed with everything. You know how strong I am. But that was nothing compared to what they did up here.” He tapped his head.
“How so?”
In answer Rogers picked up a screwdriver from a can on the shelf, placed the tip against the palm of his hand, and pushed it in. Blood spurted out as the tip disappeared into his hand. He gave no reaction.
Puller eyed him. “They took away your ability to feel pain.”
“They took away everything that made me human.”
Puller said slowly, “They made you…the perfect killing machine.”
“Only they forgot that your target might not always be the enemy,” said Knox breathlessly.
“My enemy became whoever was in front of me,” said Rogers dully. “I had no control over it.”