The Escape (31 page)

H
E DID END
up sending a coded message first, to advise his brother that he wanted to meet. Then he did what he had done before. Drove to Quantico, swapped cars and left via another exit. He drove the rural roads, doubling back and then doubling back again before setting off for his actual destination. His brother’s pickup truck was parked in front of the same motel room door.

He knocked. He saw the swish of curtains and put his hand on the butt of his M11. He said, “Bobby?” And his brother answered, “The coast is clear, Junior.”

Déjà vu.

Puller closed the door behind him, crossed the room, and sat down on the edge of the bed. His brother was on the chair he’d occupied at their last meeting.

“Heard the news?” asked Puller.

Robert nodded. “It’s all over the place. Carter’s dead.”

“And two other guys.”

“Media said a bomb.”

“Media is right. My partner Knox was there. She saw it all. She tried to prevent it. Almost got killed.”

“What exactly did she see?”

Puller gazed sternly at his brother. “I said she almost got
killed
, Bobby. She’s in a hospital bed right now. She wanted to climb out of it, get back to work on this thing. To help try to clear you.”

It seemed to be an unfortunate quirk of his brother’s genius that he did not always grasp the personal side of the equation.

Robert looked thoroughly taken aback. “I’m sorry, John, how is she?”

“She’ll be okay.” He went on to tell his brother what Knox had observed.

“They moved fast, then,” said Robert. “And they had operatives who could get it done on short notice.”

“How do you know this hasn’t been planned for a long time?”

“You met with the man this morning and he’s dead by the early evening.”

“Could be unconnected.”

“We have to deal in probabilities, John. And the clear probability is that the connection is there. A plus B equals C.”

“But when we met with Carter and his sidekick, it was clear that they thought Reynolds was completely innocent. The matter was over and done in their mind.”

“I read your notes on the conversation. They might have said that, but I don’t think they believed it.”

“Based on what?”

“For one they played their hand too strong, John. The head of DTRA is not going to meet with you directly the morning after you had a nightcap with him. He is not going to bring in his chief internal security officer. I happen to know Blair Sullivan. He’s worked all over STRATCOM. If the guy said more than two words to you, or became emotional in any way, it was an act. That’s not what he does. He could see a piano falling toward his head while he was at an outdoor café having lunch and he’d just move to the right and finish his sandwich.”

“But why an act? Why try to deceive us? If they believed what we told them then I don’t get it.”

“Just the act of believing does not mean they wanted to necessarily collaborate with you on this. You’re not one of them. DTRA is a critical agency to this country. They would never want it to appear that they could not appropriately control their employees. And if they have a spy in their midst, that would be dirty laundry that they would most assuredly not air in public.”

“So what would they do?”

“Clean it up from the inside. That’s why Sullivan was there.”

“So they thought Reynolds was dirty?”

“I can’t tell you exactly what they thought, but I can tell you that for an allegation of spying they would not have done a quick financial search the next morning and concluded everything was hunky-dory. This would take some time to complete and they would have gone back over her entire history. She’s at the WMD Center, for God’s sake, John. There is no room for mistakes. And if you found out about the suspect circumstances of her husband’s death, then they could too. They have a whole department of extremely bright people to work on stuff like that.”

“Really? Well, if they were really bright people they wouldn’t have let her do what she’s been doing for probably the past twenty years, would they?”

“People
have
failed at their jobs on this; I would agree with you there.”

“So why did they target Carter so fast?”

“I would imagine at DTRA the scuttlebutt of your meeting with Carter and Sullivan reached Reynolds’s ears.”

“They told me that they had met with Reynolds and informed her of their conclusions.”

“Then there you are. But she must have suspected what I just did. That they weren’t satisfied. And that they were going to keep looking into it. So she made contact with her people. The decision was made to pull the trigger.”

“Damn, like you said, they don’t waste time.”

“The fact that they knew his travel schedule leads me to believe that Reynolds has spies everywhere over there.”

“Spies everywhere at DTRA? Are you serious?”

“Well, at least exceptionally well-placed ones even if they’re not numerous. And if you’re really well positioned the few can accomplish what sometimes the many can’t. A secretary, a clerk, a data manager. Those positions might seem relatively trivial, but they’re at the heart of important information flows.”

“I’m glad you can sit here and analyze this so calmly.”

“There are more spies here than you would ever want to believe, John. And not just in government. The corporate side is filled with them. And many of those come from our so-called allies. They steal our secrets, use them against us, and smile at us while they’re doing it. We’re America, the one-ton gorilla. Everybody hates us.”

“But what if Carter told someone of his suspicions? Wouldn’t his death put a bull’s-eye on Reynolds?”

“Possibly. But things don’t move that fast in the intelligence field. Carter was never in uniform. He’s a scholar and a wonk for the most part.”

“He killed three Taliban in Afghanistan to get away.”

“Granted, but in the intervening years he’s been immersed in academia, for want of a better term. Slow and sure drives the boat. He would have wanted to mull this over, gather and consider additional facts. He brought along Sullivan for his input, surely. Reynolds is at the managerial level at DTRA, with a distinguished record. You do not knee-jerk accuse someone like that without indisputable evidence. Otherwise you’re looking at a lawsuit and a huge black eye for the agency. And Carter could have lost his job.”

Puller shook his head in frustration. “This intelligence world is beyond me, Bobby. I’m used to being able to count on the people wearing the same uniform I do.”

“Now DTRA is not focused on Reynolds. They’re looking for who did this to Carter. And I doubt anyone will seriously believe she had anything to do with it.”

Puller rubbed his temples and said, “We still don’t know why Daughtrey was killed.”

“I think we can reasonably speculate that he was killed because he no longer wanted to play the game. Niles Robinson committed this same act of treachery when he came to Union Station to talk to me. They had followed him, perhaps surmised that I was on the other end of that line, and he paid the ultimate price.”

“Okay, but how did they bring Daughtrey into this in the first place? All I found out about him points to a patriot above reproach.”

“Then we have to find a reason why he would switch sides. It might be very subtle, but obviously enough for a ‘patriot’ to turn tables.”

Puller thought about this. “He has a condo in Pentagon City.”

“Think you can get in there?”

“I can try.”

“I’d like to go with you.”

“Not going to happen, Bobby. Nothing personal, but if I get caught with you, we’re
both
going to DB as fast as they can get us there.”

As Puller rose to go, Bobby said, “I
am
sorry about your friend. Sometimes I’m too damn analytical for my own good.”

Puller smiled weakly at his brother. “Don’t worry about it. Comes with being a genius, I guess.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem like a good enough reason,” said Robert quietly.

T
IM DAUGHTREY’S CONDO
was in an upscale high-rise in Pentagon City. He wasn’t married and had no kids. He seemed to be a man totally focused on his military career. It was a secure building and Puller was stopped in the lobby by a security guard. He pulled his creds and the man looked them over.

“Still don’t think I can let you up, sir. You know what happened to General Daughtrey?”

“Yeah, it’s the reason I’m here. I’m investigating his murder.”

The guard glanced at Puller’s creds again. “But you’re Army, he was Air Force.”

“He was also involved in a multiplatform intelligence operation that cut across all branches.” He paused and inclined his head toward the man. “Sensitive national security parameters,” he added quietly.

The guard looked anxiously toward the elevator bank. “Then maybe I shouldn’t have let him up there.”

“Who?” Puller asked sharply.

“General Daughtrey’s friend.”

“This friend have a name?”

“Charles Abernathy.”

“And what is he doing up there?”

“Getting some things.”

Puller looked incredulous. “I’m not understanding this. Why let a friend up there if you’re giving me a hard time?”

“Well, he actually lives there, sometimes. With General Daughtrey.”

“I thought Daughtrey owned the condo.”

“It’s actually held in the name of a corporation, and Mr. Abernathy is an officer of the corporation and entitled to come and go. At least that’s what my paperwork tells me. It’s all authorized and everything. He’s been here more than General Daughtrey, actually.”

Puller glanced toward the elevator bank and then gazed down at the guard’s nameplate. “Look, Officer Haynes.”

“I’m not a real cop, just a rental. Call me Haynie.”

“Okay, Haynie. I’m not looking to get anybody in trouble. But an Air Force general was murdered under very suspicious circumstances. There’s a friend up in his apartment doing God knows what. I’m not sure that should be allowed.”

Haynes was looking more and more nervous.

Puller continued, “I need to get up there, see what this man is doing, and try to preserve any evidence. Have the police been here yet?”

“They might have come while I wasn’t here. We’re supposed to write it down, but some of the guards don’t give a crap. They’re just collecting a paycheck.”

“Which makes it all the more critical that I get up there. We are talking national security, Haynie. This is not a game. So what are you going to do?”

Haynie snatched a key off a hook behind his console. “Follow me, sir.”

He led Puller over to the elevator bank and used his key card to engage one of the cars. He handed Puller the key.

“His condo is 945. This is a master key. It’ll open it right up.”

Puller took the key. “Thanks.”

“Yes sir.” Haynes gave Puller an awkward salute just before the doors closed.

Puller reached the ninth floor and sped down the hall toward Daughtrey’s condo. He held the door key in one hand and kept his other hand on the butt of his holstered M11. He reached the door of the apartment, glanced up and down the length of the hall, and found it clear. He put his ear to the door and listened. He couldn’t hear anything other than the hum of the air-conditioning.

He slipped the key into the lock and turned it, easing the door open as quietly as possible and drawing out his pistol at the same time. He closed the door behind him, bent low, and listened again.

Nothing.

He looked around. The condo was large and the tastefulness of the decoration and how everything just seemed to go together surprised him. He didn’t think a hard-charging career-oriented general would have had the time to fill a space out like that.

He moved forward, keeping low. He had thought about announcing himself, but something in his gut told him that would not be a good idea. If this guy was in on the plot with Daughtrey, he might panic and open fire like Macri had done with Knox. Puller didn’t mind using his weapon. But he liked
not
using his weapon better, just like any soldier.

He passed through the kitchen, which looked like a place where a five-star chef would feel right at home cutting up vegetables. His feet sank into thick carpet and his eye was caught by unique pieces of art on the wall and equally imaginative sculptures resting on tables and pedestals.

There were leather-bound books lining floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases. The furnishings looked relatively new unless they were obviously antiques, and the finishes—wood, chrome, stone, and bronze—looked very expensive. Too expensive maybe for even a one-star’s pocketbook. Had Daughtrey done it, like Reynolds, for the money?

He ducked lower when he heard the sound, training his gun’s muzzle down the hallway from where the noise was coming. He scooted forward, keeping low and at an angle to the door he was heading toward.

As he approached the room, the noise took on a more distinctive quality, like a garbled transmission becoming clearer as the frequency grew stronger.

He reached the doorway and decided to do a quick peek in.

It was a bedroom, his fast glance told him. And there was apparently someone in there.

A second look confirmed that the room was indeed occupied. The man sat on the bed. His head was bowed. He was holding something in his hands.

And the sound Puller had heard was quite clear now.

The man was crying.

No, actually he was sobbing.

Puller eased into the room, confirmed that the man was not armed, and then holstered his pistol.

“Mr. Abernathy?” he called out, his hand still on the butt of his weapon.

The man jumped up so fast that what he was holding fell to the floor. Luckily the floor was thickly carpeted, or else it might have cracked.

“Who…who are you?” Abernathy said in a quavering voice as he backed away.

He was a slender man, barely a hundred and forty pounds, and maybe five-six in his shoes. He was dressed in blue slacks, leather shoes with no socks, and a patterned shirt. His sports jacket had a pocket handkerchief that matched the shirt. A Tag Heuer watch was on his left wrist. His hair was thinning but was professionally styled and swept back off his forehead and held there with gel. He was clean-shaven and his light blue, intelligent eyes were streaked with red.

Puller held out his creds. “I’m a military investigator. Chief Warrant Officer John Puller, United States Army, 701st CID out of Quantico.”

The man glanced at the CID shield and the ID card but didn’t seem to really register on either.

“I…I guess you’re here about Tim,” he said in a hollow voice.

“General Daughtrey, yes.”

“Someone killed him.”

“I’m aware of that. And how do you know General Daughtrey?”

Abernathy wouldn’t meet his eye. “We were friends…Good friends.”

“I understand that you two co-owned this condo.”

Abernathy looked taken aback that Puller knew this.

“The guard downstairs told me. That’s why he let you up here.”

Abernathy slowly nodded, bent down, and picked up the framed photograph he’d been holding.

Puller drew closer and said, “May I?” indicating the photo.

Abernathy said resignedly, “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Puller took the photo. It was of Daughtrey, who was out of uniform, and Abernathy in a friendly embrace, their gazes on each other. They looked like a nice couple. Happy, relaxed. Very much into each other.

Puller glanced up at him. “I take it you two were close…friends?”

Abernathy gave a noiseless laugh. “Let’s not beat around the bush anymore, okay? I’m really done with that shit, pardon my language. We were a lot more than friends.”

“I see.”

“Then you can understand why we had to keep things under the radar.”

“DADT isn’t the law anymore, sir,” said Puller, referring to Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.

“Isn’t it?” Abernathy said skeptically. “Well, for one-stars fighting their way up the ranks it might as well be an elephant chained around their ankles. You’re in the military. You know that as well as anyone. How many generals have come out recently?”

“One that I can think of. An Army reservist promoted to brigadier general a couple of years ago.”

“A woman,” pointed out Abernathy. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled for her. Absolutely thrilled. But I didn’t see any male officers rushing to join that gay parade.”

“No sir, at least not yet.”

“Maybe not ever.”

“They’re starting to come forward in professional sports, basketball, even football. If it can happen in the NFL, then you never know.”

“The military is a different beast. I’ve certainly learned that lesson.”

“So, General Daughtrey and you? Can you tell me about your personal life?”

“Why?” snapped Abernathy. But he quickly calmed. “I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s just a very difficult time for me.”

“I can completely understand that, sir. And what you tell me will go no further. I’m just asking because it might help my investigation. That’s all.”

Abernathy nodded and wiped at his eyes, composed himself, and sat down in a chair. “We’ve been together for about ten years. Ten great years. But all in secret. We even bought this condo under the name of a corporation. We don’t appear in public together. I will receive no benefits now that Tim’s dead. Not that I care about that. I’m a partner in a large law practice. I’ve made my pile of money, far more than Tim. Hell, I paid for most of the things in this place, and did the design myself. You see, I didn’t really want to be a lawyer. I wanted to be the next Ralph Lauren. But life doesn’t always work out how you want it.”

He eyed the floor. “But it’s the principle of the thing, really. I have no rights whatsoever. I won’t even be able to attend his burial at Arlington. No one will present me with a flag. His parents will get that, even though they’ve had nothing to do with him for years. I helped vet his speeches. Helped him prepare for every promotion review. Cooked for him and looked after him when he was sick. And just so you know, he did as much for me. We traveled together. We vacationed together, but always with the sword of Damocles over us. Meaning we got to the places separately and left them separately. When people asked about my presence, we told them I was his old friend,” he added bitterly. “Friggin’ old friend.” His laugh turned to a sob.

“I can see how hard that must have been,” said Puller.

Abernathy looked up at him. “This is 2014, not 1914. It just doesn’t make sense to me that other people can dictate who I can or can’t openly love. It’s disgraceful.”

Puller handed the photo back and looked around the space. “Did you come up here to collect some things?”

“Some incriminating things, you mean? Yes, I suppose I did. I never did anything to embarrass Tim while he was alive. I certainly won’t do so now that he’s gone. I loved him very much.”

“I’m sure he would appreciate that.”

Abernathy glanced sharply at Puller. “Are you closer to finding his killer? Please tell me you are. Tim was the sweetest guy. I know he wore the uniform, but he was as gentle as they come.”

“I think it’ll only be a matter of time. And I promise that I will do all I can to catch the person who killed him.”

He eyed Puller keenly. “Thank you, I believe you will.”

“Can you answer a few more questions for me?”

“Like what?” Abernathy asked warily.

“Did you at any point notice a change in General Daughtrey’s attitude?”

“How so?”

“Did he start to seem more nervous? Would he get upset more easily? Did he appear to be holding things back from you?”

Abernathy was nodding before Puller even finished the question. “Hell, all of those things. I kept asking him what was wrong. He just wasn’t himself. But he could never bring himself to tell me. At first I was terrified that he had found someone else. But that wasn’t it. I would’ve known. He was just as affectionate. But there was a wall he’d built that I couldn’t get through. I mean, I was used to his keeping secrets from me because of his work. That was normal.”

“But this was different?”

“Yes. His work-related secrets were par for the course. This other stuff, well, it seemed to me that they were
guilty
secrets. Things he was ashamed of. That would not have been associated with his work. He was one of the good guys.”

“Did he ever mention any incident that prompted this? Any names?”

“No, not really. He did say once that there was a heavy price to be paid for keeping our secret. And that maybe that price was too high.”

“Interesting choice of words. Do you recall roughly when this new secretiveness started?”

“I can tell you exactly because we had a big argument about it. He had been reassigned to STRATCOM. A command component of it, anyway, I think they call it.”

“ISR?” supplied Puller.

“Right, that’s exactly right. ISR. It was over at Bolling Air Force Base in Anacostia, so at least the assignment was local. Before that he’d been stationed in Louisiana, and before that in North Dakota where the nearest town had fewer people than live in this condo building.”

“So what was the argument about?”

“Well, he had always told me he wanted to go in a different career direction in the Air Force. I thought he had decided to turn this offer down and accept another that he was up for. Tim was a super-bright guy. Lots of folks wanted him in their command.”

“But he changed his mind?”

“To tell the truth, I think someone changed it for him. So off he went to this new place.”

“So this was about two years ago?”

“A little over, but that’s right.”

“Did he ever mention a soldier that he was, in essence, replacing in that job?”

“No, he never did. I do know that he hated being at ISR. He traveled a lot. He was meeting with people in out-of-the-way places.”

“He told you this?”

“Yes. He never gave me any content or context, but it was like he had this powerful need to just, well, confide something in someone.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Yes, he did. Something strange given all he had done up to that point.”