particular patents is Chris Ballard.”
“Ballard!” exclaimed Puller. “But he’s retired now.”
“But he locked up all the patents for years. In fact, they were issued personally to him as the inventor. Now, I doubt he was, at least for all of them, but the lawyers probably papered it that way. And any employee he had would be contractually bound to assign any IP rights over. Just the way it works.”
“How do you know Ballard has the rights?” asked Knox.
“After I deciphered what was on the screen shots you took, I checked at the Patent Office.”
“But why would you have thought to do that?” asked Knox.
“Because there has to be a motive behind all this. And nine times out of ten the motive is financial gain. And as you already pointed out, the patents issued to Ballard are potentially worth enormous sums in the commercial field.”
“So could he exploit them commercially?” asked Puller.
“Yes. Atalanta Group is solely engaged as a defense contractor to build the technology they were working on in support of the Army. They’re licensing technology from Ballard to do that work.”
“Okay, but is he exploiting it commercially?” persisted Puller.
“Not that we know of. As you pointed out, he’s officially retired.”
Knox said, “But he has a corporation. Just because he’s retired doesn’t mean he can’t build this stuff, right? And if it’s so valuable, why wouldn’t he?”
“I don’t know. But I could find nothing that shows the Ballard organization is working on any of this. There may be a sub out there I’m missing, but I don’t think so.”
Puller said, “But Helen Myers is slipping the technology to this Charpentier guy. And Myers is getting it from Quentin, who works at Atalanta Group. The same place Jericho works. And she told us he’s essentially her boss.”
“Don’t believe that for a minute,” said Robert. “I think the only true boss Jericho has ever had is herself.”
“So how is Quentin getting this information and why is he passing it to Charpentier?” asked Knox.
“I don’t know,” said Robert. “But we need to find out. This is a national security issue now, John.”
“Can you get your folks to dive into this?”
“Doubtful. Even with what you showed me it’s just not enough to bring out the cavalry yet. There are lots of issues to consider, not the least of which is the French are pretty strong allies of ours.”
“But it’s probably not the French government behind this, Bobby. It’s the corporate side. And just because Charpentier is French doesn’t mean he’s not selling this stuff to the Russians or the Chinese. Like you said, it’s a national security problem. And he’s mixed up with people who are not allies of ours.”
“Doesn’t matter. We still have to tread very carefully.”
“I don’t see why,” said Puller.
“Because we don’t know how far this goes. Or how high the corruption is. These things don’t tend to exist in a vacuum. There was a corruption case involving a Malaysian businessman and the Seventh Fleet. I think all told about two dozen officers, including ten or so admirals, were implicated. People had suspected before, but with so much firepower behind the corruption all attempts at intervention got whacked until it got so bad that the water boiled over and that brought everybody down. We might have a similar situation here. And if so, we can’t run around screaming about it or everyone will cover their tracks.”
“But what about Shepard and us nearly getting blown away? That doesn’t make the water boil?”
“Proof of a connection, John. Do you have it?”
Puller let out an exasperated sigh. “So what now?”
“Any lead on this Paul guy?”
“No. But he wants Jericho badly. So maybe we reverse engineer it. We look for her and he might turn up.”
“She spends time at the Ballard estate in North Carolina, that I know. They’re still apparently very close.”
Knox said, “I can track down property that Quentin might own.”
“And do the same with Helen Myers,” said Puller. “She’s up to her neck in this too. And let’s see if we can get a handle on where they are right now.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said his brother.
The line went dead. Puller glanced over at Knox. She was working away on her phone.
“Got any databases that will help us?”
“I’m doing my best,” said Knox.
“Well, let’s try an obvious place first.”
He tossed her the ripped jeans. She sat up and started to pull them on. Puller watched as her legs slipped into them. She stopped with the pants halfway up her thighs and looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
He quickly turned around and fumbled with his knapsack.
* * *
They drove to the Grunt.
“No one’s going to be there this early,” pointed out Knox as they walked down the alley toward the bar.
“I don’t care. I’ll break inside and look around.”
However, as they approached the front of the bar they saw a light on inside. Puller knocked and the door was answered a few moments later by a young man.
“Can I help you?”
Puller flashed his creds. “I was here the night of the shooting. You were working behind the bar, I think.”
“That’s right. I remember you.”
“What are you doing here this early?”
“Ms. Myers asked me to come in when the police released the bar. I’m just checking on stuff, cleaning up.”
“Thinking about reopening?” asked Knox.
“That will be up to Ms. Myers.”
“Speaking of, any idea where she is?”
The man shook his head. “She has a house in town, but I know she’s not there. It’s on the way here. When I passed it the place was dark and her car was gone.”
“She have another place?” asked Puller.
“Yeah, a beach house in North Carolina. She might be there. It’s only a couple hours away.”
“You have the address?”
“I do, but I don’t think I should give it out.”
Puller held up his creds again. “It says United States Army. We’re the good guys. And she might be in danger. We think she might have been the target for the shooters.”
“Omigod, really?”
“Really. The address?”
They left the Grunt a minute later with a piece of paper with the beach house address. They got into the car and Puller drove off.
Knox was looking at her phone. She hit some keys, plugging in the address.
“The guy was right, it’s only about two hours from here. And there’s something else.”
“What?”
“This address is only about thirty minutes from Ballard’s estate.”
“Interesting and probably not a coincidence.”
“You think Myers is working with Ballard?” said Knox.
“Why would Ballard steal his own secrets and hand them off to this Charpentier guy?”
“Crap. This case is a real mess.”
“And getting messier all the time.”
Chapter
62
ONE BREATH, TWO breaths, three breaths.
Myers was asleep, still tied up in the chair. Her head drooped on to her chest, her hair hanging limp. She mumbled sometimes but he couldn’t make out any words.
Josh Quentin was asleep too, and, like Myers, bound to another chair.
They had gotten a text back last night from Jericho that she was busy but would be able to meet with them in the morning. The important thing was she was coming here. And he knew exactly how he was going to kill her.
He felt it coming on, so he got up and rushed from the room. He reached the bathroom just in time and threw up in the toilet. He got out of his clothes because his body felt literally on fire. He climbed into the shower and turned the wa
ter on as cold as it would go. It still felt like he was in a steam bath. Or a furnace. It was as though the water was hitting his skin and evaporating from the heat.
He grabbed the pipe stem of the shower head and squeezed. He felt the metal give under his grip and let go before he crushed it.
He slumped against the tile, counting his breaths but still losing control, feeling the enormous weight of hopelessness settle down on him.
He was Atlas without the requisite strength.
For the first time in his tortured life, Paul Rogers wasn’t sure he could actually do this. He didn’t know if he would survive long enough. It would be a cruel irony if he were to drop dead at the woman’s feet, inches from his decades-long goal of snuffing out her life.
He climbed out of the shower, toweled off, and sat on the toilet. The pain finally subsided, the internal fires lessened in their intensity. He put his clothes back on and returned to the room where Myers and Quentin were still sleeping.
He sat down and was surprised when Myers lifted her head, opened her eyes, and looked at him.
“I know you have good reason to hate her,” she said.
Rogers glanced at her, held her gaze steady for a few protracted moments, and then looked away, staring at the gap between his feet.
She glanced over at Quentin. “I wouldn’t trust him.”
“I don’t trust anyone,” said Rogers, looking at her so fiercely that she changed color and looked down.
“What are you going to do with me?”
“I told you. Jericho gets here, you’re free.”
“I saw what you did to those men at the bar. I don’t think that’s the first time you’ve killed someone.”
He looked up at her. “I was created to kill. It’s really the only reason for my existence.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anything more awful than that.”
He said nothing to this because he had nothing to add.
“Those scars? What did they do to you?”
“The scars made me strong.” He tapped his head. “But this is what made me a killer.”
Myers started to say something, but Rogers held up a hand. “No more talk.”
Time ticked away.
Night passed to morning.
Myers fell asleep again.
Quentin had never awoken, perhaps safe in the belief that his treacherous actions would allow for his survival.
Rogers just stared at the floor.
Until eight o’clock in the morning came.
When the sound of the approaching car made him go to the window.
It was a black SUV. It pulled into the driveway and she got out.
Claire Jericho, in the flesh. She was dressed in a dark pantsuit.
He gasped and then drew a long breath. He could barely believe she was here, that he was, after all this time, only a few feet away from the woman who had destroyed him. He felt his body heat up like someone had lighted a fire under him. It was all he could do not to jump through the window, grab her, and finish it.
Rogers raced over to Quentin, roused him, untied him, and told him what to do. Then he ran into the bathroom, got a washcloth, and stuffed it inside Myers’s mouth so she couldn’t call out.
Her panicked eyes looked back at him.
“It’ll all be over soon enough,” Rogers said.
He turned and grabbed Quentin by the arm. “You step one inch out of line I will crush your skull.”
Quentin nodded, smoothed out his shirt, ran a hand through his hair, and headed downstairs, with Rogers right behind him.
They reached the front door right as the knock came. Rogers peeked out the sidelight. It was just Jericho. Whoever else was in the SUV had remained there.
Quentin opened the door and motioned Jericho inside. She stepped through the threshold.
Rogers closed his eyes and in his mind everything the woman had done to him came roaring back like a tsunami inside his skull. He opened his eyes. He was done counting breaths.
He pulled the vintage M11-B from his waistband.
He would point it against her head.
He would see how she liked it. Then he would put the gun down and cram the ring down her throat.
And finally he would strangle her with the hands she had made stronger than a gorilla’s.
For the greater good. You can carry it to eternity.
Rogers was about to strike when the gas hit him in the face.
He remembered those eyes staring at him, just as they had three decades ago.
They were probing, piercing, and missed nothing. They were X-ray eyes if there ever was such a thing.
She didn’t smile. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t look gloating or triumphant.
She simply looked mildly curious.
Rogers’s body tensed and then relaxed as the vapor settled in his lungs for an instant before his bloodstream sent it barreling to his brain.
And a moment later everything shut down. Unconscious, he dropped to the floor at her feet.
Jericho looked down at him and then nudged his rock-hard shoulder with her foot.
“It’s good to finally see you again, Dimitri.”
Chapter
63
IT SHOULD BE this one,” said Knox.
They had crossed over into North Carolina about ninety minutes ago. It was now after nine in the morning as Puller turned into the driveway of the large beach house.
“The Grunt must be a cash machine,” said Knox as they got out of the car.
“I think selling stolen government secrets is probably more lucrative,” replied Puller dryly.
They walked up to the front of the house.
“Puller, the door is open,” said Knox.
Puller already had his gun out; Knox followed suit.
No Man's Land Page 41
