Zero Day

by David Baldacci

  MASON LOOKED OVER at the sixth man standing next to the Malibu. He waved him forward. The man was in his middle fifties, dressed in slacks and a light windbreaker though the air was warm and there was no breeze. He had a SIG nine-millimeter held loosely in his right hand. He was two inches shorter than Puller but about twenty pounds heavier. He looked rock solid, mean, and ready to kill.

  Mason said, “This is Sergei, Puller. He was in the Soviet army. He specializes in pain, creating it in others, that is. He’s going to take you somewhere and work on you, show you some of his techniques. He’s really the best at what he does.”

  Puller gazed over at the other man, who looked back at him with a superior expression.

  Puller said, “Soviet army? You guys can’t fight worth shit. You let a bunch of desert farmers kick your ass in Afghanistan.”

  Sergei’s confident look went away and was replaced with a murderous one.

  Mason said, “I’m not sure that was your smartest move, Puller.”

  “Did I hurt your feelings, Sergei? Were you one of the guys who didn’t have the balls to carry a rifle? Did they keep you at the rear to work over the guys who couldn’t fight?”

  Sergei looked even more unhinged. Which was Puller’s purpose behind the taunts. Pissed-off people made mistakes. Puller edged a step closer.

  Mason said, “Let me give you the rundown, Puller. We’re going to take you to a place where Sergei is going to inflict some real pain on you while I watch. And then we’re going to put you out of your pain permanently. I tried to take you out twice before with bombs, but missed both times. But the third time, as they say, is the charm.”

  Puller swung his arms wide and used this movement to distract their attention from him taking two more steps forward. He said, “So that’s the plan? Hope you didn’t spend much time thinking up that one, Joe, because it really sucks.”

  “It works just fine for me. And then I have contingency plans, Puller. I always do. Strauss in the federal bag or not, I’m out of here. And don’t even think about putting up a fight. We’ll shoot you right here if you do.”

  Puller shrugged. “Well then, let’s get this over with. I’ve got stuff to do today.”

  Before Sergei could even bring his gun up Puller struck. His iPod’s edge had been filed down to the sharpness of a Ranger KA-BAR knife.

  A second later the entire front of Sergei’s neck was gutted. The Russian fell back against the car, blood pouring down his chest. Puller grabbed Sergei by the collar, swung him around, and knocked the gun out of Mason’s hand. He let the Russian drop to the ground to finish bleeding out. In the next flash of movement he wrapped one arm around Joe Mason’s neck, spun around, lifted the man off his feet, and drove his head right through the windshield of the Malibu.

  Mason lay sprawled on the hood, his head a bloody, pulpy mess. Puller didn’t know if he was dead or not. And he didn’t care.

  He leaned close to the man and said quietly, “That was for Sergeant Samantha Cole.”

  He turned to look at Mason’s remaining men. They were pointing their weapons at him but seemed frozen by the utter ferocity of his attack.

  They wouldn’t be frozen for long.

  Twenty Army Rangers appeared out of nowhere, in full cammie gear, their MP5s pointed at the four men. Five-to-one kill ratio. The odds of victory for the four were zero.

  They dropped their weapons immediately.

  As they were being cuffed, Mason pulled free from the windshield, and Sergei placed in a body bag, General Julie Carson emerged from the woods. She checked on Mason and walked over next to Puller. She handed him a bottle of water.

  “Figured you worked up a sweat.”

  “With the run, yeah. And thanks for giving me a little ‘alone’ time with Mason.”

  “No, thank you. I enjoyed watching.”

  “Is Mason dead?”

  “No. He has a pulse. It’s pretty weak, though.”

  “Tell the ambulance to take its time.”

  She smiled. “Roger that.”

  “Not that we needed it, but I’m assuming you got all that recorded?”

  Carson held up a flash drive. “You know how seriously the United States Army takes surveillance. Although, I do think we might conveniently lose the footage of you taking the Russian and Mason out. I mean, who needs to know about that?”

  He smiled. “I guess I didn’t expect that sort of nuance from you, General Carson.”

  She returned the smile. “I have a few surprises. And we’re off the clock, so it’s Julie.”

  “Okay, Julie.”

  She watched the men being driven off. “I guess it was all for the money.”

  “Guess so. The nukes?”

  “They’re not on the market yet, so we’ll get them. That’s all these guys have to bargain with to escape the death penalty now.”

  Puller looked over at his damaged car. “Guess I can’t drive that.”

  “Not to worry. I’ll give you a lift.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And maybe we can have that drink.”

  “Maybe we can.”

  CHAPTER

  96

  PULLER SAID, “You’re a hero, Bobby. You saved a town, probably an entire state.”

  He was seated across from his brother at USDB.

  Robert Puller appeared to be trying hard to hide his pleasure at this statement. It was the first time at USDB that Puller had ever seen his brother wear an expression approaching pride.

  “Did they deliver the commendation to you?”

  Robert nodded. “A first for USDB. Not sure they knew what to do.”

  “I bet.”

  “I’m sorry about your friend, Sam Cole.”

  “And I’m sorry they didn’t see fit to commute your sentence.”

  “Did you really expect them to? The military does not second-guess itself. That would be tantamount to admitting a mistake, and the military doesn’t do that either.”

  Puller reached across and shook his brother’s hand, ignoring the glare from the MP on duty. “You saved my ass.”

  “That’s what big brothers are for.”

  For most of the flight home Puller stared out the window. When the plane soared over West Virginia the pilot came on the PA. He told them where they were and added that he was from Bluefield, which he declared was the prettiest place in the country. Puller began to read the in-flight magazine and tuned out the man’s words.

  He picked up his repaired Malibu at the airport and drove to his apartment. AWOL greeted him, and he spent a few minutes giving the cat some attention. He looked out at the tiny courtyard visible from his kitchen window. This made him think, for some reason, about Sam Cole’s picture-perfect backyard with its fountain where they had sat together and talked. He touched his cheek where she had kissed him. He wondered if he had been wrong to turn down Sam Cole’s not-so-subtle invitation into her bed. But then he finally concluded that it had been the right thing to do at the time, for both of them. Although he had always thought there would be other times with the woman.

  But what were the odds, really? That he would have lived. And she would have died. That chunk of concrete could have just as easily hit him. Or a tree. Or a deer. But it had chosen to hit Sam Cole and end her life.

  A person could explain it away by saying it just wasn’t his time yet. Puller had done it himself after dodging death on the battlefield. Other guys had died. He hadn’t. But for him that wasn’t explanation enough. Not this time. He wasn’t sure why it was different in this instance, but he just knew that it was.

  He put AWOL aside and reported to CID at Quantico. He wrote up his reports and talked to the people he needed to talk to. He was told that a promotion was forthcoming that would enable him to jump two spaces in the military hierarchy instead of merely one, an unheard-of opportunity.

  He turned it down on the spot.

  His SAC spent a long time trying to talk him out of it.

  “Other guys would kill for this.”


  “Then let the other guys have it.”

  “I don’t get you, Puller, I really don’t.”

  “I know, sir. Sometimes I don’t get myself.”

  He had cleaned up his desk, returned a few emails, met with some superiors so they could be “in the loop,” and then he decided he was done with the Army for a while. He had leave saved up. He wanted to take it. There wasn’t an officer in the ranks who would have denied the request. People who had helped avoid nuclear holocaust on home soil could pretty much do what they wanted.

  Within reason.

  This was the U.S. military after all.

  He went home, packed up some things and his cat, loaded the Malibu, and set out. He had no map, no plan, no destination. It was just a CID special agent on the loose with his trusty comrade, AWOL. The cat rode in the backseat like he was being chauffeured. Puller was glad to play the role.

  They left at midnight because Puller preferred roaming in the dark. He found a road heading west and took it. By dawn he had covered over three hundred miles without stopping to even take a leak. When he did stop to stretch and relieve himself, gas up, buy the biggest coffee they had, and let AWOL out, he found he was well into West Virginia. Not Drake, another part. He wasn’t going back to Drake. There was nothing there for him, if there ever had been.

  He didn’t want to see the Bunker again, what was left of it.

  He didn’t want to see the Trents and the Coles, what were left of them.

  He would carry Sam Cole in his memories for as long as he had them. Of that he was sure. Being around her had made him a better cop. And a better person. He would miss her for the rest of his life. Of that he was also sure.

  He would come back to the Army and return to his duties catching people who did bad things. For some reason, he felt that he would come back stronger than ever. It was a nice feeling. He believed he owed that one to Sam Cole too.

  He opened the door and AWOL jumped back into the car. Puller settled himself in his seat, shifted the Malibu to drive, and said, “Ready to roll, AWOL?”

  The cat meowed its approval.

  Puller eased back onto the road and then gunned it.

  He swept down the road, moving fast, flowing smoothly.

  And then he was gone, like he had never even been there.

  After all, it was true.

  You couldn’t kill what you couldn’t see coming.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  TO MICHELLE, the ride continues.

  To Mitch Hoffman, for helping me to continue to see the light.

  To David Young, Jamie Raab, Emi Battaglia, Jennifer Romanello, Tom Maciag, Martha Otis, Chris Barba, Karen Torres, Anthony Goff, Lindsey Rose, Bob Castillo, Michele McGonigle, and all at Grand Central Publishing, who support me in every way.

  To Aaron and Arleen Priest, Lucy Childs Baker, Lisa Erbach Vance, Nicole James, Frances Jalet-Miller, and John Richmond, for being with me step for step.

  To Maja Thomas, the empress of ebooks.

  To Anthony Forbes Watson, Jeremy Trevathan, Maria Rejt, Trisha Jackson, Katie James, Aimee Roche, Becky Ikin, Lee Dibble, Sophie Portas, Stuart Dwyer, Anna Bond, and Michelle Kirk at Pan Macmillan, for helping me hit my highest numbers ever in the UK.

  To Ron McLarty and Orlagh Cassidy, for giving superb voice to my stories.

  To Steven Maat at Bruna, for taking me to the # 1 spot in Holland.

  To Bob Schule, for your eagle eye.

  To Anshu Guleria, M.D., for sound medical advice.

  To the charity auction winners, Matthew Reynolds, Bill Strauss, and Jean Trent, I hope you enjoyed your characters.

  To the Fort Benning crew who were so generous with their time and expertise: Maj. Gen. Bob and Patti Brown, Command Sgt. Maj. Chris Hardy, Command Sgt. Maj. Steven McClaflin, Lt. Col. Selby Rollinson (Ret.), Susan Berry, Col. Sean McCaffrey, Col. Terry McKenrick, Col. Greg Camp (Ret.), Lt. Col. Jay Bartholomees, Lt. Col. Kyle Feger, Lt. Col. Mike Junot, Lt. Col. David Koonce, Lt. Col. Todd Zollinger, Maj. Joe Ruzicka, Capt. Matthew Dusablon, Chief Warrant Officer 4 Larry Turso, Chief Warrant Officer 3 Jose Aponte, Chief Warrant Officer 2 Shawn Burke, Special Agent Joseph Leary, Special Agent Jason Waters, Special Agent Jason Huggins, Sgt. 1ST Class Steve Lynn, Staff Sgt. Shawn Goodwill, Nora Bennett, Terri Panco, and Courtland Pegan.

  To Tom Colson, for your CID expertise.

  To Bill Chadwell, for taking me through the intricacies of the Pentagon.

  To Col. Marguerite Garrison (Ret.), for doing the same.

  To Michael Furey, for your valuable help.

  To Christine Craig, for walking me through USACIL.

  To Bill Colwell and Rear Adm. John Faigle, USCG (Ret.), for introducing me to the wonderful Army and Navy Club.

  To Maj. Gen. Karl Horst, for a great dinner and conversation.

  To Dave and Karen Halverson, for the use of your last name.

  To Timothy Imholt, you know why.

  To Kristen and Natasha, because I’d be lost without you.

  A special welcome to Erin Race as she joins the Columbus Rose team.

  A wish for a great retirement to Lynette and Art, and heartfelt thanks for a job well done.

  And last but far from least, to Roland Ottewell for another great editing job.