The Forgotten (john puller)

by David Baldacci

The shots rang out almost immediately from the two men.

  Puller had chosen his angle well.

  It had made the two men step out from cover in order to draw a bead on him.

  Carson popped off four shots. They were well placed, compact rounds, designed for close-quar- ter battle and max damage.

  Two shots hit one man in the torso. The other two hit the other man in the exact same spots.

  Double tapped, they dropped to the sand.

  But so did Puller.

  CHAPTER 80

  “John!”

  Carson raced forward through the sand.

  She reached him in seconds. He had already risen to one knee.

  “Where?” she said automatically.

  “Left side. In and out,” he said. “I think it was the first guy who fired. He obviously knows how to grid shoot.”

  “Let’s make sure it’s out.”

  She pulled up his shirt, felt around for the entry and exit points, and found them both.

  “You’re bleeding pretty heavily.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “We need to get you to a hospital.”

  “I’m not arguing with that. In my duffel in the Tahoe I’ve got some medical supplies. I’ll patch myself up.”

  “I can patch you up, Puller.”

  He looked over her shoulder.

  “Okay, but right now, keep low, get your gun ready, and turn around.”

  She flinched, but just for an instant.

  “The boat?”

  “The boat,” he replied.

  “Shit.”

  She turned and saw what he had already seen.

  The boat was beached on the shore. There was no one in it.

  “Looks like the opposition has already deployed,” said Puller.

  “It’s not a RIB. Maybe fewer people.”

  “More than two is problematic. We’re clearly not at full strength.”

  “Can you manage?” she asked.

  “Not the first time I’ve been shot.”

  “I know.”

  Puller took off his shirt and wound it around his middle to try to stanch the bleeding. He gripped the rifle and stood.

  “How many rounds do you have in the Mu?” he asked.

  “Ten. You?”

  “Five and then I’m out.”

  “How do you want to do this?”

  “Seek and destroy. I go left and you right. You see me fire, you fire at whatever I’m targeting. I’ll do the same with you.”

  “Let’s manage our ammo carefully.”

  “We need to kill what we can when we can, General. Hand-to-hand after that if it comes to it.”

  “They hit you one time on your wound you’re going down.”

  He turned to stare at her and said quietly, “It’ll take more than one time.”

  Her lips parted, she eyed the bloody shirt and said nothing before looking away.

  They split up. Carson moved toward the water, Puller the opposite way. Fifteen meters apart they stealthily advanced, their gazes rotating side to side, up and down.

  Puller stopped when he smelled it.

  Sulfur.

  It was coming from his right, meaning Carson’s left. They were up ahead. The stench on the clothes of whoever was out there was being driven into his nostrils by the breeze.

  And then Puller realized what that entailed. He and Carson carried the exact same stink. The wind changed, carrying their smell the other way.

  “Down,” he roared as shots flew overhead.

  He sank into the sand but did not return fire. He had no clear target and with only five rounds left he had none to waste.

  He just hoped that Carson had heard his warning in time.

  He waited, his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

  He wanted to call out to Carson, but that would do neither of them any good. He had already told the other side there was more than one of them by calling out to her.

  He gazed ahead, sweeping the area in grids.

  Carson had the goggles. She would be able to see things he couldn’t.

  He decided to play off whatever she did.

  He looked over and saw Carson on her belly gliding forward. The sound of the breakers covered this movement.

  He did the same. Her movements became faster and Puller, shot up as he was, was hard pressed to keep up with her. Then it occurred to him that she wanted to get there first, to absorb the attack or counterattack before he would be in harm’s way.

  “Screw that,” he muttered and redoubled his efforts.

  It all came to an end several seconds later. Carson jumped to her feet and aimed.

  Puller got there a millisecond later and did the same, his rifle finding and fixing on the target.

  One gun was pointed at Carson.

  One gun was pointed at Puller.

  Mecho faced Puller.

  Chrissy Murdoch confronted Carson.

  Mecho and Puller recognized each other at the same instant.

  Carson and Murdoch did not have the same advantage.

  Puller said, “Who the hell are you?”

  Mecho looked back at him, his finger a bare millimeter from the trigger of his weapon.

  Murdoch kept her gaze dead on Carson. The women’s gun muzzles were barely six feet apart. Murdoch said, “Who the hell are you?” “Brigadier General Julie Carson, United States Army.”

  Puller said, “Special Agent John Puller, Criminal Investigation Division, United States Army.” Mecho did not take his gaze off Puller.

  Puller did not take his gaze off Mecho. He said, “Now who the hell are you?”

  Mecho again said nothing. Puller eyed Murdoch. “The last time I saw you, you were in your bathrobe at Lampert’s estate and your name was Christine Murdoch.”

  “That is my cover name. I’m actually Lieutenant Claudia Diaz with the Colombian National Police. I’m assigned to a joint task force between my country and yours.”

  “For what purpose?” asked Puller.

  “Antislavery efforts. It has been authorized by your State Department.”

  “And him?” asked Puller, motioning at Mecho.

  “He’s assisting me.”

  “He doesn’t look Colombian to me.”

  “That is because I am not Colombian,” snapped Mecho.

  “But you saved my butt the other night,” said Puller. “Why?”

  “I didn’t like the odds. Too many against one.”

  “Did you know who I was?”

  Mecho shook his head.

  “Why are you helping her?” Puller asked.

  “That is my business,” replied Mecho.

  “Can we all show some creds?” said Carson.

  Puller, Carson, and Diaz pulled out their badges.

  Mecho pulled nothing.

  “Where are you from?” asked Puller.

  “Not from here,” said Mecho.

  “You’re making this a lot harder than it has to be.”

  “That is not my problem.”

  Diaz said, “We were attacked by a half dozen of the slavers.”

  “Seems to be going around,” said Carson. “So were we.”

  “And you obviously survived,” said Diaz.

  “As did you,” replied Carson. “We carried the bodies out to the ocean. I would recommend we do the same for you,” said Diaz.

  “Why?”

  “To cover our tracks. So the big fish do not get away.”

  “I’m afraid they already have,” said Puller. “The truck with the people got away.”

  “Damn,” said Diaz, and she was the first to holster her weapon.

  Carson followed suit.

  The two men did not budge; their guns remained pointed at one another.

  Diaz said to Mecho, “Stand down, Mecho. They’re obviously not with the slavers.”

  “Puller, lower your weapon,” said Carson.

  “Screw that! Him first.”

  “The same,” snarled Mecho.

  Carson and Dia
z looked at each other with exasperated expressions.

  “Men,” said Diaz. “They have too much-” “Testosterone,” finished Carson. “Shall we?” she added, and Diaz nodded.

  The women walked over and stood between the men’s pointed weapons.

  “Stand down,” they said in unison.

  With their targets obstructed, Puller and Mecho slowly lowered their weapons.

  Diaz looked at Puller. “You’ve been shot!” “Yeah, that one I had figured out. You two have some filling in to do.”

  Diaz said, “But we also don’t have much time. If the truck got away, they know what’s happened. They will pull out of all their operations. And we’ll lose any evidence we might have.” Puller glowered at Mecho. “Then we don’t have any time to lose, do we? And I hope you can change a tire, big guy.”

  CHAPTER 81

  Mecho changed the tire on the Tahoe and plugged the gas tank hole while Carson and Diaz patched Puller’s wound.

  “You still need to get real medical treatment, Puller,” said Carson.

  “She’s right,” added Diaz.

  Puller put his shirt back on and stared at each of them. “Okay, first we get the bad guys and then I go get stitched up. Deal?” He glanced over at Mecho. “You done yet?”

  Mecho gave the last tire lug one final turn and then rose holding the tire iron in one big hand.

  “I’ll drive.”

  “No, I’ll drive,” said Puller. “You just tell me where.”

  The women rode in the back and cleaned and reloaded all of their weapons.

  Mecho sat next to Puller and gave him directions to the warehouse.

  “Can you fight with your wound?” Mecho asked Puller without looking at him.

  There was no sympathy in the question. Puller neither expected nor wanted any. Mecho simply wanted to know the physical status of his comrades in arms. He wanted to know if he could count on Puller or rather have to compensate for him.

  Puller would have wanted to know the exact same thing.

  “They gave me a painkiller I had in my duffel. I can shoot and I can fight and I can take punishment. So don’t worry about me. I’ll handle my end. You cover yours.”

  “What about your woman?” asked Mecho. “Can she hold her own?”

  “What about your woman?” asked Puller.

  “Can she?”

  “Are you always this cooperative?”

  “I don’t even know who you are, so yeah, this is about as cooperative as it gets from me.”

  “Diaz will be fine.”

  “So will Carson.”

  They rode for another minute in silence. The only noise was the sounds from the women readying the weapons.

  Finally Mecho said, “My name is Gavril. That is my given name. My surname would mean nothing to you. But people call me Mecho.” “You’re Bulgarian,” said Puller.

  Mecho glanced at him. “How did you know?” “I fought with them in Iraq way back. They were great fighters and could drink any other nationality under the table. Even the Russians.” Mecho smiled. “The Russians think vodka is gold. It is merely water with perfume. It does not even put hair on the chest.”

  “Were you military?”

  Mecho’s smile faded. “I used to be. Then things changed.”

  “What things?”

  Neither man noticed that Carson and Diaz had finished their work and were listening intently to this exchange.

  “Bulgaria was no longer part of the Soviet Union, of course. But some things don’t change. I love my country. It is a place of beauty. The people there are good. They like to work hard. They love their freedoms. But that does not mean that every leader we have is a good one who deserves the respect of the people. So sometimes when you do not follow along blindly things happen to you.”

  “Were you imprisoned?”

  Mecho glanced at him sharply. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because the Soviets were big on that, that’s why. And Bulgaria was part of that world for a long time.”

  “For a time,” Mecho said. “Perhaps a longer time than I care to remember.”

  “How did you end up here going after slavers?”

  “I come from a small village in the southwest part of my country. The Rila range, it is called. It is remote. The people there work hard. There are few if any outsiders who come there. My family still lives there.”

  Puller said, “But outsiders did come?”

  Mecho nodded and glanced out the window so as not to show the tears forming in his eyes.

  “Men came and promised things, a better life for our young people. Education, jobs, all good things. They took about thirty of them.” He paused. “Including my youngest sister. We are a large family. She is far younger than me. She was only sixteen when she left.” He paused again. “No, not when she left, when she was taken” “They were slavers,” said Puller.

  Mecho nodded. “Who thought that a little village on a mountain in Bulgaria would never be able to strike back for the evil that was done. I was not there at the time, or I would have not allowed this to happen. I have seen a lot of the world. The people in my village have not. They are trusting, too trusting. When I came back and found out what had happened, I started to look for my sister. And the others.”

  “What’s her name?” This question came from Carson, who had put a hand on Mecho’s big shoulder, gripping it.

  “Rada. This is she.”

  Mecho took out the photo and held it out to Carson. She took it and looked at it.

  “She’s very beautiful,” said Carson, and Diaz nodded in agreement.

  “Not like the rest of the family,” said Mecho matter-of-factly. “They look more like me. Big and ugly.”

  “You are not ugly, Mecho,” said Diaz fiercely. “You are a man trying to do the right thing. There is nothing more handsome than that.”

  “And you tracked her down to Lampert?” asked Puller.

  Diaz answered while Mecho took the photograph of Rada back from Carson and stared down silently at it. “We have talked,” she said. “He actually worked the connection from the other way. Through Stiven Rojas.”

  “Rojas,” exclaimed Carson. “He’s on our most wanted list. He’s even been deemed a national security risk. He’s involved in this?”

  “He collects the product, the people, and then they are transported to this country,” said Diaz. “Lampert takes over from there. He has established buyers everywhere. He gets the people to them. They are separated into three main categories. Prostitutes are the most valuable. Next are drug mules. Then common laborers.”

  Mecho added, “They wear different-colored clothing that shows which category they fall into. I have seen this.”

  Diaz nodded.

  Puller said, “We saw it tonight.”

  “And you said he has buyers in the U.S.? For slaves?” said Carson.

  “The slave trade has never been more lucrative,” said Diaz. “As governments crack down on drugs and guns, it is becoming more and more popular. You need people to carry drugs. You need hookers to score tricks. And you need people to work the fields and the factories. If you don’t have to pay them or pay them very much it is good for the bottom line.”

  “But it’s not like you can keep those people locked up. Prostitutes, drug runners, laborers. Why don’t they just escape? America is a big country,” said Puller. “And there’s always a policeman nearby.”

  “Because they tell them that if they do try to escape, or tell the police, their families will be killed,” said Mecho.

  “How do you know this?” asked Diaz, looking at him curiously.

  “I had a talk with two of Lampert’s men. They told me. And his housekeeper, I could tell from the little she told me that she is a slave. She is afraid for her family. Lampert also uses her for sex.”

  Mecho’s eyes drifted toward Diaz’s when he said this last part, but she quickly looked away, her face reddening.

  Puller said, “You had a talk with two of La
mpert’s men? Would they be the same pair that were staying at the Plaza?”

  Mecho did not answer, which to Puller was answer enough.

  “So you killed them?”

  “They were not human. Not any longer. They were like rabid dogs.”

  “You still murdered them.”

  “You have not killed before?”

  “I have not murdered before.”

  Diaz said, “That can be dealt with later.” Puller said, “Mecho, do you know anything about the death of an old lady and an old couple?”

  Mecho said, “I saw an old couple killed on the beach when I first came here.”

  Puller glanced sharply at him. “On the beach? Did you see who killed them?”

  Mecho shook his head. “But it was one person. Shots to the head. Then their bodies were dragged into the water. The tide took them out.” “And you just let it happen?” said Puller. “There was nothing I could do. It happened too fast.”

  Carson said, “Okay, their bodies were dragged out to the water. So probably a man. Big, small, white, black?”

  “Not that tall. I could not see the color of the skin clearly but I think white. And slender, but obviously strong.”

  “And you blew up Lampert’s Bentley,” said Puller.

  Mecho looked at him, puzzled. “How did you know that?”

  “You have big feet.”

  Diaz said, “This can all keep. We need to be prepared for what is coming up in the next few minutes.”

  Mecho nodded. “The warehouse. It is where they keep the slaves. That is where the trucks go.”

  “Then we should call in the police,” said Carson.

  “No,” said Diaz. “Lampert and Rojas have assets everywhere. We can’t trust the police.”

  “Then the U.S. military. Eglin is right up the road.”

  “By the time they can send anyone it’ll be too late,” argued Diaz.

  Puller had a sudden thought. “You said this was a joint operation with the U.S. Did you happen to be working with military-looking guys in a Chrysler?”

  “Yes,” said Diaz. “They told me of their interaction with Americans. I guess that was you.”

  “Guess it was. Were they tracking me or Betsy Simon?”

  Simon?”

  “They had spotted a car belonging to Simon near the transfer spot one night. They traced it to her. Then she was killed. They started watching.” “Where are they now?” asked Puller.