The Forgotten (john puller)

by David Baldacci

  And if you don’t, not only will you die, but your entire family, back in the little village or town or city where we took you from, will die too. No exceptions. Ever.

  The instructions would be given. They would be able to sleep for a bit. They would be segregated according to their ultimate function. The future prostitutes would be given the best accommodations and rations. Their looks and overall health mattered, at least for now; later, they wouldn’t. And then they would be discarded, most drugged beyond rehab, and they’d shuffle away and die alone.

  The drug mules would be given things too, things that would allow their innards to receive more bags of drugs than they would have thought possible. Ten percent of them would suffer ruptures of these bags while they were still inside them. All ten percent would die from it. Heroin or coke pouring into one’s bloodstream in such profound doses is not something the body was built to endure, because nowhere in the evolutionary chain did humans have to adapt to such treatment.

  That was good for humanity, bad for the ten percent.

  The ten percent was known, in the industry, as a reasonable and acceptable cost of business. Indeed, like credit card companies that jack up interest rates to cover losses from hackers and deadbeats, the slavers upped their chattel rates to cover these losses.

  Businesses always passed the costs along, whether they were selling hammers or humans.

  Again, there was nothing Mecho could do to help the eighty people in the warehouse tonight. That was not why he was here.

  He sat on his scooter just outside the gate of the fence that surrounded this industrial park and waited.

  He took a photo out of his pocket. While it was dark and he had killed his scooter light before approaching the warehouse area, Mecho could see, in his mind’s eye, the image of the young woman in the picture he held.

  She looked a lot like Mecho. There was a reason for that.

  Family was family.

  Her name was Rada. In his language her name meant “joyfulness.”

  And she had once possessed it in abundance.

  But no longer. That he knew without knowing it for certain.

  Sometimes Mecho wished that Rada were dead.

  Being alive and doing what she was doing must be worse than being dead.

  He had no idea where in the world she was.

  He had come here to get an idea.

  But that was not all.

  There were other pictures in his jacket pocket. All women. All young.

  These women were not related to him.

  But that did not matter. There was another connection, a strong one. That was enough for him.

  He had no idea where in the world any of them were.

  And it was a big world.

  He needed help.

  Tonight would begin his attempts to find such help.

  An hour went by and the overhead door opened. The SUV zipped out and the door closed once more.

  The second SUV stayed where it was while the first SUV approached the gates. They automatically opened and the SUV sped through them.

  Mecho knew there were four men in the SUV.

  As he started up his scooter to follow them it didn’t matter to him which one of the four would provide the assistance.

  He would work through them all until he got it. To him, they were no longer human. Just like they treated the people in the truck.

  They were there for him to use, in any way he chose, to achieve his goals.

  In a way he was a businessman too.

  Only his incentive, his profit, was not measured in money.

  It was measured in justice.

  It was calculated in revenge.

  And in Mecho’s case, those two things were exactly the same.

  CHAPTER 54

  The hotel was far nicer than the Sierra. And it was right on the water.

  The SUV was parked in the hotel’s garage. The four men had ridden the elevator to the lobby and then gone on to their rooms. They each had their own, a perk of this job. Money obviously was no limitation.

  The man who had ridden shotgun in the SUV reached his room on the fifteenth floor and opened the door with his key card. He slipped off his jacket, revealing his holstered Glock nine. He made a beeline for the minibar and mixed a gin and tonic, then went to the window and gazed out over the Gulf. He took a long breath and slipped a cigarette from his pocket and lit up.

  It was a nonsmoking room but he apparently didn’t care.

  Thirty minutes later there was a knock at the door. Not his hotel room door, but the one connecting the room next to his. One of the other men was staying in that room.

  He walked over to it. “Donny?”

  “Yep.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Call from the boss, we got to roll,” replied Donny.

  “Shit.”

  “Got something for you,” said Donny.

  He opened the door.

  The blow hit him so hard it lifted him off his feet and he flew backward and landed on the soft bed, his nose broken and his consciousness gone.

  Donny stood there with a gun barrel held against his right temple. Mecho was behind him.

  “Please, man, don’t kill me,” moaned Donny.

  Mecho shoved him into the room and closed the door behind him. A ferocious blow to Don- ny’s head dropped him to the floor.

  When he awoke later he was tied to the bed along with his colleague, who was now awake as well. The two men looked at each other.

  Mecho stood over them looking down. He duct-taped their mouths, pulled their pants and underwear down, and held the knife pointed at their privates.

  When he cut him there, Donny screamed, but it was a nearly soundless one with the duct tape across his mouth.

  The next instant Mecho slammed the knife straight into his chest so hard that the point came out the man’s back and stuck into the mattress.

  Donny’s mouth sagged open as he died.

  The other man looked in panic at his dead colleague.

  Mecho took off the other man’s duct tape.

  The man braced for the strike of the knife, but Mecho just looked at him.

  The man glanced at dead Donny. “Why did you kill him? He’d tell you anything you wanted to know.”

  “I killed him,” said Mecho, “because I could.”

  “What do you want to know?” the other man said, his voice panicky.

  Mecho sat on the bed next to him. “What is your name?” he asked quietly.

  “Joe.”

  “Where are you from, Joe?”

  “New Jersey.”

  “What is this New Jersey?”

  “It’s a state. Of the United States.”

  “Do you have a family?”

  Joe hesitated, but Mecho pointed his blade at his chest and Joe said, “Wife and two little girls.” “In New Jersey?”

  Joe nodded, his eyes filling with tears.

  “And you want to see them again?”

  “Yes,” Joe gasped. “More than anything.”

  “And the people from the boats?”

  Joe’s chest heaved more and he sobbed. “It’s just a job.”

  “They have family too.”

  “I just do it for the money, I swear to sweet Jesus. It’s the only reason. I got nothing against those people.”

  “They have people they love and who love them.”

  “Just a damn job. That’s all,” moaned Joe.

  Mecho took out the photo of Rada and held it in front of Joe. “Do you recognize this person? Her name is Rada.”

  Joe’s eyes were so filled with tears that he could barely see.

  “I… I don’t know.”

  Mecho gripped him around the neck and jerked him upward as he thrust the picture closer. “Do you know her?”

  “I… I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  “Her name is Rada.”

  “I don’t know any of their names. We don’t get names.”

  “She is a beautiful wo
man. About a month ago she came through here. Were you here then?”

  Joe started to nod, sensing perhaps that if he had valuable intelligence it would keep him alive. “Wait a minute, yeah, I think I do remember her. Right, a month ago. Yeah, Rada.”

  “Rada,” repeated Mecho. “One month ago.”

  “You want to find her, right? Maybe I can help.”

  “One month ago,” said Mecho again. “Rada. She is beautiful.”

  “Absolutely,” said Joe. “A real looker. I can help you. If you untie me-”

  Mecho slammed the blade into Joe’s chest and drove it in up to the hilt. Joe gave a shudder and joined Donny in the land of the dead.

  Mecho stared down at him. “Rada has been gone for one year.” He fingered the photo. “And this is not a picture of Rada.”

  He looked at dead Donny.

  “And your friend already told me all I needed to know back in his room.”

  He pulled his knife free and some pent-up arterial blood squirted from the wound. With the heart no longer beating and zero blood pressure, there would not be any more significant blood loss.

  Mecho said, “So you can see that I have no further need of your assistance. I perhaps forgot to mention that. Forgive me, Joe. I’m sure your family in this New Jersey place will mourn you.” He stood, wiped the blade off on the sheets,

  and stared down at the two men.

  For the money. Just for the money.

  They did not know the names. They never knew the names.

  But I know their names.

  I know them all.

  CHAPTER 55

  Puller sat in his room at the Gull Coast staring at the wall. Sadie was curled up at the end of his bed. The dog had drunk so much water that she had peed in the Tahoe. Puller had cleaned that up and then walked her before coming up to his room.

  It was four a.m. and he had not yet been to sleep.

  There were many items swirling through his mind.

  At four-thirty he closed his eyes and willed himself to rest for three hours.

  When he woke at half past seven he felt like he’d slept for a full eight hours.

  He showered and dressed, walked Sadie, and then fed her with food he had taken from Cookie’s. He walked the dog again to let her do her business and then went out to eat breakfast, leaving Sadie back in the thankfully air-conditioned room. He knew he would have to make other arrangements for the dog, but that was not at the top of his priority list right now.

  He walked two blocks to the waterfront and found a small diner with a fifties retro interior and ordered the biggest breakfast it offered. In deference to the heat outside-the temperature was already in the eighties-he had water with ice in lieu of coffee.

  Fully fueled, he left the diner and walked down the street.

  “Did you get enough to eat?”

  He turned and saw her standing by a mailbox.

  Julie Carson was not in uniform. She had on jeans, sandals, and a green sleeveless blouse.

  She didn’t look like the one-star that she was. She looked like a tourist. A very fit, attractive tourist.

  Puller walked over to her.

  “I’m more than a little surprised, General,” he said.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment since I know it’s very difficult to surprise you, Agent Puller. And you can make it Julie. No uniform today.” “And you can make it John. When did you get in?”

  “Grabbed a free seat on a cargo plane into Eglin. Little perks we generals get. Got in around midnight last night.”

  “And you found me how?”

  “How many guys that look like you are in Paradise?”

  He watched her, awaiting her real answer. “Okay, I ran your credit card activity. Saw you checked into the Gull Coast.”

  “Then you should have had breakfast with me.”

  “I overslept. I knew you’d be up early to get chow. That diner seemed to be your sort of place. I was about to walk in when you walked out.” “And you’re here why?”

  “Had a week of leave I never took. Found out J2 could get along without me for a few days. Your description of Paradise sounded so inviting it was an easy decision.”

  “It might not meet your expectations.”

  “Let a girl decide that for herself, John.”

  “I take it you want to be updated on my investigation even though you’re here on R and R?”

  “I crave information. So why don’t we go back into the diner and I can eat and you can have a gallon of water to keep hydrated and we can have ourselves a nice conversation?”

  And they did exactly that.

  Puller saw that Carson had an appetite. She put away eggs, pancakes, bacon, and grits, and while she drank three glasses of water, she also had two cups of coffee.

  While she worked through her meal Puller brought her up to speed on all events, including the explosion at the Lampert mansion the night before.

  Carson took one last sip of water and set her glass down. “You’ve been busy.”

  “I’ve been reactive, actually. Not an ideal situation.”

  “Eight guys. I’m impressed.”

  “I only took out six. If the big man hadn’t been there we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “So if I’ve got this right, you’re investigating your aunt’s suspicious death. And her neighbor’s murder. You also have the disappearance of this kid Diego. There are two guys down here following you who are so well connected the Pentagon gets stonewalled. And some rich prick gets his Bentley blown sky-high. And I almost forgot the murders on the beach.”

  “The two guys might not have been following me. They could have picked up my tail from when I visited my aunt.”

  “Meaning their focus was her not you, which lends credence to the theory that she was murdered.”

  “That’s how I see it,” said Puller.

  “Which prompts the question of what the hell she was involved in that would get her that kind of attention. You sure she wasn’t some retired spy with a dark past?”

  “If she was, she was damn good at keeping her cover. No, I think she found out something down here and that’s what got her killed. I wish she had been more specific in her letter, but she wasn’t.”

  “You mentioned mileage on her car.”

  “Right. Five miles out and five back. At least that’s my speculation. Jane Ryon said that five miles east seemed the best bet. But I’m not sure about her now, considering what happened to Cookie.”

  “Have the police found her?”

  “Don’t know. By now they should have, I guess.”

  “She might be able to clear some things up if she is involved.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So what’s the next move?”

  “You really sure about this, Julie? I mean, you don’t have to do this.”

  “I’ve been covering enlisted men’s backs most of my career. It’s why I’m beloved by the rank and file. Besides, my last few vacations have followed similar patterns and have been pretty boring. And my J2 assignment, while necessary for my career path, is pretty damn uninteresting at times. I need some excitement.”

  Puller looked across the table at her. “Well, I think you came to the right place. But keep in mind that at least four people have died so far.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “I thought the same thing about me, and I almost bought it. The punks I dealt with are nothing special. I just messed up but got lucky. I can’t count on being lucky again.”

  She looked across at him, her amused features turning more serious. “So we treat this just like combat?”

  “Just like combat,” he replied.

  “So the next move?”

  “The most obvious. We find out if the police have picked up Jane Ryon.”

  “And if they haven’t?”

  “Then we find her, before someone else does.”

  “You really think she killed this Cookie person?”

  “I have n
o idea. But if she did, she also might have killed my aunt.”

  “And all the other stuff that’s been happening down here, you think it’s all connected?”

  Puller thought about this for several long seconds while the sounds of traffic picked up out on the street as Paradise came to life.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  “Meaning exactly that I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  CHAPTER 56

  When they came out of the diner a police car was zipping past. It screeched to a stop and Cheryl Landry leaned her head out.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” she began, before her gaze came to rest on Carson.

  Puller noted this and said, “General Julie Carson, Officer Cheryl Landry.”

  As Puller’s gaze swiveled between the two women he felt a pang of guilt. He had been out twice with Carson, though the first time was not a real date. However, he sensed the general was interested in something deeper than mere friendship. Landry clearly wanted a relationship with him. Thus having the two women together was deeply discomforting.

  Carson nodded and said, “Nice to meet you, Officer Landry.”

  “I’ve never met a general before.”

  “Well, now you have, and we don’t look any different from anyone else,” said Carson.

  “I won’t believe what?” said Puller.

  “Two more murders. At the Plaza Hotel two blocks down. Two guys in a bedroom stabbed to death, it appears.”

  “Two guys,” said Puller quickly.

  Landry nodded. “I know what you’re thinking. I don’t know if it’s the same two who you think have been following you.”

  “You want us to come?” asked Puller.

  Landry glanced at Carson and then at Puller. Puller, sensing her indecision, said, “Make the offer to Bullock. He can make the call if he wants.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you pick up Jane Ryon?”

  But Landry had already hit the gas and the car had sped off.

  Puller looked at Carson. “Two more dead.” “Who knew Paradise could be so damn bloody,” said Carson. “And of course it can’t be a coincidence,” she added, raising her eyebrows at him.

  “Don’t think so.”