The Escape

by David Baldacci

  “So while you weren’t sleeping, did you think anymore about our ‘nightcap’ with Donovan Carter?” asked Knox.

  “Carter gave us an excuse to go back and talk to Reynolds again.”

  “The visit your brother made to Reynolds?”

  “Exactly.”

  “She’ll be at work now most likely.”

  “She works for DoD. I’m a duly assigned military investigator. Nothing prohibits us from interviewing her while she’s at work.”

  “What are you going to ask her?”

  “I want her take on the encounter with Bobby. And I want to watch her while she answers the questions.”

  “Body language cues?”

  “They often tell more than what the person actually says.”

  Puller had called ahead and Susan Reynolds met them in her office, a modest space that looked, oddly enough, both cluttered and organized. Her security lanyard was around her neck, her features were placid, and she greeted them politely and indicated chairs for them to take.

  She sat down and waited.

  As Puller lowered himself into the chair he let his gaze sweep her office. He saw no items that were not work-related. The woman didn’t even have any plants.

  As his gaze came back to her, he found that she was staring at him. And Puller could tell she knew exactly what he had been doing.

  “I like to keep things streamlined and separate,” she said. “Professional and personal.”

  “I can understand that.” He pointed at one photo showing a younger Reynolds in a line of all men on what appeared to be an airstrip. “That looks interesting.”

  She turned to look at it. “Back in the 1990s I was part of a START verification team when the U.S. and the Soviets were whittling down their nuclear stockpiles. As you can see from the photo, I was the only woman on either team, and the youngest by far. Quite a feather in my cap. But I had worked hard for the opportunity.”

  “Interesting work?” asked Knox.

  “Yes. Although by seven o’clock each night the Russians had drunk enough vodka to float an aircraft carrier. So I’m not sure how accurate their verification was. But I never touched a drop and I crossed every t and dotted every i,” she added emphatically.

  “I’m sure you did,” said Puller. “Now, we’ve been told that Robert Puller—”

  Reynolds cut in. “Your brother, you mean. I knew it the first time we met.”

  Puller continued, “We were told that Robert Puller came to see you?”

  “Came to kill me, more likely.”

  “But he didn’t kill you.”

  “I was able to get away, found a gun, and he ran like the coward he obviously is.”

  “So he tied you up?”

  “No, he put a gun to my head and then injected me with what he said was poison. I couldn’t believe the bastard had done that. Maybe prison made him crazy.”

  “So you were able to overpower him and get to your gun?”

  “I didn’t say I overpowered him. He’s a man and, as you know, he’s far larger than I am. But I’m not exactly a weakling. I managed to hit him in the face with a lamp. Before he could recover I got to the bookcase. I keep a forty-five pistol there. I drew it. When he realized I was armed and ready to shoot, he turned and ran. I tried to stop him, but he was too fast. I called the police but they couldn’t find him.”

  “You hit him in the face with a lamp?”

  “I did.”

  “That must have hurt.”

  “I hope it hurt like hell,” she said. “He deserved to be hurt a lot.”

  “Bruised and bloody probably.”

  “Yes. He was. And surprised, I’m sure.”

  “And what did he want?” asked Puller.

  “He threatened me. He wanted me to confess that I had done something wrong.”

  “Why would he do that?” asked Knox.

  Reynolds peered at her as though just that minute realizing she was there.

  “How am I supposed to think like a nutcase? He’s desperate. He’s escaped from prison. He’s killed a man. Maybe two men.”

  “What makes you say that?” asked Puller sharply.

  “I heard about Niles Robinson. We’ve all heard about him. Gunned down at the train station.”

  “Why would you think Robert Puller would be involved in that?” asked Knox.

  Reynolds gave her a patronizing stare. “Oh, I don’t know, let’s think about it. He breaks into my house at gunpoint and threatens me because I testified against him. Then soon thereafter Niles Robinson, who also testified against him, is shot and killed at Union Station. What are the odds of that having been done by two different people when Robert Puller was absolutely in the area? Don’t insult my intelligence!”

  “So what did you tell Puller?” asked Knox.

  “I told him lots of things. To get out. To leave me alone. To never darken my door again. And then when he stuck me in the neck with what he said was poison I of course told him whatever he wanted to hear.”

  “And why would you do that?” asked Puller.

  Now it was his turn to receive a condescending look. “Because I felt sorry for him and wanted him never to go back to prison. And I very much wanted to confess to treason and take his place.” She suddenly snapped, “Why the hell do you think? Because he told me that was the only way I was getting the damn antidote to the poison he injected me with.”

  “But he didn’t actually poison you,” pointed out Puller.

  “Right, I know that now. He told me he’d injected me with an organophosphate. Nasty stuff, let me tell you. I was scared out of my wits. I would have said anything to get the antidote.”

  “So when you hit him with the lamp and got to a gun, what did you expect would happen?”

  “That I would force him to give me the antidote.”

  “And when he got away?”

  “I called the police and the paramedics. I literally thought I had minutes to live. I was out of my mind with fright, thanks to that bastard.”

  “And I guess you were relieved when that turned out not to be the case?” noted Knox.

  Reynolds didn’t even dignify that with an answer.

  They asked Reynolds a few more questions and then left. As Puller turned back around at the doorway he saw Reynolds staring right at him. She wasn’t smiling or looking triumphant. She was just watching him. And then she turned and went back to her work.

  As they walked down the corridor Knox said, “Every time I see that woman I want to strangle her.”

  “Not me, I’d just shoot her,” said Puller.

  She looked up at him. “So did you get any good body cues from the witch?”

  “Ironically enough, this time it really was more what she said than how she said it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Puller knew she hadn’t hit his brother with a lamp. He was neither bruised nor bloody. But he couldn’t tell Knox that without revealing that he and his brother had met. Yet there was something else.

  “I checked the toxicology report that they did on Reynolds after my brother supposedly injected her with poison. Remember that Carter said they had done one? Well, I got a copy emailed to me this morning.”

  “But it didn’t find poison.”

  “No, but it did reveal traces of a strong sedative. Strong enough to have knocked her out.”

  Knox stopped, and so did Puller.

  “A sedative?” she said. “Why didn’t anyone else notice that?”

  “Because I think they all stopped looking at the tox report when it showed no poison. Me, I tend to read until the end.”

  “But why would there be a sedative in her system?”

  “My brother could have injected her with one.”

  “Why would he do that if he wanted her to talk?”

  “To allow him to escape after they finished talking.”

  “But why would she lie if she knew it was provable by a blood test?”

  “Because she’s not as smart as
she thinks she is. I don’t believe she thought it all the way through. And I think she truly hates my brother and saw an opportunity to really stick it to him. Calling him a coward and trying to make us believe that she was able to fight him off successfully must have really brightened her day. Oh, and she obviously knew you had searched her house and found the gun in the bookcase. That’s why she mentioned it. Really good liars always work in something true to make the lie more plausible.”

  “So that means she was lying about . . . well, everything.”

  “I never doubted that for a minute,” said Puller.

  CHAPTER

  51

  THEY HAD ALMOST gotten to the building’s exit when two security personnel stopped them.

  “Chief Puller? Agent Knox?” said one, who was dressed in cammies and carried the rank of sergeant.

  “Yes?” said Puller.

  “Mr. Carter would like to see you both.”

  Donovan Carter was waiting for them in a room adjacent to his formal office. There was one other person in the room, a man of medium height with a thick head of blond hair and penetrating green eyes. Like Carter he wore a suit, regulation navy blue with a white shirt and muted striped tie.

  “This is Blair Sullivan,” Carter began, indicating the man next to him. “He heads up our internal security section.”

  The man gave a curt nod in their direction but said nothing.

  “After our conversation last night,” began Carter.

  Puller’s gaze shot to Sullivan, but Carter said, “It’s all right, Agent Puller. I’ve brought him into the circle. He was instrumental in tracking certain things down for me.”

  Sullivan folded his arms across his chest and did his best not to look at either Puller or Knox.

  Carter drew open a file that was sitting in front of him. “Let’s first address Susan Reynolds’s financial history. I wasn’t personally aware of this, but her husband was an FBI agent who was killed many years ago.”

  “A hit-and-run, she told us,” noted Puller. “Never solved.”

  Carter glanced at Sullivan, who took up the story. “There was a two-million-dollar life insurance policy on Adam Reynolds,” said Sullivan.

  “Why so large?” asked Puller.

  “He was an FBI agent. They had two young children. Ms. Reynolds had a similar policy on her because she traveled a great deal out of the country for the government in some remote places. Thus there obviously was a heightened risk for them both. The premiums had been duly paid up. Ms. Reynolds collected the money. She used it to pay off some debts, help raise her kids, and she invested the rest. I wish I had asked for her investment advice. She did a lot better than my 401(k). Needless to say, the insurance payout has grown substantially over the intervening years.” He stopped and stared at Puller.

  “And the Joan Miró in her library?” asked Knox.

  “It is a Joan Miró, but it’s a signed limited edition. Not something I could ever afford, but Ms. Reynolds purchased it some years ago for quite a good deal. And she had the money to do so. It’s on her disclosure form and has been for years.” Again, Sullivan stopped talking and stared pointedly at Puller.

  Carter said, “I apologize that I wasn’t aware of any of this last night when we spoke.”

  Sullivan said, “With all due respect, sir, you run an organization with thousands of employees. It would be impossible for you to know the intimate financial details of each person. That’s my job.”

  “And Niles Robinson?” asked Knox.

  “He’s not employed by DTRA,” said Sullivan promptly. “Mr. Carter has told me of your concern there as well. I suggest you check that out with his last agency.” Sullivan paused. “However, Mr. Carter filled me in on what you told him about Mr. Robinson. And since I am also the father of a child who had a serious health issue, I can tell you that a parent will do anything to see them through it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Robinson didn’t hock everything he had and take out every loan he could to see that his child lived. But I have to say that I find it repugnant that you jumped to the conclusion that a man would betray his country in such a manner. I really do.”

  “I don’t jump to conclusions, Mr. Sullivan, I investigate matters,” replied Puller.

  “Well, I think you need to keep investigating, but down a different path. Susan Reynolds is a well-respected member of the DTRA family and has never had a shadow on her record as far as I can find.” Sullivan paused again and the next moment his entire body seemed to swell with stark indignation. “Your brother, on the other hand, cannot say the same, can he? And I find it absolutely remarkable that you would accuse one of our people of treason while your own flesh and blood has not only escaped prison, but also killed someone. Have you no shame, Agent Puller?” He rose when he said this last part and looked like he might take a swing at Puller, who outweighed him by sixty pounds and had him by seven inches.

  “Sullivan!” Carter said sharply. “You are way out of line. Stand down, immediately.”

  Sullivan dropped into the chair, folded his arms over his chest, and looked away.

  Carter said, “I apologize for my colleague’s tone and words, Agent Puller. We can’t let our emotions run away with us.” He looked at Sullivan and added in a firm voice, “We will talk about this later.” He turned back to Puller. “With that said, I do have to agree with his conclusions about Susan Reynolds. Everything seems to be in order. And I have communicated that to her.”

  “Well, we appreciate your looking into the matter, sir,” said Knox, rising and tugging on Puller’s sleeve. Puller was staring dead at Sullivan. When the man finally looked at him and found Puller’s piercing gaze directly on him, he hurriedly glanced away.

  They left Carter’s office and were escorted to the exit. Once they were outside, Knox said, “Okay, first Reynolds and now this. Why do I feel like I just got sent to detention?”

  When Puller didn’t say anything she added, “Do you think this Sullivan character is in on it? He was acting like a psycho.”

  Puller shook his head and pulled out the keys to his car. “He looked at the file and found what he found. And if he had a sick kid then he probably does think I’m an asshole. And I get what he means about my brother being a traitor and I’m here trying to point fingers at good people. But it still stuck in my craw.”

  “And Carter?” she asked.

  Puller didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know, Knox. Jury’s still out on him.”

  “I can tell you this, that was no limited-edition Joan Miró. It was an original. I’d swear to it.”

  “Well, by now it’ll be long gone, original or not,” said Puller.

  “I guess so,” Knox agreed glumly.

  “I think I was wrong about Reynolds, though.”

  “What! You mean you believe she’s innocent?”

  “No, I believe she’s a lot more dangerous and a lot more capable than I thought she was. She just kicked my ass. Not to sound full of myself, but I’m not used to that happening.”

  “Well, neither am I,” replied Knox. “She lied about your brother. The sedative was in her bloodstream. She never got her gun and scared him off. We can use that against her.”

  “She’d have an explanation for that, Knox. She self-medicated, hoping to slow down the advance of the poison.”

  She said resignedly, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But we can’t let that bitch win, Puller.”

  “She’s not going to win. But it’s not going to be easy either.”

  “If only we had something against her.” She looked at Puller, who was now gazing off and obviously not listening to her.

  “Puller, where is your head?”

  He said, “I just think I missed something.”

  “Missed something? Where?”