Daylight

by David Baldacci

  CHAPTER

  64

  PULLER LEANED BACK against his hospital pillow and stared at his phone. He had had to start hiding it from the nurses, who all wanted him to rest and sleep and—

  Not do my damn job.

  He had slept badly, despite the meds, and had been lying there for an hour desperately trying to come up with some way to turn the tables on this thing. He had made three calls. Not a single person had called him back, which was frustrating, but more worrying than frustrating.

  His mind raced as he thought about who else might be out there who could help on this. If he could only find a person who had been affected by this, then he might—

  Idiot.

  He pecked in the number on his phone. It went to voice mail. He sighed. Not again. He left a detailed message and then let the phone drop next to him.

  He eyed his vitals monitor. They all looked good. He remembered once back in Afghanistan opening his eyes and realizing he was in a field hospital after being wounded. The vitals monitor then had not looked nearly as encouraging. He hadn’t known that one’s blood pressure could go that low and the person still be alive.

  He tried to move his injured shoulder just a bit and gritted his teeth. Even with the pain meds that was not a smart thing to do, he realized. And so he stopped and let his body relax. But when he looked at the phone he tensed once more.

  Come on, come on, ring.

  Five minutes went by, then ten. Ten became twenty.

  He was starting to give up hope.

  Then it buzzed. He grabbed it so fast with the hand on his good side that his injured side screamed in protest.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Puller, it’s Tom Pitts.”

  “Thank you for calling me back, sir. And I want to say how sorry I am for what happened to you. I was the one who called you in on this. I never imagined it would cost you your assignment at the Pentagon.”

  “No, Puller, I’m the one who needs to apologize. After we met at my office, I made some calls and follow-up inquiries. I thought I was actually making some progress. And then the next thing I knew I got rolled over by an Abrams tank. The Army is a funny mistress, Puller. And when you overlay the politics on top of it—and I’m not just talking about military politics, but on the suit-and-tie side across the Potomac—it gets complicated real fast. Now, I’ve gotten pretty adroit at reading those tea leaves and can usually see trouble coming from miles away. But not on this one. Seven A.M. I was having my first cup of coffee. Eight fifteen, I was ordered to pack my bags and head out to an assignment overseas. In the Netherlands, of all places.”

  “Is that where you are now?”

  “I fly out the day after tomorrow.”

  “Well, again, I’m sorry I got you involved in this, sir.”

  “I’m not. It stinks to high heaven. And I don’t intend to take this lying down, Puller. And while I know whoever did this has some major pull, I’m not without firepower when it comes to that.”

  “That’s why I was calling, actually. I wanted to fill you in on developments.”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  Puller hesitated but then decided to just say it. “A hospital bed.”

  “What?”

  Puller told him about the shooting.

  “And you think it’s connected?”

  “I know it is, sir.”

  “Tell me what you know.”

  In brief, organized sentences, Puller told Pitts about Nora Franklin and Adam Gorman. And Peter Driscoll’s grandson Jeff Sands having been killed by the same bullet that had wounded Puller. He also filled in the general on the possible blackmail chamber operating in New York City. And he finished with his brother and an FBI employee gone missing.

  “You think they’ve been captured by these people?”

  “I can’t think of another reason why they haven’t answered their phones or called us back. I’ve called other people to help me out, but no one came back to me except you.”

  “They’re circling the wagons, then,” said Pitts. “I know many folks in the military who have confronted many an enemy on the battlefield and fought him tooth and nail, sustaining injuries and defeat, but fighting on until victory. And I’ve seen these very same people turn into cowards and run and hide at the first hint of a subpoena or a demotion or a call from a suit who doesn’t deserve one ounce of respect. But perhaps unlike the others you called who never called back, I’ve got a dog in this hunt. I earned my four stars, and I earned my position at the Pentagon. And I don’t take kindly to people screwing with me. If they think I’m going to take this lying down, they don’t know shit about me. Even if you hadn’t called, I was going public with this thing before I left the country. When someone hits me, I damn well hit back. Just harder.”

  “You sound just like my father.”

  “I’ll take that as the highest compliment you could give me.” Then Pitts’s tone changed. It became more thoughtful. “Robert Puller, eh? A lieutenant colonel in the Air Force with the highest security clearances and a wealth of knowledge about our most precious military secrets.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “We need to get him back. Any idea where they might be located?”

  “We’re working on it, sir, I promise.”

  “Give me two hours, Puller. I still have some chits to call in. I think I can get it done. After that I just need a target.”

  “I was hoping you would say that. And can I ask a favor?”

  “Yes. Anything.”

  “I know a certain FBI agent named Atlee Pine who would like to be involved.”

  “Can she carry her weight?”

  “There will be no problem there, General.”

  As soon as he finished with Pitts he called Pine and filled her in on the particulars of what he was planning with General Pitts.

  “Thanks for putting in a plug for me to be part of it,” she said sleepily.

  “You’d do the same for me.”

  She, in turn, filled him in on her conversation with Warren Graham.

  “So we have the Bureau and hopefully the military coming at them from different flanks,” said Puller.

  “I think it’s going to take all the firepower we can muster,” said Pine. “Hey, don’t military personnel carry RFID microchips in them, particularly an asset like your brother, so they can be tracked down easily?”

  “They once thought about doing that, but it was too invasive and, more importantly for the military, too expensive. And there were the privacy concerns. And what do you do when they leave the military? Take it out? So, instead, the military issues GPS trackers that personnel turn in when they muster out.”

  “Okay, makes sense.” Pine tried and failed to stifle a yawn.

  “And I’m sorry for calling so late. I know I woke you.”

  “You’re shaming me, Puller. You’re in a hospital bed with a gunshot wound and you’re still working, while my lazy butt is sleeping. Call me anytime you want.”

  Puller laid his phone aside and stared at the ceiling. He looked down at the lines covering him and sighed, feeling helpless for the second time in his life. The first time had been the situation with his father’s dementia. He couldn’t beat that on a battlefield. And now here he was helpless again.

  Shit.

  CHAPTER

  65

  PINE AWOKE WITH A JOLT late the following morning and jumped out of bed ready to hit the ground running, her heart racing and her nerves at their highest level. She tottered there for an instant before thinking, What the hell are you doing? Calm down.

  She made some coffee and thought about the call from Puller the night before. It sounded like he had the assets to get this done, and now they just needed a location to strike. She checked her phone to see if by any miracle either Blum or Robert Puller had phoned or texted her while she had been asleep. They hadn’t.

  There was a text from Clint Dobbs acknowledging receipt of her scanned affidavit. He also added that the ba
ll was rolling, that he had a strategy, and that the Bureau was fully mobilized on this. She was to follow up on any leads she had and relay any progress to both him and Graham.

  She let out a long sigh. She had never liked Clint Dobbs all that much. But she did trust the man. He could not be bought, not by anyone.

  She spooned some yogurt into her mouth and chomped down on a piece of toast. Then she showered, got dressed, and gunned up. She raced down to the garage, got into her car, and drove off.

  Pine was sick of reacting to other people’s moves.

  It was time to take the fight to them.

  She drove straight to Nora Franklin’s office building and found a parking spot on the street. She knew she would need luck to help her at this juncture. If the woman had gone back to DC or to her office in upstate New York, Pine was screwed.

  A half hour later the law enforcement gods answered the call.

  A cab pulled up in front of the federal building and Nora Franklin got out and walked inside.

  Pine immediately went to the same café where Blum had set up her surveillance.

  A light rain had started to fall and the sky was darkening quickly.

  She got a seat by the window and stayed there, sipping on a coffee and nibbling on a tuna sandwich. After three hours, one of the employees asked if she needed anything else. The clear implication was for her to leave, though the place was by no means full. Pine ordered another coffee and a bag of chips.

  As Pine sat there she suddenly thought of something, maybe a way to get where they needed to go. She pulled out Warren Graham’s card and called his cell. He answered on the second ring.

  She told him where she was and what her plan was.

  “That’s risky, Pine, very risky. It could turn out disastrous.”

  “As disastrous as losing two of our finest, sir?”

  He didn’t answer for a long moment while Pine held her breath.

  “Do it, Pine. And don’t screw it up.” He gave her a phone number to call when she accomplished her mission. Then he clicked off. Pine could feel the tension in the ether. If they blew this, she, Graham, and everyone associated with this investigation were history. The bad guys would win and America would be done.

  At seven o’clock, with the rain ever increasing and the gloom of night falling, Nora Franklin finally came out of the building, a slim leather briefcase tapping against her leg. She must have called an Uber because a Prius pulled up in front of the building right as she came out. She got in and the Prius drove off.

  Pine had already gone to her car and now followed her. The Prius drove to a restaurant in midtown Manhattan, and Franklin exited the car and walked into the place.

  Pine made the driver of a town car move out of his parking spot by flashing her FBI badge. She pulled into the spot and waited.

  Dobbs texted her twenty minutes later to tell her of the latest steps the Bureau had taken. She texted him back and told him what she was doing.

  His next text was enlightening.

  Dozens of search warrants about to be executed. Wiretaps already in place for Franklin et al. This thing is about to explode.

  She texted back, First time I’ve smiled in a long time, sir.

  Pine put her phone away, got out, and walked past the plate glass window of the restaurant. She couldn’t see Franklin. She chanced walking in and looking around. There she was in the back, talking to a man Pine didn’t recognize. Too bad. If it had been Gorman, Pine would have arrested him on the spot.

  She went back out and got into her car.

  At a little after nine Franklin came back out and hailed a cab. Pine followed.

  They made their way south, down the West Side Highway, until the car turned left and navigated toward Greenwich Village, with its historic, high-dollar houses, oddly angled streets, and reputation as one of the most expensive zip codes in the area.

  Old. Prestigious. And isolated, well, as much as it could be in New York City. Small-town feel. Locally owned restaurants. With fifty-dollar entrees and twenty-dollar cocktails.

  The cab stopped in front of a four-story stone beauty with twin flickering gas lanterns bordering the blue painted front door with a brass knocker. It was attached to another stately home, though that house seemed to be vacant and undergoing renovation. Spend a fortune to buy an old house here and spend a second fortune making it livable, thought Pine.

  Must be nice.

  The old brick steps leading up to Franklin’s house were bracketed by ornate wrought iron railings. The place looked old but had obviously been meticulously restored.

  Pine wedged into a parking spot as the door on the cab opened and Franklin got out. The cab pulled away and Franklin headed up the steps. She never heard Pine until she was right behind her.

  “Security team have the night off?” Pine said.

  Franklin whirled around. Pine could see a small canister held in her hand.

  “Pepper spray?” said Pine. “It’s legal here so long as you buy it from an authorized source and fill out the necessary paperwork, which, being such a VIP, I’m sure you had a flunky do for you.”

  “Who the hell are you?” snapped Franklin, looking around as though hoping to see a passing police car.

  Pine held out her badge and creds. “FBI Special Agent Atlee Pine. I need to speak with you.”

  Franklin’s eyes had widened when she heard the name.

  “Right,” said Pine. “I was pretty sure you’d been kept in the loop on me. I suppose Gorman did the honors.”

  “If you want to meet with me, call my office and make an appointment. But I have to tell you it won’t be happening anytime soon. I’m a very busy woman, Agent Pine.”

  “Oh, I know you are. Serving two or more masters instead of only one must really eat into your free time.”

  Franklin smiled politely. “I have no idea what that remark means, but it sounds like it’s dangerously close to a slander action. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

  Instead, Pine drew closer. “The problem for you is Gorman screwed up. He kidnapped people, one of whom works for the FBI. I know you have pull, but I doubt it’s enough to overcome that one.”

  “I really have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “You won’t deny that Gorman works for you?”

  “Of course not. Adam has been with me a long time. He’s the best in the business.”

  “Yes. But the business he’s in is illegal. Blackmailing people in positions of power? Murder, kidnapping? That’ll get you a long time in prison. Far longer than the time you’ve served in Congress.”

  For the first time Pine could see just the glimmer of panic in the woman’s green eyes.

  A group of young people with NYU sweatshirts trooped around the corner. They had obviously been drinking and they hooted and waved stupidly at the pair.

  Pine glanced at the front door and said, “Maybe this would be better conducted inside?”

  Franklin glanced at the students. She said nothing but pulled out her key and unlocked the door, beckoning Pine to follow her in.

  CHAPTER

  66

  WHAT A LOVELY HOUSE,” said Pine sarcastically as they entered the front room.

  The floors were marble, the walls upholstered in what looked to be silk, and with the very finest wood trimmings done by an expert hand on the miter saw. The furnishings clearly coincided with the price tag of the real estate, and the paintings on the walls would not have seemed out of place in any of the myriad museums housed throughout the city.

  “Thank you,” said Franklin just as sarcastically.

  A young woman dressed in a domestic’s uniform entered the room and greeted the congresswoman.

  “Ms. Franklin, do you need anything?”

  “No, Lily, you can go up to your room. I won’t require anything else tonight.”

  Lily glanced at Pine. “Would your friend like some refreshment? Carl is still in the kitchen.”

  “No, you can tell Carl that he can turn in for
the night as well. I will let my ‘friend’ out later.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Lily turned and hurried out, closing the door behind her.

  “Let’s go to my study,” said Franklin curtly.

  She led Pine down a long hall that, instead of marble, was floored in random-width walnut planks. She opened one of a set of double doors and motioned Pine inside.

  She closed the door behind them and Pine eyed the book-lined room, the fire crackling and popping away in the hearth. There was a lovely wooden desk with leather trimmings and a set of antique writing instruments displayed on the surface that looked like they cost a mint. The carpet underneath Pine’s feet was thick and forgiving. The whole atmosphere was of a great English country house dropped smack into lower Manhattan.

  There was a bar set up against one wall. “Would you like a drink?” Franklin said.

  “No, but help yourself. You may need one.”

  Franklin flinched for a moment but then poured out a snifter of brandy and swirled the liquid around in the glass.

  She was dressed conservatively in a tailored dark blue dress suit. Franklin undid the bun in her hair and let the blond tresses flutter down to her shoulders. She sat down in a high-back chair and Pine sat across from her on a small settee.

  Franklin took off her heels and rubbed her feet.

  “You’d think by now women wouldn’t have to wear these damn things.”

  “I think you’re a woman in a position to wear what you want, unlike a lot of other women. But that’s not what I came here to talk about.”

  “Okay, what did you come here to talk about, other than to make wild, unsubstantiated allegations?”

  “Your net worth is really impressive. This house alone is worth what, five, ten mill easy? And you have another place in upstate New York, right?”

  “And I have another place in the south of France. A charming villa.” Franklin took a sip of the brandy and let it slide down her throat. The look she gave Pine was one of amusement, which Pine decided not to let go.

  “For a woman who’s been in Congress for the last dozen or so years at a fixed salary of a hundred seventy-five thousand and change, that’s really quite an achievement.”