CHAPTER
57
PULLER DROVE DIRECTLY to the Reynolds home in Fairfax City. It was in an older neighborhood of modest homes. Reynolds had probably been transferred back and forth from the D.C. area several times during his military career. For those who had to sell their homes at the lows of the real estate market and then buy back in at the highs, it could be rough financially. Puller didn’t know Reynolds’s personal situation, but he concluded the man was probably looking forward to a fatter paycheck in the private sector to offset all those years of earning far less than he was worth while serving his country.
Two hours later Puller sat in the living room of the home holding a picture of the Reynolds family in his gloved hands. Though the place had already been processed by DHS, he never broke crime scene procedures.
In the photo the Reynoldses looked happy, normal, alive.
Now they were none of those things. He had noted baseball gear in the boy’s room and swim and tennis posters in the daughter’s room. There were photos of Matt and Stacey during various military functions. And on vacation. Sailing, skydiving, swimming with the dolphins. There were pictures of their children on tennis and basketball courts. The daughter in her prom dress. The son, then just a toddler, hugging his old man when he was in uniform. Puller could easily read the expressions on their faces.
Dad was being deployed.
The son was not happy about it. He was hugging his father tight, trying to keep him from going.
Puller put the photo back where he’d gotten it. He locked the door on the way out. He sat in his car for a while gazing up at a house that had no one left to live in it. It would go on the market, be sold, the belongings dispersed, and the Reynoldses would live on only in the memories of their friends and family.
And in mine.
Afterwards, Puller drove to his apartment and packed a duffel bag full of clean clothes. By the time he got there it was very late. He spent a few minutes with AWOL while he thought through the night’s events. He’d changed his return flight to Charleston for the next morning. He’d missed the last direct flight there tonight.
Carson had been more right than she thought and also more wrong. There was something big going on. Only she had thought that Reynolds and she were the only ones on the federal side who knew about it. That was incorrect. She had thought she had blown it by not contacting the authorities. Obviously, the authorities had known, albeit after Reynolds was dead. The fact that the Reynolds family had been slaughtered did not give Puller much confidence in DHS’s ability to cover his back if need be. But for the chatter, they’d still be clueless.
As he stroked AWOL’s ears his thoughts turned to Sam Cole. How much if any of this could he tell her? The official answer was simple: He could tell her little if anything. The unofficial answer was far more complicated. He didn’t like putting people in harm’s way without telling them the lay of the land. He would have a short flight and then a longer car ride from Charleston to think about it.
He checked his watch. He had prearranged this. He had to, otherwise it couldn’t happen.
He made the call. He spoke to a line of people and gave the appropriate responses. Finally, the familiar voice came over the line.
“Surprised when they told me you’d set up a call for tonight,” said Robert Puller.
“Wanted to catch up.”
“It’s late on the East Coast.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“The call’s monitored,” his brother said. “There are people listening.” He changed voices, dropping it deliberately into a deep baritone. “Can you hear us clearly enough, Official Monitor? If not we’d be glad to speak up while we plot the destruction of the world.”
“Knock it off, Bobby, they might cut the call off.”
“They might, but they won’t. What else do they have to do?”
“I saw him.”
For the Puller brothers this was not so subtle code. There was only one “him” in their lives.
“Okay. How’s he doing?” Robert’s voice had quickly turned serious.
“Not all that great, actually. Things tend to wander.”
“In and out of the stars?”
“Right. Exactly.”
“Otherwise?”
“Healthy. Live to be a hundred.”
“What else?”
“A beef he has.”
“With whom?”
“Blame game. Still the stars, he thinks. But trajectory shot all to hell.”
Puller didn’t care if the monitors figured out they were talking about their father. Unless their conversations were deemed to be criminal or inappropriate in any way, this call was confidential. And military careers could be curtailed and even destroyed if it was shown that any part of a prisoner’s conversation was revealed in an unauthorized way, particularly when a highly decorated combat vet was on the other end of the line.
“One guess,” said Robert.
“Right,” said Puller.
“He really believes that? The timing is way off.”
“Not in his mind.”
Puller heard his brother give a long sigh.
Puller said, “Thought about not telling you.”
“As in what does it matter?”
“Something like that. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No, no, you should have, little brother. I appreciate it.” He paused. “Working on anything interesting?”
“Yes and no. Yes I am and no I can’t tell you about it.”
“Well, good luck. My money’s on you.”
They spoke for another thirty seconds on innocuous matters and said their goodbyes. When Puller clicked off he stared down at his phone imagining his brother being walked back to his cell. Nothing to do but wait for the next day when he would get out of his cage for an hour. Wait for the next phone call from his brother. Or the next visit. Totally out of his control. There wasn’t one segment of his life in which he had real input.
I’m all he has left.
I’m all the old man has left.
God help me.
And them.