No Man's Land

by David Baldacci

  may not be Chris Ballard, and who they are alleging you kidnapped, shot to death in a motel room rented by you. Does that pretty much cover it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “And what would you call that?”

  “Well, if you put it that way, shitstorm seems appropriate. But how did they find where we’d gone so fast?”

  “Did you check anybody for an electronic tracker? Or they could have just traced the chip in one of their cell phones.”

  Puller sighed. “Damn. Look, Bobby, give it to me straight, does our side want Jericho to go down? If not, we’re just spinning our wheels here.”

  “Unless you can show she’s been selling secrets, no.”

  “And the serial killings?”

  “Three decades old and too many holes.”

  “Great. Then we’ve got nothing on her. And it looks like I’m going to be arrested for kidnapping and murder.”

  “I think I found the motive for the subterfuge with Ballard.”

  “What?”

  “As I told you before, Ballard controls the patents.”

  “And if something happens to him?”

  “I had a DoD lawyer check through discreet channels.”

  “Gee, don’t keep me in suspense, Bobby. I’m a little tense right now.”

  “Ballard set up a charitable foundation. Every last penny and asset goes to it when he dies.”

  “So a charity gets patents that are being used in DoD work? How exactly does that play out with the project they’re doing at Atalanta Group?”

  “Atalanta Group would have kept working on them. The underlying licensing contract they have guarantees that.”

  “Then I’m not getting the motive.”

  “The contracts with the government only cover military applications. Atalanta Group has no control over or rights to the commercial applications. Those revert to the beneficiary under the will, in this case the foundation. Ballard dies, they’re going to come in and take over that part of it hook, line, and sinker.”

  Puller said, “And Jericho’s dealings with Charpentier get cratered if that happens? Because what she’s selling him are the commercial applications. And they might find out what she’s been doing?”

  “Exactly. So they had to make it seem that Ballard was still alive.”

  “But we can’t get to Jericho with what we have.”

  “Without Quentin and Myers I don’t see how we nail her. And, John, you really need to focus. They’re going to come after you for what happened tonight. I don’t mean Jericho. I mean the law.” He paused. “You could go to prison for this.”

  “I don’t care about that,” shouted Puller. “But this means we’re not going to find out what happened to Mom.”

  “We are going to find out what happened to Mom.”

  “How? We’ve got nothing.”

  “No, we have something. Something she wants.”

  “What?”

  “Rogers,” said his brother.

  Puller shot a glance at Rogers, who just stared back at him blankly.

  Into the phone Puller said, “We can’t do that. Do you know what this guy has—”

  His brother interrupted. “John, will you trust me? I know what I’m doing. Just trust me.”

  Puller sat there holding the phone and feeling more lost than he ever had in his life.

  “Okay, Bobby, okay.”

  Chapter

  70

  ROBERT PULLER WAS in his dress blues. Not out of respect for the person opposite him. He had no respect for her. The dress uniform was about him. Claire Jericho eyed him across her desk. She said, “I think the lecture at the Pentagon was the last time we saw each other. Quite a while.”

  “I’ve been busy, so have you.”

  “And of course you had your little prison sojourn at Leavenworth.”

  “It was a good time to think and read. No interruptions.”

  “Your career is back on its accelerated path, I’m told.”

  “And you’re still doing what you’ve always done.”

  “You’re far more subtle than your father.”

  “My brother told me you and our father had met. Didn’t quite see eye to eye?”

  “I was trying to spare your brother’s feelings. It was actually more aptly a tank battle.”

  “My dad led men on the ground. He didn’t see the need to be tucked away in armor. He had enough of his own.”

  “Merely a metaphor.”

  “And I’m not here to talk about him. I’m here to talk about my mother.”

  “So I understand.”

  “You got my email?”

  She said, “Cryptic. I appreciate the effort.”

  “It’s why I’m here in person. To conclude the arrangement.”

  “It’s delicate.”

  “And also straightforward.”

  “With assurances that this has been signed off on at the highest levels? There will be no blowback?”

  “I think I covered that in my cryptic email.”

  She picked up a pen and twirled it between her fingers. “Is it really that important to you?”

  “You’re a mother, correct?”

  “Was a mother, since my daughter was murdered.”

  “And you still don’t understand the reason I’m here, then?”

  “I understand the sentiment. I’m just wondering if it’s worth all this fuss.”

  Robert Puller gripped the edge of his chair to keep himself from launching across the desk and gripping her neck.

  “Well, I think it is worth the fuss.”

  “So Rogers, then, in exchange?”

  Robert nodded. “And my brother and his friends will walk away from this unharmed in any way.”

  “So your cryptic email said. But I’m not so sure about that. They did considerable damage. And I’m giving up a lot as it is.”

  “I have to insist on that point.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said airily, seeming to enjoy her advantage over him on this part of the negotiations.

  “And you want particulars? Location only? You must understand that I had no personal involvement. It was the responsibility of others. And I am powerless to bring back the dead.”

  Robert Puller again gripped the chair. “I want both particulars and location.”

  Jericho sat back. “Show me the approvals.”

  Puller opened the briefcase he’d brought with him, took out an electronic tablet, brought the requisite pages up, and slid it across to her.

  She took several minutes looking over them. Finally she nodded and passed the device back to him.

  “Rather astonishing,” she said. “I would hardly think people at that level would care.”

  “People at that level have great respect for my father.”

  She clasped her hands and inclined slightly toward him. “It must be very difficult to live your entire life in the shadow of your father.”

  “I’ve always considered it an honor.”

  She gave him an amused look. “It’s not healthy to deceive yourself.”

  “The particulars and the location?”

  She spent five minutes telling him this. He keyed all of it into his tablet.

  Jericho said, “So, as you can see, wrong place, wrong time. Just unbelievably unlucky for her. Dimitri, or Rogers rather, had just killed Audrey Moore. He had evidently taken her as she left work at Building Q. He must have been lurking nearby. One of the guards heard something and went to investigate and saw what was going on. He called in reinforcements. As the guards were trying to capture Rogers, your mother came along and saw Rogers, the dead woman, everything. Your mother apparently cried out, and turned to run. One of the guards reacted badly if instinctively. He struck her with his gun. And she died. Again, there was nothing I could do. I wasn’t even there.”

  “So you already said.”

  “Of course I would have liked things to have been handled differently, but back then we required absolute secrecy. I
t seemed the only way. The burial was a proper one,” she added offhandedly.

  Puller snapped his briefcase closed and stood, slipping his cap under his arm. “You said you knew my father?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know my mother?”

  Jericho’s eyelids fluttered. “I might have seen her around the installation from time to time.”

  “She was beautiful. And more kind than she was beautiful. Everyone loved her.”

  “I’m sure every son sees his mother in that light.”

  “No they don’t. So you knew it was her, then? Walking by?”

  “As I said, I wasn’t there.”

  “Rogers says he didn’t see my mother, but that you were there.”

  She chortled. “Oh, well, then by all means, put him on the witness stand. How many people has he murdered thus far?”

  Puller continued as though he hadn’t heard her. “So your prized creation escapes and is methodically killing women on your staff because he can’t get to you.”

  “Is that what he told you?” she interrupted.

  Puller ignored this. “Because he can’t get to you,” he repeated. “And then he’s located right near Building Q killing another woman, and you’re not there?”

  She spread her hands. “I was busy.”

  “But you knew after the fact at the very least.”

  “I think I already answered that question. But so what if I did?”

  “I wonder if it pleased you.”

  She looked at him curiously. “How so?”

  “Getting back at my father in that way.”

  “Why would I want to get back at him?”

  “You described your relationship as a tank battle. That hardly seems friendly.”

  “So what? Many people don’t agree on things. That doesn’t mean they all run out and try to injure each other.”

  “Granted, but you strike me as the petty sort who would turn any criticism, no matter how minor, into a vendetta.”

  “You’re being tiresome,” replied Jericho, starting to shuffle some papers on her desk.

  Puller continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “And when my father didn’t see eye to eye with someone it was never a minor thing. He probably got right in your face and said things that you found unforgivable. So, considering your vindictive nature, you were probably thrilled to have caused him great personal pain, even if he didn’t know its source.”

  She set aside the papers and gazed steadily at him. “Let me remind you that Rogers was the monster, not me. He was the killer, not me.”

  Robert said imperturbably, “You created it. But we can agree to disagree on that point. But no communication? Not even anonymously, that would have given her family, my family some closure?”

  “It never occurred to me,” she said bluntly.

  “No, I imagine it wouldn’t.”

  “I was simply doing my job.”

  “So your job was stealing secrets from the government and selling them to a foreign agent for your own personal gain?”

  She wearily shook her head. “Tiresome again, Robert. Do you have any proof whatsoever?”

  “We did. But they’re both dead. Josh Quentin, I’m sure, at your hands.”

  “I will put your unfortunate remarks down to your unstable emotional state. But any more talk like that and I will not agree to let your brother walk away from this unscathed. I hope I make myself clear on that point.”

  “Actually, I’ve said all I came here to say.”

  “Good. And Rogers? When can I expect him?”

  “Soon. Very soon.”

  Chapter

  71

  PULLER LOOKED DOWN at the patch of dirt. His brother was next to him. Knox stood a few feet behind them. And behind her was Paul Rogers.

  They were thirty miles from Williamsburg, on a lonely stretch off Interstate 64 on the way to Richmond. A tree stood in front of them. It was massive. Thirty years ago it might have just been a sapling. On the north side of it was a sunken patch of ground.

  They had not come alone. There was a forensics team with them.

  A man wearing a CID windbreaker came up to Puller.

  “You ready for us to proceed, Chief Puller?”

  Puller said curtly, “Go ahead.”

  The team moved forward, staked out the spot with tape, and began to dig.

  Six feet later they were done.

  Ropes were unraveled into the hole. Men in hazmat suits scrambled into the opening in the dirt. The rope was secured to the object. The order was given for the men above to pull.

  They did, and the object soon came into view.

  A metal box.

  It was heavily stained and one side was partially crumpled, but it was still intact. Whatever was inside was not visible.

  For that Puller breathed a silent prayer of thanks.

  The box was loaded into the back of a waiting van. It pulled off while the team continued to process the scene.

  Puller watched them for a bit and then he turned and looked at his brother.

  “You ready to go?” he asked.

  “In a bit.”

  Robert walked around the area for a few minutes, seemingly taking in everything about the patch of ground that might have constituted the resting place of their mother for the last three decades. Puller followed his every move with his eyes.

  Rogers finally came over to him, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m…I’m sorry, Puller.”