The Escape

by David Baldacci

  The door opened and Knox poked her head in.

  “They said you were in here. Up for some company?”

  He nodded. “I was about to fall asleep. Got started before dawn. Don’t even know what time it is.”

  She came in holding a white bag and a carrier with two coffees perched in it. “Actually, it’s almost noon, but I bet you’ve had nothing to eat yet.”

  “You’d win that bet,” he admitted.

  She handed him a coffee and then reached into the bag and pulled out a sandwich and set it in front of him. Next she placed a large box of steak fries between them as she slid a seat up to the desk on the other side.

  He stared at the fries and then at her. “French fries? I thought you’d come in with carrot sticks and non-fat yogurt.”

  She slipped a thick fry from the box, opened her mouth wide, and poised the fry between her teeth momentarily before chomping down on it, causing him to wince slightly.

  “A girl can splurge sometimes, Puller. I ran five miles this morning and then did an Insanity exercise routine.”

  “Then I think you might be entitled to the whole box.”

  He unwrapped his sandwich and saw that it was a Philly cheese-steak. His smile was wide and immediate.

  “Boys are so predictable,” said Knox, giving him an amused look.

  “In some ways,” said Puller, taking a bite of his Philly and then a drink of the hot coffee.

  She glanced at the stacks of papers. “So, anything good?”

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin and drew a legal pad covered with notes toward him. “Shireen said they charged my brother with spying under Article 106.”

  She put down her coffee. “Right, the one that carries the automatic death sentence.”

  He nodded, sticking a fry in the small tub of ketchup. “But then it just went away and was replaced with the espionage charge.”

  “Nothing in the court-martial record about exactly why?”

  “No, not really. It was just there until it wasn’t.”

  “Pretty big difference,” she noted. “Death for certain or life imprisonment.”

  “Right. I’m sure if we asked why they would just claim national security.”

  “They always pull that crap out when they don’t want to tell the truth,” said Knox.

  “Well, I guess you would know,” he shot back.

  She flashed him a scowl. “So why do you think they would have cut the charge down? Did your brother have some juice in high places behind him?”

  “He was still convicted of espionage. He still got life in prison. How much juice could he have?”

  “But still, Puller. They were originally going for the death penalty. And it seemed like his alleged crimes fit the requirements for spying.”

  “The defense counsel and prosecutor Shireen talked to would know all about this.”

  “But will they talk to us? I’m surprised they told her as much as they did.”

  “She’s a fellow JAG. And they didn’t tell her everything.” He stopped and lapsed into thought for a few moments. “We could always ask them, in our professional capacity.”

  “Yes, we could. And they could refuse. And we could press the point, go to court, get a subpoena, let the lawyers duke it out.”

  “And all of that would take time, maybe a lot of time,” said Puller.

  “Lawyers never work fast, at least that’s been my experience.”

  “We need to work this out from our angle.”

  “What about talking to the judge?” she asked.

  Puller shook his head. “I doubt he’ll even see us. And even if he would, he’ll never tell us anything. Judges don’t talk about cases.”

  “Well, then the trial lawyers probably won’t either.”

  “I think we have a better shot with them.”

  “Okay, so where are the lawyers?”

  “The prosecutor’s in Charlottesville, Virginia, a couple of hours from here. He’s no longer doing trial work. He’s teaching at the JAG School there. My brother’s former lawyer is out of the Air Force and in private practice in North Carolina.”

  “Okay, do we split up or do it tag-team?” she asked.

  “Do you want to split up?”

  “No.”

  “Then let’s head to C-ville. Did you find out anything more about Robinson?”

  “Your gut was right. His son was very sick. Terminal, actually. They went to Germany desperate for a miracle cure that fortunately worked.”

  “And how did they pay for it?”

  “There was a community fund-raiser that brought in some dollars. But I spoke with folks in Berlin familiar with the medical procedure and they said it easily would have cost a million-plus. I don’t think you could sell enough cookies and lemonade to raise that much cash. And Robinson’s insurance, good though it was, did not cover that sort of treatment.”

  “And no one became suspicious?”

  “Pretty touchy subject when you’re dealing with a sick kid. And it came after the trial was over. Maybe people just didn’t put two and two together.”

  “Or maybe they didn’t want to. But we did it, pretty quickly. And I know the kid was sick and I’m glad he’s better. But my brother lost everything.”

  “Preaching to the choir,” she replied.

  “Yeah,” said Puller. “Too bad someone didn’t start preaching two years ago.”

  CHAPTER

  38

  SUSAN REYNOLDS SLIPPED into her car after putting some shopping bags in the trunk. It was thirty minutes to her home and the traffic was light. She reached her house and carried her bags in. She set them down and turned off the alarm. She was about to switch on the light when the voice called out.

  “Please don’t move. There’s a gun pointed at your head.”

  Reynolds started to turn around.

  “Do not turn around,” the voice said sharply.

  Reynolds froze where she stood.

  “Now, walk forward and turn into the living room. Sit in the chair nearest the television.”

  “You seem to know my house very well,” said Reynolds calmly as she began to walk in that direction.

  She turned into the living room and sat in the designated chair. When she reached for the light on the table next to her the voice said, “I’ll do that.”

  She slowly pulled back her hand and laid it in her lap while the person behind her turned on the light to its lowest setting.

  “How did you get in here? The alarm was on.”

  “An alarm is only as good as the password, and yours wasn’t very good.”

  “But then you reset it? Why?”

  “Well, not resetting it would have given my intrusion away, wouldn’t it?”

  He moved fully into the room but kept behind her.

  Robert Puller had on a hoodie pulled up and a ski mask that covered everything on his face except his eyes and lips. His gun was pointed at the back of Reynolds’s head. Across the room he had placed a mirror he’d found in her bathroom on a table. It was angled so that he could see her face reflected in it, while he remained hidden from her. He wanted to see her face, and more important, her reactions to his questions.

  He said, “I would presume that you’re armed. Take your weapon out holding it by the muzzle or the next sound you hear will unfortunately be the last one you ever will.”

  She drew out the compact Sig nine-millimeter by the muzzle and placed it on the carpet.

  “Kick it behind you.”

  She did so and Puller reached down and pocketed it.

  “What do you want?” asked Reynolds. “I have some money in the study. My credit cards are in my purse. I don’t have gold bullion on the premises, if that’s what you’re looking for,” she added snidely.

  “Who paid you to lie about what you saw?” Puller asked.

  She stiffened and Puller added, “I thought you would have recognized my voice before now, Susan.”

  “It’s been two years.”

 
; “Over two years, actually. But still, I remembered your voice.”

  “I’ve had a lot more to do over the last two years than you.”

  “Actually, I’ve had a lot to think about, if that counts.”

  “And what did you conclude, Robert?”

  “That you were well compensated, judging by the size of your house and the luxury car you drove up in. Uncle Sam doesn’t pay that well for someone at your level.”

  “I invested smartly and I had some money to start with. It’s all been checked out. My security clearances justify that.”

  “Not always, as you well know. Granting security clearances these days is not what it used to be. But I’m not here to discuss your financial circumstances, other than to find out who paid you off.”

  “Nobody paid me off. I saw what I saw. You stole classified information from STRATCOM. The DVD was found in your pocket. The evidence doesn’t get much clearer than that.”

  “Which is why you put it there, pulled the fire alarm, and then told others to search me.”

  “Oh, so now it’s my fault? Do you have any idea how many people are after you? You killed a man to get out of prison. You didn’t get the death penalty for some reason last time, but this time you will. Oh, and your brother was here to interview me. It was clear that he believes you’re guilty.”

  “So you won’t tell me who hired you?”

  “No one hired me. Being at DB must have made you delusional. And on top of it you’re now a murderer. I hope God will have mercy on you after they stick the needle in you, Robert.”

  “I think God will have mercy, but it won’t be directed at me, because I don’t require any.”

  “And what about Niles Robinson? Spin that one.”

  “I don’t have to spin it. He lied. Same as you. You were in it together. Bought off by the same party.”

  “Well, this is obviously getting us nowhere.”

  Puller said, “How did you end up at the Center for Combating WMDs?”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Please, Susan, don’t insult my intelligence.”

  “I’m at the center because it’s a job. There, satisfied?”

  He studied her face in the mirror. But her expression was inconclusive. And her hands remained in her lap.

  “But it’s an unusual job for someone like you. Your work in the past had to do with inspection of nukes, but your more recent specialty was not in that arena.”

  “That’s my business.”

  “But it does make sense in one respect.”

  Reynolds stiffened once more, Puller noted as he watched her in the mirror.

  “To combat WMDs one must know where they are located. Is that why you’re working there, Susan?”

  “I have expertise in WMDs from when I worked on the START verification program. Now would you please leave so I can call the police?”

  “I’ll get to the truth one way or another.”

  “So, you’re going to kill me too? Like you did the man back at DB?”

  “He was sent there to kill me. I don’t know if you were told that part of the plan or not.”

  “Have fun explaining that convoluted mess to the MPs.”

  “If you cooperate with me, I’m sure you can work a deal. You might not have to go to prison for the rest of your life. A good deal, actually.”

  “I’m not going to prison. You are. Back to prison. Or dead, more likely.”

  She cried out when the needle pricked her neck. She grabbed at the spot a second after Puller removed the hypodermic. He placed it on the table behind him.

  She started to turn. He pulled back the hammer on his pistol. “Don’t do it.”

  “What did you inject me with?” she snapped.

  “Something of my own concoction. You’ll feel your heart start to beat erratically any second now.”

  She clutched at her chest, which started to heave. “You poisoned me. You bastard, you poisoned me!”

  “But I also have the antidote with me. You answer my questions and you can have it.”

  “I can’t trust you!”

  “Well, you’re going to have to, because I see limited options.”

  “I will kill you,” she roared. She tried to get up, but he put a hand on her shoulder and held her down. She struggled against him but he was too strong.

  “I should warn you that physical exertion such as this speeds up the process. Then not even the antidote will work. And your death will not be painless, I can assure you.”

  Reynolds immediately stopped moving.

  “Now, try to breathe normally. Long, slow breaths. Like you’re doing yoga. Long and slow.”

  He waited while she did so.

  “That’s better.” He paused, watching her in the mirror. Now came the real questioning. “Who hired you?”

  “How long do I have before the antidote won’t work?”

  “Five minutes, maybe less now that you let your heart rate spike. The poison has been distributed throughout your bloodstream far faster than optimal.”

  “Nothing about this is optimal,” she snapped.

  “Calm yourself, Susan. Let your heartbeat fall and answer my questions. Who hired you to set me up?”

  “What’s the poison you administered? Tell me!” she demanded.

  “An organophosphate. AKA a nerve agent.”

  “Shit! And the antidote?”

  “Two-PAM, pralidoxime chloride. With a little side of atropine since two-PAM isn’t great at blood-brain barrier penetration. And some pilocarpine in case there’s a reaction to the atropine.”

  Reynolds started breathing easier. “You’ve got atropine?”

  Puller said, “So named after Atropos, one of the three Fates in Greek mythology. She was the Fate who chose how a person was to die. I thought it appropriate under the circumstances. After all, you had counted on my being put to death by lethal injection for your crime. I’m just returning the favor. Potentially, at least.” He paused.

  “Now, since time is running out, who hired you?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied sharply.

  “Not nearly good enough.”

  “I’m telling you, I don’t know. The instructions came through a secure coded link on my private email.”

  “So because of an email you committed treason?”

  “It wasn’t just that. I did meet with someone.”

  “The name of the person?”

  “He didn’t exactly hand out business cards.”

  “Well, at least I know it was a man. Who was he with?”

  “Not our country.”

  “Which one?”