Daylight

by David Baldacci

  “To get fully back, you mean?”

  Robert dropped his gaze. “To . . . just get better, John.”

  When he looked up his brother was staring dead at him.

  “What are you not telling me?” said Puller.

  “I’ve told you everything I know. You may make a full and complete recovery—”

  “—but I may not.”

  “Can you predict the future? Because that gift somehow missed me.”

  “Good thing I shoot right-handed, then.”

  “You’re not going to be shooting anything for the foreseeable future. Seriously, little brother, if you want a decent chance at getting all the way back, you have to follow doctor’s orders.”

  Puller looked away. “You said you stopped at Driscoll?”

  “What?”

  Puller glanced at his brother. “Driscoll was low-hanging fruit.”

  “I just wanted to find a contact to help you with the investigation.”

  “Can you do another search, same sort of parameters, and see what else you get?”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “If Driscoll is involved in this in some way, what if he’s just the tip of the iceberg?”

  CHAPTER

  50

  PINE SHADOWED THE MAN and took his photo when he turned around to cross an intersection.

  Then he walked into an office building.

  A government building. A federal government building.

  Pine waited a few seconds and then stepped up to the door, peered through the glass, and then opened it. At the security checkpoint she flashed her badge and creds to the officer there. She watched as the man got on the elevator and the doors closed.

  “Excuse me, but the guy who just came through here and got on that elevator?”

  “Yes, what about him?” asked the officer, a woman in her forties with short brown hair and a friendly expression.

  “I could have sworn he was an old friend of mine. Special Agent Simon King, used to operate out of Newark?”

  “No, that’s Adam Gorman.”

  “Is he FBI?”

  “No, no, he’s head of security for Congresswoman Nora Franklin. She’s from an upstate district, but she has an office suite here she shares with some other politicos.”

  “Franklin? I know that name. She’s a pretty big deal, right?” said Pine.

  The woman smiled. “She’s the ranking member on the House Ways and Means Committee. They write the checks, so yeah, a pretty big deal, all right.”

  “Is she in her office today?”

  “Yes, she came in about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Well, Gorman is a twin for my buddy King. Sorry to trouble you.”

  “No problem. You have a good day.”

  Pine turned and left. She walked halfway down the block and Googled Gorman.

  She found out he was born in Austria and had been a police officer and then a member of military intelligence there. He had immigrated to the United States when he was twenty-nine. He was now forty-eight and had earned a master’s degree in political science from NYU. He had worked on political campaigns and briefly at a K Street lobbying operation in DC.

  So a big-deal congresswoman had a former Austrian intelligence officer turned security chief who one night had masqueraded as a Trenton cop and murdered Jerome Blake.

  And what do I do about that? It’s really my word against his. John didn’t get that good a look at him and is in a hospital bed. Jerome is dead and can’t say. But I’m betting Adam Gorman was the guy who met with Jerome at school that day. And that means he knew all about Jewel and the encounters in the penthouse, a fact reinforced by the man’s having just come out of the place.

  She looked at her phone. She had Gorman’s photo and his image from her Google search. And the last time they had met, Peanut had given her his phone number. She texted him the article on Gorman along with the photo and an accompanying message. Then she walked up and down the street waiting for his reply.

  Fifteen minutes later it popped up on her screen.

  Yeah, that’s the dude.

  Okay, at least it was confirmed in her mind. But it was still not enough. Peanut would not carry any weight with a prosecutor against a “respected” man like Gorman. And Pine really had no hard proof that he was the man who had shot Jerome, just a brief meeting in a dark alley under incredibly stressful conditions, or so would say the defense attorney.

  She next Googled Nora Franklin. The face that popped up on the Wikipedia page was an attractive blond woman in her midforties. She had an impressive résumé. Born and raised in Colorado, she went to UVA undergrad, and law school at Duke. Her father, at seventy-three, was a long-serving and respected judge on the Fourth Circuit Court of Appeals. After law school she had moved to New York City and worked for a small law firm specializing in employment law and representing mostly workers. Then she moved to upstate New York, and then ran for city council. After that she had run a congressional campaign and won on her first try.

  Since then she had won five more terms in Congress and made a swift run up the ladder. Her being the ranking member on Ways and Means at a relatively young age had surprised some, the article said, but she had been a loyal foot soldier and impressed leadership with her skills and knowledge. If the House flipped in the next election, she was expected to become one of the youngest chairpersons of arguably the most powerful committee in Congress. She had traveled widely, the article said. She had married young, but it had ended in divorce. According to her official bio she had practiced law only a few years. Pine checked an online database that listed the net worths of members of Congress. She was surprised that Franklin was listed as having a net worth of over twenty million dollars. After practicing law for a short period and in a field that was not known for huge payoffs for attorneys?

  So where the hell had that kind of money come from?

  Her phone buzzed. It was Sandy Wyatt from the Bureau.

  “Hey, Atlee. I made some calls and checked some sources. As far as I can tell, NYPD has put a lid on this thing.”

  “I know they don’t release vics’ names until the next of kin are notified. But they’ve surely had time to do that by now.”

  “Only thing I can figure is maybe Driscoll asked them to hold it for some reason. And for him they probably would.”

  “Okay, thanks, I owe you.” Pine put her phone away and pondered what to do next. She could stake out the building and follow Gorman to wherever he went next. But she had no idea how long it would be before the man came out of the building. And she couldn’t call in another FBI agent, because she wasn’t technically working this case. And other agents had their own matters to pursue. But she had one asset to deploy. She pulled out her phone again.

  “Carol, I need you.”

  Within thirty minutes Blum stepped out of a cab and walked over to her boss.

  Pine told her what she wanted her to do and showed her pictures of both Gorman and Franklin.

  Blum eyed the café behind them with a picture window and an unobstructed view of the building across the street. “Then I’ll just take up my position here. Where will you be?”

  “Fort Dix.”

  As Pine climbed into a cab she thought, What do I have to lose?

  When she got to Fort Dix, she would find out.

  CHAPTER

  51

  I DON’T UNDERSTAND,” said Pine. “How could that be possible?”

  She was standing in front of Tom Whitaker, a JAG lawyer at Fort Dix. He was a short man in his fifties, with rounded shoulders and a dour expression.

  He said in a pedantic tone, “It’s like I just said, Bill Danforth and Phil Cassidy each took Article 15s; it’s akin to a plea bargain in a civilian court.”

  Danforth and Cassidy were the two soldiers whom Tony Vincenzo had been working with on the drug distribution. Puller had arrested them both and had them confined in the stockade under guard of Army MPs. Pine thought they would still be there. B
ut they weren’t.

  “I know what an Article 15 is. I want to know how it happened.”

  “The concept is pretty straightforward, Agent Pine,” Whitaker said in a bored tone. “It was offered and they took it. Most court-martial trials end up in conviction. They knew that. Then the penalties are a lot worse and they have a criminal record. With Article 15 that doesn’t happen. No criminal record. Just like civilian courts, most cases in the military system don’t actually go to trial. If every one of them did, we’d be clogged up for years.”

  Pine said impatiently, “I know that, too. I meant why would they be offered a plea deal in the first place? My understanding was they were caught dead to rights by the CID. They were involved in drug dealing. How does that get them a slap on the wrist? These guys should have been tried, convicted, and sent to Leavenworth.”

  The man shrugged. “That wasn’t my call. The CO referred the charge, meaning it was going to trial. And I agree with you, the evidence was very strong. Had they gone to trial they would have almost certainly been convicted. But then the Article 15 popped up and everything got thrown off the rails.”

  “The Article 15 offer had to pop from somewhere, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So where did it pop from?” said Pine, trying to keep her voice calm although she actually wanted to start yelling at the man.

  “From their CO. That’s the only place it could have come from. He referred the charges, but then he offered the Article 15.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know. And I had no reason to ask. I wear a uniform. I do what I’m told. When the CO talks, we listen. Pretty simple.”

  “When did all this happen?”

  “Late yesterday.”

  “And who is the CO on this?”

  Whitaker shuffled some papers on his desk and then looked at her curiously. “What exactly is your connection to this case again?”

  “I was working it with CWO John Puller.”

  “Yeah, you told me that. He was the one who collected the evidence.”

  “For an overwhelming case that just got dropped,” retorted Pine.

  “I heard he got shot in New York.”

  “You heard right. Probably by the same gang that Danforth and Cassidy work for.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about that. Is Puller going to be okay? All reports on him are that he’s a first-rate soldier and investigator.”

  “Right on both counts. And yeah, he’s going to be fine. So, the name of the CO?” She took out her notebook and pen.

  Whitaker deliberately glanced at both and said, “I’m really not at liberty to tell you that.”

  Pine put her pad and pen away. “Okay, what punishment did Cassidy and Danforth receive?”

  Whitaker glanced at the paper in front of him. “Reduction in rank, lost some pay, and got eight days’ confinement, but the CO suspended that for a year. They were in the stockade for a lot longer than that after they were arrested. He’ll probably just let that ride.”

  “So they just walk away with fewer dollars and the loss of a stripe? For being part of a major drug ring inside this facility?”

  “I admit it’s unusual.”

  “You think? Where are Danforth and Cassidy now?”

  “Back at the motor pool, as far as I know. I did hear some scuttlebutt that they’ve put in their discharge papers. Good riddance in my book.”

  “This is a clusterfuck, you know that, right?”

  Whitaker looked at her wearily. “Ma’am, I’ve been doing this job for twenty years. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

  “Might be time for a new job.”

  “What my wife keeps telling me.”

  “If I were you, I’d listen to your wife. Do you at least have pictures of Danforth and Cassidy?”

  “Yes, but why do you ask?”

  “I’d like to see them.”

  “Again, why? The case is over.”

  “Not for me it’s not. Their photos? Please? It’s really important.”

  “You really think Puller getting shot was tied to these guys?”

  “I think the connection is obvious.”

  The man opened his desk drawer, pulled out a bulky case file, and spun it around. The mug shots of Danforth and Cassidy stared up at her.

  “Feel free to take their pictures.”

  Pine did so with her iPhone. “Surprised you let me do that.”

  “Ma’am, this is a clusterfuck, and in an ideal world these two pricks should be doing hard time courtesy of the United States Army. So if you can nail their sorry asses to the wall it’s fine by me.”

  “Thanks,” said Pine as she walked out.

  CHAPTER

  52

  DANFORTH AND CASSIDY WERE INDEED in the motor pool, although as Pine observed from a distance, they didn’t appear to be getting much work done. Both were on their phones, texting.

  She didn’t confront them there.

  She simply followed them when they left the base after their shift was over.

  They drove together to a military dive bar about two miles from Fort Dix. They went in and she followed. The pair had found a table in the fairly crowded place.

  The bar was called the Bunker. Unlike its name, the Bunker was large, open, and airy. Flags from all service branches hung over the walls. Helmets were mounted like trophy animals, along with ceremonial sabers, bayonets, and weaponry of all makes and sizes. Some couples in uniform were slow-dancing in the middle of the room to jukebox music. All bar seats were occupied, with most of the patrons draped in Army green.

  Pine was one of the few not in uniform.

  She eyed the pair and headed for their table after a waitress brought their longneck beers. She sat down next to Danforth, glanced at him, and then eyed Cassidy.

  Danforth was big and beefy, and his expression was, to Pine, brainless.

  Cassidy was small and cagey-looking, and he shot suspicious looks at her.

  “Uh, don’t remember inviting you to our private party, sweet cheeks,” said Cassidy.

  Danforth let out an inane belly laugh.

  Pine shot him a look. “You really thought that was funny?”

  Danforth clamped his mouth shut and scowled at her.

  “So, Article 15, huh?” she said.

  “Who the hell are you, lady?” snapped Cassidy while Danforth took a swig of his Bud.

  “An interested party. Did you know your buddy Jeff Sands got his head blown off in New York the other night?”

  Both men gave a visceral reaction to this. Cassidy composed himself and said, “Don’t know who that is.”

  “Yeah, right. Like you don’t know who Tony Vincenzo is, or Lindsey Axilrod? Did you wonder why Sheila Weathers didn’t come back to work? She’s dead, too. Also in New York.”

  Danforth shot Cassidy a worried glance, but the latter shook his head.

  “We don’t know what or who you’re talking about.”

  “Sure you do, Phil. And so does your buddy here, because he looks like he’s about to crap his pants.”

  Danforth grabbed Pine by the shoulder. “Look, you just need to shut up, bit—”

  He stopped and looked at the badge she had just flashed him. Danforth slowly released his grip.

  Cassidy said, “You’re FBI? You got no jurisdiction over us. We’re soldiers.”

  “I’ll say this one time, dumbass. So long as you’re in this country, I have every jurisdiction over you.”

  “But we got the deal from the Army. You can’t touch us now. It’s that double jeopardy thing.” He looked triumphantly at her.

  “Double jeopardy doesn’t apply between military and civilian prosecutions. The Army cutting a deal with you has no impact on the FBI going after you. The only difference is you’ll be spending your time at a max prison nowhere near here.”

  “Shit, are you serious?”

  “Google it, if that’ll make you feel better.”

  “Well, son of a bitch.”<
br />
  “That sucks,” added Danforth, pounding the table with his huge fist.

  She looked at their beers. “If I were you, I’d drink up. What I’m about to tell you will go down better with a little buzz.”

  “You’re making no damn sense, lady,” said Cassidy, but he downed his beer, as did Danforth, who wiped his face with a meaty palm.

  When the empty bottles smacked the table, Pine leaned in and started speaking earnestly. “The CID agent who nailed you?”

  “Puller?”

  “Yeah. He also was shot up in New York when Sands bought it. He just got out of surgery.”

  “So? Why should we care?” said Cassidy, but he didn’t look as confident as his words sounded.

  “Do you know what Puller told me a few minutes before he got shot?”

  “What?” This came from Danforth, who looked like he could use another beer.

  “He said that he had to make sure you two were kept locked up and away from everybody.”

  “Why’s that?” asked Danforth, sweat beads suddenly lining his wide forehead.

  Pine looked shrewdly at Cassidy. “You want to answer your buddy? Because I think you know what I’m going to say.”

  “You’re saying he wanted us in the stockade . . . for our protection?” said Cassidy.

  She nodded.

  “That’s bullshit,” barked Cassidy.

  “Really? Let me ask you something. You two were caught dead to rights on drug dealing. I talked to the JAG. Ironclad case. No-brainer, slam dunk. CO’s on your ass. You’re both being court-martialed and sent to Leavenworth. Then, out of nowhere, you get an Article 15. The JAG said he’d never heard of such a thing. What do you think about that?”

  Danforth eyed Cassidy. “Phil, you said it was ’cause we got friends in high places.”

  “Shut the hell up, Billy,” barked Cassidy.

  He looked at Pine, who said, “Or maybe you got the ‘get out of jail free card’ because you have enemies in high places.”

  “Are Jeff and Shelia really dead?”

  “Then you do know them?”

  “I asked you a question.”