“You had nothing to do with this.”
“But if she hadn’t seen what I was doing.”
“I don’t blame you. As far as I’m concerned, next to my mother you’re the most blameless person in the whole thing.”
Rogers turned and walked over and stood next to Knox. She started quietly talking to him.
Robert squatted next to the hole. His brother joined him.
“What are you thinking, Bobby?” asked Puller.
“That it’s a peaceful place. That she was resting in peace.”
“We still have to confirm that it’s her.”
Yet Puller knew that it was. The only reason they had been directed here was because this was the payoff. The information about this location, with no strings or prosecutions attached. Jericho was home free.
Puller still felt sick about it. He had never felt so helpless in his life. No skill he had, no weapon he could wield was of any use to him right now.
“It is peaceful,” said Puller. “A lot of flowers. She always loved flowers.” He glanced once more at Knox. Her face was granite. She finally walked away with Rogers behind her. They climbed into a waiting SUV.
They all drove to the morgue. By the time they got there the box had been opened and the remains taken out and placed on a metal autopsy table.
By now it was simply bones with bits of clothing, and small sprouts of hair here and there.
Knox and the Puller brothers looked at it through a window. Puller felt the creep of tears to his eyes.
Robert ran his gaze up and down the remains, his eyes alighting on the bits of clothing.
“Do you think it’s her?” said Puller in a low, tremulous voice.
Robert nodded. “The pattern on the dress she was wearing. That’s it.” He pointed to a patch of fabric around the bony feet. He pointed to another remnant. “And the shoes. What’s left of them. And that’s Mom’s hair color.”
“You remember her clothes and shoes?”
“I remember everything about that night, John.” He put a hand on the wall to steady himself. He suddenly bent over and sucked in several deep breaths while Puller put an arm around his brother’s shoulders, supporting him. Finally Robert straightened.
He nodded. “It’s Mom. We finally found her, John.”
Both brothers continued to look at the remains until the medical examiner came over to the table. The shade on the window was lowered as he began his work.
Knox walked over to Puller and Robert. “They’re here,” she said tersely.
Waiting in the lobby for them were a dozen MPs in body armor and carrying AR-15 assault rifles, along with a three-star who introduced himself as General Randall Blair.
This was the other payoff. Rogers in return for no prosecutions against Puller and the others for their assorted “crimes.”
Knox slid over to Rogers and whispered something in his ear. Rogers nodded and then looked blankly at the group of soldiers.
Blair pointed at Rogers. “Take that man into custody.” He quickly said to Rogers, “We will have no compunction in shooting you down if you so much as think about attacking.”
Rogers glanced at Knox and slowly put his hands behind his back. Two of the MPs shackled him with extra-thick chains.
Blair said, “I have been instructed to admonish all of you to pursue this matter no further. If you do, you will be subject to the consequences. This is an internal DoD matter and it will be pursued accordingly.”
“You mean it will be covered up,” retorted Puller.
Blair seemed to be struggling to keep his temper in check. “All I know, Chief Puller, is that this is where the matter ends. You have your mother’s remains. And so you have closure.”
“Fuck closure,” roared Puller, who took a step forward before his brother grabbed his arm as three of the MPs leveled their AR-15s at him.
Puller barked, “So that’s what you guys are going to do? Just bury this? Again? Let her keep on going? That’s what it means to you to wear the uniform?” He looked straight at the MPs. “Covering up the truth?”
The men stared back at him, completely unmoved by his words.
Blair erupted, “You are one more outburst from a court-martial, soldier.” He stuck a thick finger in Puller’s face. “I don’t care who your old man is!”
“Let it go, John,” said his brother quietly as he gripped his arm.
“I’m not letting this go.”
Knox came over to him and took his other arm. “Yes you are.”
She nodded at Blair. He and the MPs left with the shackled Rogers.
A moment later Puller’s phone buzzed.
It was a text.
From Claire Jericho.
I’m so very sorry about your mother.
Puller threw the phone across the room.
Chapter
72
THE REMAINS WERE confirmed as Jackie Puller. The medical examiner concluded that she had died from a blunt force trauma to the head, which corroborated what Jericho had told Robert about the guard hitting Jackie with his gun.
Their mother was turned over to the Puller brothers and they undertook the details for her burial. The question was whether they would tell their father and have him attend the funeral, if that was even possible. They decided to visit their dad and see how it went.
The hallway was quiet as they walked down it. Puller Sr.’s outbursts had become less pronounced the longer he was a patient here.
They entered the room and saw that he was in bed, his crown of white hair just visible over the blanket. The brothers glanced at each other before walking over to stand on either side of the bed.
“Dad?” said Robert.
The old man didn’t stir.
“Dad, it’s about Mom,” added Puller.
Now their father blinked his eyes open and slowly turned his head to look first at Robert and then at John.
Robert sat down in a chair and took his father’s large, weathered hand and gripped it firmly.
“We found her. We found Mom.”
Puller Sr. started blinking rapidly.
“She didn’t leave us, Dad,” said Puller. “She…she was killed by…someone. Thirty years ago.”
Puller Sr. blinked some more as he turned over to stare up at them. Then they could both see tears trickling down his cheeks.
Robert said, “She’s going to be buried, Dad. We’re going to have a funeral for her at Fort Monroe. We”—he shot his brother a glance—“we wanted to know if you would like to come, if you think you can manage it.”
The tears kept sliding down the old man’s face.
Robert pulled something from his pocket. It was an old cassette recorder.
“What’s that?” whispered Puller.
Robert set it down on the nightstand and turned it on. A moment later they heard a woman’s voice singing.
“That’s Mom,” exclaimed Puller. “Where did you get that?”
“Lucy Bristow. She recorded it years ago when Mom sang in the church choir.”
They turned to see their father reach out and touch the recorder, his eyes now full of tears, a smile etched on his face.
He mouthed one word: “Jackie.”
* * *
The funeral was two days later. It was a beautiful sunny day at Fort Monroe. The breeze off the water was refreshing. The sky was streaked with the contrails of military jets taking off from the naval station across the channel.
All three Puller men were in their dress uniforms. The senior Puller’s trio of stars reflected off the bright sun. The funeral service was at the Catholic church where Jackie had worshipped and been a volunteer. Father Rooney had come out of retirement to perform the funeral Mass.
The Army had offered to send some junior personnel to attend the funeral. The Pullers had turned the offer down.
Puller had actually used some choicer language than that, but that was the gist.
Inside the church, her coffin was placed so that Jackie Puller would
be facing the altar, in accordance with Catholic tradition. A priest’s funeral would have had him facing the congregation, as he would have done in life.
Rooney spoke openly and deeply personally of Jackie Puller and all that she had done and meant to so many, most of all her sons and husband.
Puller glanced around the church where he had attended Mass as a young boy.
He looked over at one elderly lady who was clutching her rosary.
And then it struck him.
Sunday best.
He said in a low voice, “Sunday best.”
His brother, obviously hearing this, turned to him and said, “What?”
“Mom was coming here that night. She was coming to pray over things before visiting Bristow after he called her. She was coming to seek God’s help on what to do.” He added in a hollow tone, “And maybe not just about with Bristow. But with Dad too.”
After finishing the service, Rooney slowly made his way down to the three men and gave them each his personal condolences.
Puller Sr. clung to the priest’s hand so tightly that Puller thought he saw Rooney wince in pain, but the old priest gamely hung in there until the old soldier relinquished his grip.
The Puller brothers were pallbearers, easily hoisting the coffin with their mother’s remains. Tears streamed down their faces as they performed this task, both at the church and at the gravesite.
They were not tough, hardened soldiers now.
They were simply bereaved sons.
Many people who had known the Pullers were there, including Stan Demirjian, who had come up and saluted Lieutenant General John Puller and then spent the rest of the time helping the old warrior get around, with a supportive hand ready whenever it was needed. Also there were Carol Powers and her family, the retired CID agent Vincent DiRenzo, and attorney Shireen Kirk. Lucy Bristow, whose husband Jackie had been going to meet that night, walked over to the Pullers and offered her condolences. Puller Sr. seemed to recognize her and gave her a nod.
It was telling to Puller that none of the military higher-ups were there. They obviously saw their attendance here as detrimental to their careers.
And they had all obeyed that order.
As Puller sat listening to Father Rooney delivering the gravesite service, Knox, who was sitting next to him and wearing a simple black dress, took his hand. When she squeezed it, he squeezed back.
After the service was over the Puller brothers loaded their father into the van they had driven down in.
Stan Demirjian came over to them. In a low voice he said, “I always knew your father was innocent. Always.”
“Thanks, Mr. Demirjian,” said Robert. “That means a lot.”
“And even though I know why she wrote the letter, it was wrong for Lynda to send it to the Army. You can’t do that sort of thing to people just based on what you’re feeling and without any real facts to back you up.”
The men shook hands and Demirjian gave them both sharp salutes and departed.
After he left Puller took something from his pocket. “Speaking of letters.”
“What is that?” asked Robert.
“The original letter from Mrs. Demirjian. Ted Hull sent it to me.”
“What are you going to do with it?” asked Robert.
Puller took something else from his pocket and held it up. “I brought this.” It was a lighter. “You want to do the honors?”
Puller gripped one edge of the letter while Robert ignited another edge with the lighter’s flame.
Puller held on to the letter as long as he could. When the flames were about to reach his fingers he let it go. The paper rose into the air, continued to burn, and finally disappeared into blackened curls of ash carried away by the breeze.
“Is there really no way, Bobby?” said Puller.
“Charpentier has disappeared with no leads. Myers and Quentin are dead. The official word is that the body of the old man is Chris Ballard. I’m sure they have the forensics to support that, even if it is all bullshit.”
“And the secrets they were selling? If people dig into that?”
“No one’s going to dig, John. Look at it from DoD’s point of view. The truth comes out they all look bad. It could set back defense research for decades. Reputations and silver stars falling like rain. I’m not saying the powers that be are happy about this. I’m just saying no one apparently wants to go down that road. And even if they did, Jericho’s had more than enough time to get rid of all the evidence.”
“So that’s it, then?”
“Yes, that’s it.”
Puller saw Knox heading over. “Are you riding back with us?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ve got some things I need to attend to.”
“Any word on Rogers?”
“No. I don’t know what they’re going to do with him. Maybe he’ll end up at Gitmo, buried forever.”
Puller said, “None of this is right. None of this is fair.”
Knox glanced at Robert before saying, “All of this is…life.”
She kissed him on the cheek, hugged Robert, and then turned and walked off.
“Things good between you two?” Robert asked.
Puller watched Knox disappear from sight before answering. “I don’t know.”
Chapter
73
PAUL ROGERS LOOKED around at the cell he was in. It resembled the one he had been in for the last ten years. The only difference was he was the only prisoner in this particular facility. They had come in late at night, but he had seen clearly that it was a military building and it was not meant to hold prisoners. But there was a secure area and he was in it.
There were bars all around, allowing the guards who stood watch around the clock a dead-on view of him.
There was a toilet and a hose for a shower. His meals were passed through the door while half a dozen guards aimed automatic weapons at him.
There was a comfortable bunk.
And nothing else.
He lay there day after day. When the pain hit him, forcing him to his knees in agony, the guards stood by and watched. He assumed their orders were not to intervene in any way. And they followed orders.
When he retched, which he often did, they passed towels through the bars for him to clean up his mess.