Or not?
Puller observed, and not for the first time, how much he resembled his older brother. Both were tall. Both had the same nose, and both shared their father’s angular jaw. The eyes were deep-set, giving each man a brooding look regardless of what they might actually be contemplating. But then again all three Puller men tended to be brooders.
His mind went back to when they were children. Bobby, because of his brains, had been the leader of the military brats on whatever base they had been living with their father. His brother had been the most sensitive, honorable person Puller knew, so sensitive, in fact, that the old man had taken to busting his balls about this perceived “weakness.” In fact, he had done it so often that Puller had memorized his father’s spiel.
“You can’t command men in battle if they like you, Bob,” his father had said. “They have to have equal parts fear and respect. And I would say fear is even more important than respect. Respect only gets you so far. Fear can get you through every damn obstacle devised by the enemy. Men will follow you to hell if they fear you. Because failing you will scare them more than any other thing they will ever face on the battlefield. You remember that, son. You remember that if you remember nothing else I’ve ever told you.”
Bobby had never gotten over this “weakness.” Which was probably why he opted for the Air Force instead of the Army. And staked out his career with technology rather than guns and cojones the size of Nebraska.
When Puller had found out from Captain Macri that the prison computer system had been hacked, he had initially thought that his brother, who knew his way around computers better than just about anyone, might somehow have done it. But then they never let his brother near a computer at the DB. And he’d been sitting in his cell and seemed genuinely surprised when the power went out. So if not his brother, who?
Puller was thinking all of this when the door opened and in walked a woman about his age. She was tall, slender, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, dressed in a black pantsuit with a white blouse, the collar flipped up in a way that even Puller, who knew nothing of women’s fashions, thought looked sort of chic. She had shoulder-length auburn hair, a freckled face, and a flint-sharp nose. She looked like she had been an athlete in college, and carried herself in a confident manner.
“Agent Puller?”
Momentarily thrown by this unusual greeting, he rose and said, “I’m Chief Warrant Officer John Puller, with the 701st CID out of Quantico.”
She put out a hand. “Veronica Knox.” He shook her hand and she held up her creds, which dangled on a lanyard. “INSCOM,” she said, referring to the United States Army’s Intelligence and Security Command.
“Where are you based out of?” he asked.
“I’m a floater going to the trouble spots. That’s why I’m here.”
“Okay. And your rank?”
“Why?”
“It’s just sort of standard to know.”
“Captain.”
“Okay, ma’am.” Puller’s antennae were tingling.
“CID is already here investigating.”
“I know they are,” he said.
“You’re not part of that team.”
“I know that too, ma’am.”
“You don’t have to call me ‘ma’am.’”
“All right.”
“And the escapee is your older brother,” she pointed out.
“I’m afraid it’s three strikes and you’re out, Captain Knox.”
She ignored this comment, sat down, and looked at the frozen image of Robert Puller on the screen. She flicked a finger at it.
“The man of the hour. Find any clues?”
“Not yet.”
“I know you have authorization to be here. We got that order. But why are you here?”
“Same reason you are. Trying to figure out what happened.”
“CID has enough free assets to double up on this?”
“No, we’re pretty much stretched thin like every other Army element.”
“So?” she said expectantly.
“So what?”
“Why are you
Puller observed, and not for the first time, how much he resembled his older brother. Both were tall. Both had the same nose, and both shared their father’s angular jaw. The eyes were deep-set, giving each man a brooding look regardless of what they might actually be contemplating. But then again all three Puller men tended to be brooders.
His mind went back to when they were children. Bobby, because of his brains, had been the leader of the military brats on whatever base they had been living with their father. His brother had been the most sensitive, honorable person Puller knew, so sensitive, in fact, that the old man had taken to busting his balls about this perceived “weakness.” In fact, he had done it so often that Puller had memorized his father’s spiel.
“You can’t command men in battle if they like you, Bob,” his father had said. “They have to have equal parts fear and respect. And I would say fear is even more important than respect. Respect only gets you so far. Fear can get you through every damn obstacle devised by the enemy. Men will follow you to hell if they fear you. Because failing you will scare them more than any other thing they will ever face on the battlefield. You remember that, son. You remember that if you remember nothing else I’ve ever told you.”
Bobby had never gotten over this “weakness.” Which was probably why he opted for the Air Force instead of the Army. And staked out his career with technology rather than guns and cojones the size of Nebraska.
When Puller had found out from Captain Macri that the prison computer system had been hacked, he had initially thought that his brother, who knew his way around computers better than just about anyone, might somehow have done it. But then they never let his brother near a computer at the DB. And he’d been sitting in his cell and seemed genuinely surprised when the power went out. So if not his brother, who?
Puller was thinking all of this when the door opened and in walked a woman about his age. She was tall, slender, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, dressed in a black pantsuit with a white blouse, the collar flipped up in a way that even Puller, who knew nothing of women’s fashions, thought looked sort of chic. She had shoulder-length auburn hair, a freckled face, and a flint-sharp nose. She looked like she had been an athlete in college, and carried herself in a confident manner.
“Agent Puller?”
Momentarily thrown by this unusual greeting, he rose and said, “I’m Chief Warrant Officer John Puller, with the 701st CID out of Quantico.”
She put out a hand. “Veronica Knox.” He shook her hand and she held up her creds, which dangled on a lanyard. “INSCOM,” she said, referring to the United States Army’s Intelligence and Security Command.
“Where are you based out of?” he asked.
“I’m a floater going to the trouble spots. That’s why I’m here.”
“Okay. And your rank?”
“Why?”
“It’s just sort of standard to know.”
“Captain.”
“Okay, ma’am.” Puller’s antennae were tingling.
“CID is already here investigating.”
“I know they are,” he said.
“You’re not part of that team.”
“I know that too, ma’am.”
“You don’t have to call me ‘ma’am.’”
“All right.”
“And the escapee is your older brother,” she pointed out.
“I’m afraid it’s three strikes and you’re out, Captain Knox.”
She ignored this comment, sat down, and looked at the frozen image of Robert Puller on the screen. She flicked a finger at it.
“The man of the hour. Find any clues?”
“Not yet.”
“I know you have authorization to be here. We got that order. But why are you here?”
“Same reason you are. Trying to figure out what happened.”
“CID has enough free assets to double up on this?”
“No, we’re pretty much stretched thin like every other Army element.”
“So?” she said expectantly.
“So what?”
“Why are you
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