Daylight

Chapter 62

There were exhalations of breath mingled with the dripping of water coming from somewhere. There was consistency in the sounds, but no comfort.

Robert Puller looked down at his feet and winced a bit as the movement made the injuries in his shoulder and arm throb even more. They had interrogated him efficiently if not effectively. He was sure they would try again, with even harsher techniques. He was not looking forward to that. The car had driven them to a van in an underground garage somewhere on the outskirts of the city; the van had tinted windows. They had been restrained, and bags had been placed over their heads. They had driven around for about an hour. Then they had been taken from the van and hustled into somewhere; he didn’t know where. The bags had not been taken off until they were inside. Blum had been taken somewhere else. A classic “divide and crush the confidence” technique.

Punching him in the face, cranking his arm behind his shoulder until nearly the breaking point, and breaking two of his fingers, they had questioned him for about an hour. He had no idea who the questioners were; Gorman was not among them.

He had thrown up during the course of the interrogation and had noted with some amount of satisfaction that he had sent his inquisitors jumping and diving out of the way from his projectile vomiting. That had been worth the two punches in the face he had gotten as punishment.

He had been called every filthy name in the book and been threatened in every way imaginable. That had been simple to endure. He merely did math calculations in his head while they were verbally pummeling him. That had been harder to do when the punches started flying, but he had done the best he could.

Puller had received SERE training during his time in uniform. That stood for “survival, evasion, resistance, and escape.” Well, he had failed miserably in evading, resistance had gotten the crap kicked out of him, and he saw no way of escape.

So focus on survival.

Now he sat staring at a grimy floor and hoping that someone would come to help him.

He had endured years in prison for a crime of which he was innocent. But this was different. Those guarding him then were never going to kill him.

These men clearly were.

He had mentioned Nora Franklin’s name once, after a question about what he was doing at the hotel with Blum.

“I hope Nora was worth what’s going to happen to you assholes,” he had said. This had gotten him a smack in the jaw by a man about the size of a small car that had knocked him out of his chair.

Now he sat slumped over, waiting for them to come back.

“Do you want to die? Because we will kill you.”

The man towered over Carol Blum, who sat at a small table. Her shoes and jacket had been taken from her, and she was shivering, because the room was icy cold. The three men in here were all wearing overcoats.

Blum was scared, more scared than she’d ever been. She had the unshakable feeling that her life was about to end.

Blum looked up at him and said quietly, her voice trembling, “You’re going to kill me anyway, so what does it matter?”

The men held up her FBI credentials.

“You are in admin. A secretary,” he added derisively.

“I prefer the term ‘support personnel.’ ”

That earned her a backhanded slap across the face that would have knocked her out of her chair if a second man had not held her in place. She choked back blood and tears. She was shaking uncontrollably and moaning in pain.

“Okay, have it your way, support personnel,” said the man. “How did you learn about Ms. Franklin and Mr. Gorman?”

Through the one eye she could see out of, Blum stared at him. And then anger swelled up inside her. If she was going to die, she was not going out meekly. She felt her spine stiffen and her composure return. “The Bureau knows everything. All of you are in imminent danger of arrest.”

“You are lying.” He raised his hand to strike her again.

“Hitting a woman nearly twice your age won’t take away the truth of what I just said. And if a lowly ‘support personnel’ knows as much as I do, what do you think the actual agents know?”

One man said, “Agents? How about one agent. Atlee Pine.”

Blum was ready for that one. “And Army CID?”

“John Puller is no longer on the case.”

“Do you really think he’s the only agent CID has?”

“That has been taken care of. And if the Bureau was all over it, why have a secretary conducting surveillance?”

“Absolutely right. If I’m just a secretary.”

“You are too old to be anything else.”

“Absolutely right again. I’m just a secretary, nothing more. And I am with the FBI, no one else.”

The man started to say something and then he stopped and stared warily at her. “What does that mean? ‘No one else’?”

Now Blum allowed herself to look confused and uncertain. “N-nothing. I... I just meant what I said.”

The man looked at his colleagues and started speaking in a language Blum didn’t understand. But what she could see were their clear expressions of concern.

One of the men nodded and looked at Blum. “Who do you work for?”

“I told you. The FBI.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I work for no other agency.” Blum feigned alarm when she said the last word.

The man looked at her triumphantly. “No other agency? Bullshit.” He leaned down so they were eye to eye. “Tell me who you’re really working for. Don’t lie to me.”

Blum looked back at him stubbornly but said nothing else.

“All right. We will be back to talk to you. And then you will provide the answers we require about you and the man in uniform. Or you will die. Do you understand?”

Blum pursed her lips and looked down.

The men filed out and locked the door behind them.

It was only then that Blum looked up. Her subterfuge had bought them a little time, but that was all. She felt her spine grow soft once more as nearly all hope bled out of her.

Please, Agent Pine, please find us before it’s too late.