the guy running the show now. He has more testosterone than Arnold Schwarzenegger in his Terminator days.”
CHAPTER
35
ROBERT PULLER HAD driven twenty-four hours straight, from Kansas to Maryland. He had kept going with hot coffee, loud music, and more cans of Red Bull than he cared to remember. He had discovered through necessity that his bladder was working just fine.
He was just now driving past Fort Meade, which was like a Russian nesting doll. There were many layers to it, which included an Army installation, the NSA, the U.S. Army Cyber Command, and DISA, the Defense Information Systems Agency. There were probably more intelligence analysts and spy hardware on the nearly eight square miles here than any other place on earth.
If National Geospatial was the eyes of the American intelligence empire by virtue of its role in satellite surveillance, then the NSA was the ears of that same intelligence empire, since it was the chief producer and manager of signal intelligence. And as the world, and ordinary Americans, had recently learned, the NSA was listening in on a lot more than foreign conversations.
The NSA was part of the Department of Defense and by law was required to be headed by a military officer. Upon assuming the leadership of the NSA one was automatically promoted to a four-star or an admiral. The deputy director was always a civilian and had a technical background.
Robert Puller knew all this because he had been groomed to possibly head up the NSA one day. It would have been many years down the road and he would have to have carried three stars on his shoulders by that time. There was no guarantee that any of that would have happened. And it was an ambitious goal for a humble major, but his trajectory had been a steep one. He had been on course for his first star in near record time, and when he reached his fifties he would have probably carried at least the requisite three stars.
Upon his conviction Puller had lost his military commission, along with everything else he held of importance. And now he was an escaped prisoner. His personal and professional destruction was complete.
But perhaps not beyond redemption.
He kept his gaze on the perimeter security fence that surrounded Fort Meade. In the distance was an array of satellite dishes that helped scoop information from the digital ether equal to the entire contents of the Library of Congress every six hours. It was a staggering amount of information that not even the NSA, with all its resources, had the manpower to digest. That was cold comfort for those whose communications the NSA did capture and act upon.
Puller had been to Fort Meade many times. He could go there no more, unless he wanted a quick return to prison. He drove to a motel near the fort and checked in. He carried his bag up to his room, put his things away, and then sat at a small table set against the wall.
There had been a change in command at STRATCOM. The CO while Puller had been there, Major General Martin Able, had earned another star in the last two years and had held one other major assignment before grabbing the brass ring. He had been appointed and confirmed as the director of the NSA four months ago. It was also four months ago that General Daughtrey had been assigned to STRATCOM. He had not been the head of STRATCOM, though one day he might have been. He had been the second in command behind a two-star.
But Martin Able was now the king of the NSA. He was also in the hot seat with all the recent revelations courtesy of Edward Snowden. His agency had become the target of a turbocharged media looking for scandal to sell subscriptions and ratings and also of a United States Congress desperate to look like it was actually doing something. And the conspiracy theorists were out in force.
And maybe this time they had a point.
A change in control. Four months ago. General Able to the NSA at Fort Meade. His last stop, probably. Most officers retired from the NSA top spot. Able was sixty. The mandatory retirement age was creeping close for him, although it could be deferred under certain circumstances.
There were currently thirty-eight Air Force three-stars. Upon his elevation to the NSA, director Able had automatically gotten his fourth star. There were currently only thirteen of those in the Air Force and only thirty-four across all branches. Pretty select company.
Able had also been the convening authority in Puller’s court-martial. Puller and Able had worked closely together. The general liked to have protégés that he could haul out and put on display, and he did so liberally with Puller, subtly taking much credit for the younger man’s accomplishments. Mentoring talent helped your career, and Able had been a man totally focused on his career. At least that was how Puller remembered it, and he usually remembered things spot-on.
The man had never contacted him again after Puller’s troubles had begun. Not that Puller could blame him. Guilt by association. It ran deep in the military. You stayed far away from the shit. If you stepped in it, the stink never left you.
So Daughtrey promoted at the same time as Able? Daughtrey was dead. Able was very much alive. Able now ran an NSA besieged by scandal. He was running around putting out fires and waiting for more to crop up. A busy man.
But maybe not too busy to think about the past.
How long would it take to plan what had happened at the DB? A few months to get everything in order?
The cover-up later?
But did it involve Daughtrey? Had he come to Kansas to make sure the truth was never discovered? Or was he there to try to find the truth?
The fact that he was dead made Puller believe it was the latter. Otherwise, why kill one of your coconspirators?
There had been two witnesses at his court-martial. They had to have been in on it too.
Susan Reynolds had testified about a DVD in his pocket. It had been found on his person after she had notified security, and Puller had no idea how it got there. The files on it had been classified. The clear implication had been that he was stealing secrets.
The other witness, Niles Robinson, had testified that he had seen Puller meeting secretly with a person who later turned out to be an Iranian agent. Puller had never met with such a man, but Robinson had apparently taken pictures showing otherwise.
Both witnesses and the physical evidence had been devastating. Yet he had never actually believed that he would be convicted, simply because he was innocent. Even when the incriminating files about the online gambling had been found on his computer, he had not wavered in his belief that he would be fully exonerated.
He was not naïve enough to believe that innocent people did not go to prison. But in the military he did not believe that was possible. He had maintained hope throughout until near the end of the proceedings. He had been planning to testify in his own defense, to fight back against the allegations and offer some of his own theories for what had happened.
And then it had arrived.
The envelope had been under his pillow in the cell he was in during the court-martial. He had no idea how it got there.
He had opened it and read the brief contents. The message was clear: Do anything to save yourself and your immediate family will suffer. They will suffer the ultimate punishment.
Well, he had only two immediate family members left. His brother and his father.
He supposed he could have taken the letter to the authorities. It would have perhaps been proof of his innocence, although they could easily claim he had written it himself. But he had never considered doing that.
And thus Puller had not testified. He had accepted his fate. He had been convicted by a panel of his peers and been transferred to the DB. His automatic appeal had been unsuccessful and he had never tried to initiate any others. He had been resigned to living out his days in prison. He was an innocent man behind bars for life. Could there be a worse fate? He had sometimes thought the death penalty might have been better.
He had been rotting in prison for over two years. And now they wanted him dead. They had sent a killer inside the prison as part of an elaborate plan to make sure he was dead. They had failed. He had turned their plan to his advantage.
And now he was free.
They could not communicate with him now. They could not threaten him with the ultimate punishment for his immediate family.
So Robert Puller had decided that this opportunity had come to him for a reason. What he had put away in the back of his head when the threats to his family had surfaced was the fact that if they were trying to falsely accuse him of espionage, then true espionage must have been going on at STRATCOM. And that could do, and might have already done, incalculable damage to America.
Why they had chosen him to implicate was still unknown to Puller. But he was going through the possibilities in his head. And he was certain an answer would emerge.
But he had already reached one conclusion. He had chosen his family over his country, sacrificing himself for their welfare.
Now he was going to choose his country over everything else.
And although his uniform had been taken away from him, he still considered himself a servant of the United States, forever sworn to protect its interests above all others.
And that’s exactly what he intended to do now.
And on top of that was an overwhelming desire to make these sonofabitches finally pay for what they’d done.
CHAPTER
36
NILES ROBINSON NOW worked at a defense contractor in Fairfax. Puller and Knox had met him at his office the next morning. He was a black man in his mid-forties, tall and spare with intelligent brown eyes. He answered their questions readily. He had worked with Robert Puller and thought of him as a friend.
That is until he had seen Puller talking with a man who turned out to be an Iranian agent.
“So you didn’t know he was an agent at the time?” Puller asked.
“No. But I did take pictures of them.”
“Why?” asked Knox sharply.
Robinson gave her a benign stare. “Not to be accused of profiling, but the man was Middle Eastern. And they did seem to be acting furtive.”
“They were in a car, on a public street?”