No Man's Land

  things that went on here, well, they were not exactly pretty. Or maybe even legal.

  He moved down the main corridor and saw that the place had been gutted and rebuilt. Old wooden doors with a top half of frosted glass engraved with department names had been replaced with sleek automated sliding glass doors accessed by key card ports.

  He couldn’t get into any of these rooms without a key card. And if he tried, he was certain an alarm would sound. But the glass had one weakness: He could see inside the rooms. In one space he saw workstations with computers and sophisticated freestanding equipment.

  In another room was a metal framework that looked familiar to Rogers. It could be mounted on the exterior of something.

  Or someone.

  In another was a helmet with built-in goggles.

  In yet another was a machine gun mounted on a metal platform with a seating area behind it. Next to the gun was a helmet with a surround that would cover the eyes and wires and cables coming out of the top of the helmet and leading to a control box attached to the wall.

  Behind another glass door were enormous TV screens with grids and blocks of data running across them. They were evidently measuring some system that was currently running. Though the people didn’t work around the clock here, the computer systems did.

  Another space was set up as a chemical lab with burners and test tubes and liquids running through pristine tubes. Set on work areas around the room were several iterations of what Rogers recognized as mass spectrometers along with some pieces of equipment that looked brand-new and that he didn’t recognize.

  He came away with a firm conclusion.

  They’re still at it here.

  He looked down at his hands and then slid his sleeve up to look at the scars there. His whole body was a scar.

  On the outside.

  And on the inside. Maybe more on the inside.

  I’m actually all scar tissue on the inside.

  He left the second floor and went to the first, keeping well away from windows and doorways. There was a reception area near the front doors.

  He had expected that.

  And something else he expected was there.

  Atalanta Group.

  That was the name of the business that was housed here.

  At first Rogers’s brain automatically saw the name as Atlanta, but then he recognized that wasn’t right.

  Atalanta Group.

  He had never heard of it.

  But old companies faded and new ones took their place. And he had been gone from this world for a long time.

  He checked his watch. He’d been in here a half hour.

  He went back to the roof and peered over the edge. The guards were making their patrols. He waited until they had once more converged at the front before climbing back down the building after fixing the lock on the access door to hide any sign that he had breached it. He scaled the fence, landed on the other side, and made his way quickly back to his van.

  He drove back to the motel and got there in twenty minutes. He went to his room, sat on the bed, and pulled out his phone. He put in the word “Atalanta.” It did not take long to get hits.

  Atalanta was a mythological female warrior of Greek descent, the only woman on board Jason’s Argo and the lady who had killed the fearsome Calydonian Boar. She was the only female regularly listed among the greatest mythological warriors.

  When he looked up “Atalanta Group at Fort Monroe, Virginia,” he got exactly nothing. There was an Atalanta Group, but it had to do with specialty food and it was nowhere near Fort Monroe.

  Rogers sat back and thought about this.

  Secretive. Perhaps to a paranoid degree.

  Atalanta, a great female warrior? The only one who ran with the male dogs?

  He dropped his phone, lay back on the bed, and closed his eyes.

  His lifetime of bad luck might have just turned to pure gold.

  It was about damn time, he thought.

  Claire Jericho was apparently up to her old tricks.

  Chapter

  23

  PULLER HAD JUST walked into the lobby of the hotel where they were both staying. Knox was standing there, holding two cups of coffee from Starbucks. She handed one to him.

  “Just like you like it.”

  He took a sip. “Thanks.”

  “Okay, Rooney pretty much said your dad was innocent. So now what?”

  “Goal hasn’t changed. We need to keep digging until we get to the truth.”

  “Okay, but sometimes the truth does not set you free, Puller.”

  She had followed him outside and over to his car.

  He took out his keys and jingled them in his hand. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “It’s nothing I haven’t told you before,” she replied. “Despite what some people say, it’s not always best to know versus not know.”

  He put his elbows on the Malibu’s roof and scowled at her. “So if it was your mother, you’d rather not know what happened to her? Whether she’s dead or not?”

  Knox looked away from him but said, “If it were me I would want to know. All I’m saying is, you want the truth, you better be prepared to handle it.”

  “Trust me, Knox. I’m prepared. I’ve had thirty years to get ready.”

  He unlocked the car door and climbed in. She did the same.

  She looked at him. “So where to?”

  “Rooney said he wasn’t expecting my mother that night, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t planning to go there. Something might have prevented her from getting there.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like someone.”

  “You think someone snatched her? On an active military installation? With lots of people around? How could they possibly pull that off?”

  “You’d be amazed at what I’ve seen people pull off.”

  A short time later they were back at Fort Monroe and parked in front of Puller’s old home.

  Knox peered up at the house. “Have you been in there yet?”

  “No. Working up to it.”

  “Looks like a nice place.”

  “My dad was a one-star. It was nice. Nicer than anything I’ve been in since.”

  “Where did you and your brother go after your mother disappeared?”

  “We lived with my aunt, my dad’s sister, for a while in Florida. We visited her a lot when my mother was around. They really got along.”

  “Is your aunt still alive?”

  “No, she was murdered.”

  “Good God, Puller. How? Why?”

  “It’s complicated. But suffice it to say I found out who did it and they were appropriately punished.”

  “Your aunt, your brother, and now your mother. Any other family members lurking out there for you to avenge?”

  “I hope not.”

  “So after you stopped living with your aunt, where did you and Bobby go?”

  “We moved with my father when he was reassigned. He was still our parent even if he wasn’t around much. His staff helped to raise us. Dad always made sure we were taken care of. Nice ladies, housekeepers, people to help with homework and getting us places for sports and other stuff. Then Bobby went off to the Air Force Academy, and two years later I went to college.”

  They fell silent and both stared up at the house.

  “So don’t you think you should go in?” she asked.

  He glanced at her. “Why?”

  “Well, it might jog something in your memory that could help us.”

  “Knox, I don’t remember anything—” Puller stopped and looked out the car window.

  “What?” asked Knox.

  Puller was thinking about all the things he hadn’t remembered from that night, until his brother had set him straight.

  “I…I seemed to have some selective memories from back then,” he said.

  “Then we should go in.”

  “It’s locked up.”

  “I’m not sure that’s ever stopped you
before.”

  He looked at her. “Well, I know it’s never stopped you before. Since I’ve seen you pick a lock on a house, go in, and shoot the person inside.”

  “That’s hardly fair, since she was trying to kill me.”

  Puller opened the car door. “Let’s go.”

  They approached from the front, and because the street was empty, Puller allowed Knox to quickly pick the door lock. They stepped inside and Puller closed the door behind them as Knox put away her pick tools. He looked around while Knox watched him closely.

  “Changed much?”

  He shook his head. “The Army’s not much into decoration. The bones stay pretty much the same. You can change the paint, but when you leave you have to put it back to Army cream white. SOP.”

  There was no furniture left in the house. That made it seem bigger to Puller than it actually had been.

  They cleared the first floor except for the bathroom. He went in there and peered out the window, which overlooked the backyard.

  Knox looked over his shoulder. “Is this the window she was looking out when you saw her last?”

  He nodded. “But the thing is, Knox, that was in the afternoon and she didn’t leave until after we had our dinner.”

  “So you saw her again then?”

  He closed the bathroom door. “Only I don’t seem to recall it. Bobby told me.”

  “Okay, you had dinner, you said. Let’s go into the dining room again and see if something hits you.”

  They walked into the small dining area off the kitchen. Puller leaned against a wall and studied the space.

  He closed his eyes and thought back thirty years ago. The only thing was that people’s memories were notoriously bad. That was why eyewitness testimony was so unreliable. Most couldn’t remember what they were doing the week before at any precise time, much less three decades back. The brain wasn’t really a computer, regurgitating pure facts. It was flavored with all sorts of human things, like embellishment, hope, sorrow, selective recall. Humans were the kings of revisionist remembering.

  We all want to look and sound better than we actually do.

  But Puller was an Army investigator. Thus he held himself to a higher standard than that.

  His brow furrowed as he thought back. Nothing added, nothing subtracted.

  Just remember, John. Just remember exactly as it was back then on that day, at that hour.

  “There was a phone call,” he said, opening his eyes.

  “A phone call? From whom?”

  “I don’t know. But Mom was finishing up making dinner. The phone rang and she went to answer it. There were no cell phones back then. It was the landline.” He pointed to a spot on the kitchen wall. “It was over there.”

  “Did you hear her talking on it? Where was your brother?”

  “Bobby was outside. He might not have even heard it ring. And no, I didn’t hear her talking on it. But I do remember walking around that corner after she got off and seeing her face. She was upset.” He grabbed his phone and punched in a number from memory.

  Carol Powers answered on the second ring.

  “Carol, it’s John Puller. Listen, you said when we talked before that it was lucky you were home because your boyfriend canceled, otherwise you couldn’t have babysat us?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So wherever my mom went that night, it probably wasn’t planned? I mean, it was last-minute if she called the same day?”

  “I guess not. I mean she might have arranged previously with someone else to babysit and that fell through, but I sort of doubt it. I lived right there and your mom usually called me first.”

  “Did you tell anyone that when they were investigating her disappearance? That it seemed to be last-minute?”

  “Um, well, no, no one asked me that specifically. They just wanted to know when I got there and if your mom had said anything to me about where she was going. And that’s what I told them. Did I mess up, John? Should I have told them it wasn’t planned?”

  “It’s not your fault, Carol. It’s their job to ask. Thanks.”

  He put away his phone and looked at Knox.

  “Cause and effect?” she said. “She gets the phone call and decides to go out. She calls the babysitter and dresses in her Sunday best.”

  “I wonder if they checked the phone records back then?”

  “You’d think it would have been in the report if they had. And I don’t remember seeing anything like that. And there’s no way those phone records would be around now. Thirty years ago I think it was one of the Baby Bells running the phone service down here.”

  “So she got a call that made her change her plans and go out. And she never came back.”

  “You’re sure you heard nothing that was said on that call?”

  He shook his head. “I came in as she was hanging up. I just saw her face. She looked upset. But when she saw me she smiled. Then she had me help with making dinner.”

  “Your memory is definitely coming back since you walked in that door.”

  He nodded. “But I can’t remember what I never knew. And I don’t know who made that call or what was said.” He looked at Knox. “I know it’s a long shot, but can you check with some of your people and see if there’s any way in the world we could get the phone number of who called her on that day?”

  “I can try, Puller. But, like I said, it’s a really long shot.”

  “And sometimes those pay off.”

  “But why not have CID do it? They can pull those records, if they exist, as easily as I can.”

  Puller didn’t answer her.

  Knox moved closer to him. “Do you think it’s your sole responsibility to solve this case?”

  “Well, I didn’t do much work on it over the last thirty years,” he shot back.

  “You were a kid when it happened.”

  “But I haven’t been a kid for a long time.”

  “And when you were in a position to do something about it, the case was long since cold. And it seems to me you had other things on your plate. Like fighting in two wars for starters. And then the Army isn’t really well known for letting its people go off on a lark and try to solve a case on their own just because they want to.”

  “You can make all the excuses in the world, Knox, and so can I, but it still won’t change things.”

  “But Father Rooney pretty much cleared your father of any involvement in her disappearance.”

  “No he didn’t. He doesn’t know that for a fact, and neither do I. My father was here on that day. He came back early and didn’t