Zero Day

by David Baldacci

  they needed was a gun to match them to.

  Wellman had been struck on the head hard enough to cause unconsciousness. His life had not been ended by a broken neck. That required a considerable drop that the low ceiling in the basement could not provide. Instead, Wellman had suffered a slow asphyxiation.

  Cole and Puller leaned against her car. She slid out a cigarette and lit up.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Puller,” she said. “I just sat through seven bodies being cut up. It’s stressful.”

  “They didn’t leave much behind,” he said.

  “You have any ideas?”

  “None that work all the way through right now.”

  She checked her watch. “Dinner at my sister’s.”

  “Why does she want me there?”

  “I don’t know, other than you’re younger, taller, and fitter than her husband.”

  “So you’re saying she cheats on him?”

  “I’m not saying anything, because I don’t know. Roger’s gone a lot.”

  “She didn’t seem overly concerned about the death threats.”

  “Roger is not a popular guy. I guess you get desensitized to it.”

  “She might be, but he clearly isn’t. He was both pissed and scared.”

  “Well, he’s the target, not her.”

  “True.”

  “I can drop you off at your car and then pick you up at the motel. Give us both time to shower and change. I need to scrub hard to get the smell of death off me.”

  “I don’t think anyone can scrub that hard.”

  “I’m sure as hell going to try.”

  CHAPTER

  34

  PULLER DROVE straight to the post office, which was a few minutes away from Annie’s Motel. He arrived right before it closed for the day. He mailed off the boxes via priority shipping to Atlanta and then focused on the young woman behind the counter, who gazed up at him expectantly.

  He flashed his cred pack to her. “I’m with the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division.”

  “I know you are,” she said back.

  “How’s that?” he asked.

  “Small town. And you’re too big to miss.”

  “I need to find out about a delivery.”

  “What delivery?”

  He explained about the certified mail package Howard Reed had delivered on Monday to the Reynoldses but in care of the Halversons’ address.

  She nodded. “Howard mentioned that to me this morning when he came in to get his delivery load.”

  “It’s really important that we find out where the package came from.”

  The young woman gazed behind her. “I really should get my supervisor involved with this.”

  “Okay.”

  “But he’s gone for the day.”

  Puller put his big hands on the counter. “What’s your name?”

  “Sandy. Sandy Dreidel.”

  “Okay, Sandy, let me lay it out for you. This delivery might be very important in finding out who killed those people. The longer we wait the farther away they get. All I need is the name and address of who sent the package, that’s all.”

  “I understand that. But we have policies and procedures.”

  Puller suddenly grinned. “I understand that. I’m in the Army. For every policy the post office has, the Army has ten, guaranteed.”

  Sandy smiled back. “Sure thing. I bet you’re right.”

  “But there is a way to find out the information?”

  “Well, yes. We have records.”

  “Probably just a few clicks of that computer there will tell you.”

  Sandy looked embarrassed. “Well, we don’t have everything in computers just yet. But we have log books in the back.”

  Puller held out his notebook and a pen. “If you could take a couple of minutes and just write the name and address down here, that could really help us find whoever killed all those people.”

  Sandy hesitated, glanced over Puller’s shoulder and through the window overlooking the street, and then took the items from him.

  It took her five minutes, but she returned with the notebook and pen and handed them to Puller. He glanced down at what she’d written and then looked up.

  “This is a big help, Sandy. I really appreciate it.”

  “But you won’t tell anybody I did it,” she said worriedly.

  “No one will ever find out from me.”

  Back at his motel room, Puller studied the name and address that Sandy had written down for him.

  The company name he didn’t recognize. The address was Ohio. He did a Google search on his laptop and pulled up the company’s home page. When he saw what the firm did he wondered if he finally had a break in this case. If he did, it wasn’t that obvious. He phoned the number on the home page but only received a recorded response. The company was closed and would reopen tomorrow morning at nine.

  Stymied for the moment, Puller called the hospital where the motel owner Louisa had been taken. He couldn’t find anyone who would tell him her condition, but he did purchase a vase of flowers from the hospital gift shop, paying for it with his credit card. On the card he had them write, “Cat is fine. Hope you are too. Your good egg, Puller.”

  He put the phone down, stripped off his clothes, and stepped in the shower. The Army taught you to wash fast and dress faster, so he was dry and clothed five minutes later.

  He was just sliding his M11 into the front holster when he saw it.

  Someone had slipped a piece of paper under the door to his room.

  He immediately checked the window next to the door. He could see no one. The little courtyard was empty of both cars and people. He stripped the pillowcase off one of the bed pillows, knelt down, and used the pillowcase to pick up the paper.

  He turned it over. The writing was laser print. The message was straightforward.

  I know things you need to know.

  There was an address listed.

  And then there was one more word printed.

  Now.

  Puller used the map app on his phone to find the location. From where he was it was a fifteen-minute ride by car. That would probably put him even more in the middle of nowhere than he already was.

  Perfect place for an ambush.

  Long-range shot.

  Or shotgun at close range.

  Or ten guys on one. Maybe Dickie and his big friend with the broken nose had decided to get even and would be bringing necessary reinforcements this time.

  Puller looked down at his phone. He could call Cole and fill her in. He probably should. He hit the numbers. The phone rang. Went to voice mail. She was probably still in the shower scrubbing death off her.

  He left a message telling her about this latest development. He gave her the address he’d been given and then clicked off.

  He made one more call, to his friend Kristen Craig at USACIL. He gave the lady a heads-up on what he was sending and what results he was hoping for from the lab.

  “How’re things coming on the laptop and the briefcase?” he asked her. “Did you get read into it by DIA?”

  “We did,” she answered. “But I have to tell you, I’m disappointed so far.”

  “Why?”

  “His briefcase had an old sandwich, a few private-sector business cards, and a couple of magazines. The only report in there wasn’t even classified.”

  “And the laptop?”

  “A little porn and a whole lot of nothing else. I mean, he had work stuff on there, but nothing that would have caused the collapse of Western civilization as we know it if the bad guys got hold of it.”

  “DIA know this?”

  “Of course. They’re DIA. They had someone come to the lab.”

  “Porn, huh?”

  “We find that on military laptops all the time, you know that. And this stuff wasn’t hardcore. Just crap you can watch in your hotel room and not see the title on the bill the next morning. Barely titillating with awful production values. But then I
’m not a guy.”

  “Women have far higher standards. So why all the sirens going off from SecArm?”

  “Hey, I’m just a tech; you’re the investigator,” she said in a playful tone.

  He clicked off, pondered this; glanced down at the note, pondered that.

  He waited for Cole to call him back. She didn’t.

  He locked the motel room door on his way out.

  He fired up the Malibu, popped the address he’d been given into his GPS, and drove off.

  CHAPTER

  35

  ONE RUSTED, leaning mailbox.

  Puller passed by the mailbox and the dirt road that it fronted.

  Woods on both sides.

  He was surprised a place like this had an address that could be found on his GPS. Big Brother really did have all the info.

  He parked a quarter of a mile down, got out, and entered the woods. He worked his way back west. He eyed the small house from behind a stand of trees. In the distance he could hear the distinct sound of a rattlesnake warning someone of its presence.

  Puller didn’t move. He just squatted there, eyeing the place.

  There was an old truck out front. The guts of another truck rested on the far side of the house. There appeared to be a garage behind the house. Its single door was closed. The place didn’t look like it had been recently inhabited. It wasn’t dark enough yet for lights to have to be on in the house, though the surrounding woods threw everything into a jumble of shadows.

  No sounds. No people.

  He continued to squat, continued to contemplate what to do.

  It was apparent that someone who lived this far away from the murders probably had not seen anything. But they might know something. Like the note had said.

  So the analysis came down to a possible lead or someone looking to do him harm. Either revenge from Dickie and company, or a counterattack from someone looking to derail his investigation.

  He had put his phone on vibrate. It did.

  He looked at the screen, answered it in a low voice.

  “Where are you, Puller?” Cole asked.

  “At the address. In the woods to the east of the house. Where are you?”

  “West of it in the woods.”

  “Great minds. See anything? I’ve got zip over here.”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who lives in the place?”

  “No.”

  “There wasn’t a name on the mailbox.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Find out why we’re here.”

  “How do you want to do this?”

  “How about we keep it simple. I come in from the east and you come in from the west. Stop at the tree line and check back in.”

  He put his phone away and moved forward. His M11 was out and pointing the way. He assumed Cole’s Cobra was doing the same to the west.

  A minute later his phone vibrated.

  “In place,” Cole said. “What now?”

  Puller didn’t respond right away. He was taking in what he was looking at grid by grid. The Taliban and al-Qaeda had been very clever about leading American soldiers into traps. They could find ways to make something actually very deadly look entirely innocuous. Children, women, pets.

  “Puller?”

  “Give me a minute.”

  He took a few steps forward. He called out. “Hello? Anybody in there?”

  No answer. He hadn’t really expected one.

  He took two more steps forward until he was clear of the tree line. But he kept the old truck between him and the house.

  He spoke into his phone. “Can you see me?”

  “Yes. But just barely.”

  “See anything on your side?”

  “No. I don’t think this place is lived in. Hell, it looks ready to fall in.”

  “Ever been down this way?”

  “Only going somewhere else. Never even noticed this road before. What do you think is going on?”

  “Stay put. I’m going to try something.”

  He slipped the phone into his pocket and edged forward until he had a sightline on the front porch. He looked up and then down, side to side. Then he looked down again. From his jacket pocket he pulled a scope that he’d taken from his rucksack.

  He looked through it, adjusting the optics until he had a clear look at the front porch. He looked up, down, side to side. And then he came back to the down part.

  He slipped out his phone, wedged it against his ear. “Sit tight and keep down.”

  “What do you see? What are you going to do?”

  “You’ll hear it loud and clear in about five seconds if it is what I think it is.”

  “Puller—”

  But he’d already put the phone away.

  He attached the scope to the top of his M11.

  He gave one more look around. “Hello, it’s John Puller. You asked me to come here. I’d like to talk.”

  He waited five more seconds. Did they think he was just going to walk right up to the front door?

  He lifted his gun and took aim through the scope. His muzzle was pointed at the front-porch floorboards.

  He fired three times in rapid succession. Pieces of the decking shot into the air. He heard the ping of metal on metal.

  That could only mean one thing. He’d been right. He crouched down.

  The front door blew open. The shotgun blast ripped the old fragile wood cleanly. Anyone standing in front of it would have been obliterated.

  Anyone being me, thought Puller.

  “Jesus!”