“I never said I was in agreement with it, Pine. And that decision came from several levels above me. The down-and-dirty explanation I was given was that if the public found out, they could never trust their leaders again.”
“Well, they apparently can’t trust their leaders, so isn’t that the point?” interjected Robert Puller.
“Well, even with the breadth of this scheme, these folks only represent a small fraction of people in positions of power and influence.”
Pine said, “You know some journalists are going to start digging into this and they’re going to uncover the truth and people are going to win slews of Pulitzers off this.”
“And part of me hopes that they do,” replied Graham. “Freedom of the press is in the very first amendment, after all.” He paused again and surveyed them. “But with that said, you will have to hold this in the strictest confidence all the way to the grave. I’m certain I can count on you for that.”
It wasn’t spoken as a question.
Then Graham said, “I was told to make that statement to you, and I did. What I wasn’t told to say is what I’m going to say now. Each of you put your lives on the line for your country. If it were up to me, the public would know all about it and would be singing your praises, and you would be given all the awards and recognition that you undoubtedly deserve. That would be in an ideal world. We, unfortunately, do not live in that kind of a world. But I want you to know that certain people do know of your sacrifice and loyalty to this country, and they wanted me to extend their thanks and through them the heartfelt gratitude of a nation. And now I will stop making speeches, and all of you can go on with your lives. However, if there is anything that you need, all you have to do is call me.” He glanced at Pine. “And my old friend, Clint Dobbs, is lucky to have you out there in Arizona. Tell him to be careful — other field offices might want to snatch you up, starting with this one.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him that, sir,” said Pine. “Everyone needs a bargaining chip now and then.”
They all filed out. The Puller brothers walked ahead of them and were in conversation.
Pine said to Blum. “I’m so sorry for all this, Carol. I know I keep apologizing, but I feel awful.”
“Please don’t, Agent Pine. Aside from being beaten and almost killed, it was very exciting. Put a spring in my step.”
“You really are a national treasure, Carol Blum.”
“Remember to put in a good word for me when it’s time for salary review.”
“Oh, I see quite a nice bump in your pay after this. And Dobbs may finally approve a new SUV for me. The one I drive now has two hundred and fifty thousand miles on it.”
“Would you ever actually think of going to another field office?”
“No, but if I ever do, I’ll check with you first.”
“Well, I would hope you would give me a heads-up if you were leaving.”
Pine gripped her by the shoulder. “You’re missing my point. We’re a package deal. If I go, you go, too. And if you won’t go, I won’t, either. Now, I need to talk to the Pullers.”
They caught up with the brothers.
“How are you feeling, John?” she asked.
Puller was still bandaged up but looking far healthier and stronger. “Almost back to normal. I’ll still need more rehab. Although I am persona non grata at a certain New York City hospital ever since I ‘escaped’ that night.”
“And boy, am I glad you did,” said his brother. “Your timing was spot-on, as usual.”
The Pullers looked at Pine’s grim features, and their joking manner quickly dissipated.
“What is it, Atlee?” said John Puller.
“I need some information on two Vietnam-era soldiers.”
“You know their names?”
“One you already know. Ito Vincenzo. The other is a Leonard Atkins. He lives or he lived in Taliaferro County, Georgia. He apparently served with Ito Vincenzo. And Atkins apparently saved his life over there.”
“And why is Atkins important?” asked Puller.
Pine held up the photo of Mercy. “Because that’s who Ito gave my sister to.”
Chapter 70
The flight to Atlanta from New York was not even three hours. Yet to Pine it felt like three years. She sat next to Blum, alternating between staring out the window and looking at the old Polaroid. She had scrutinized it so many times, it surprised her when she saw a detail she hadn’t observed before. The long hairs on Mercy’s exposed legs. The tear in the shoulder of her dress. How her little finger was bent in at an awkward angle. What looked like a severe burn on her ankle.
And behind the three people and next to the mobile trailer, the snout and curved ears of a large hog. And behind that, ominously, a steel peg in the ground with a chain attached.
Surely for a dog, thought Pine. Surely.
Blum turned and saw what Pine was doing. She reached over and gripped her hand, surprising her boss for an instant before Pine smiled embarrassedly. “I guess it’s sort of crazy to keep looking at this picture.”
“It’s not crazy, it’s perfectly natural. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now. But what you should keep in mind is how much progress you’ve made, Agent Pine. Look at where we’re headed right now. A short time ago did you ever think this would be possible?”
Pine squeezed her hand. “You’re right, Carol. And thanks for helping me keep this in perspective.”
They landed and drove in a rental car straight to Jack Lineberry’s house about an hour south of Atlanta.
He was sitting up in a chair in his bedroom at the palatial estate. Looking out a window to the rear grounds, Pine saw where the cottage had been — the cottage that had been bombed while she had been inside it. It had been demolished, and a crew was now rebuilding it. They were finishing up pouring a new foundation. She saw stacks of boards lying nearby. She assumed those would be used to frame the house next.
She glanced at Lineberry, a tall, handsome man in his sixties, as he sat in a chair. He looked pale and still weak, but there was strength in the hug he had given her and his eyes were clear and focused.
When Pine showed him the photo, he at first shook his head, and then his chin dropped, and the man began to weep. This was so unexpected that Pine didn’t know what to do. Blum put a comforting arm around his quaking shoulders.
Then it struck Pine.
Shit, you idiot, that’s his daughter.
That truth had come so recently to Pine that it hadn’t even occurred to her when she handed him the photo.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” she said, kneeling down on the other side of him. “I just wasn’t thinking clearly.”
He waved her apology away and composed himself. He handed her back the photo. “Do you know where that was taken?”
“Taliaferro County. North and east of here. Ito Vincenzo could have made it there and back in one day. Which he did.”
“And you’re sure this is... Mercy?”
“I have other evidence which supports that conclusion.”
“The Atkinses, Len, Wanda, and Becky?”
“Ito served in the Army with Leonard Atkins. I found out Atkins was severely wounded. He came back to the States, was discharged, and moved back to Georgia.”
Lineberry looked puzzled. “But if he was of Ito’s generation, he would be far older than would be typical for someone wanting a child Mercy’s age. I’m presuming that Ito brought Mercy to them as... I don’t want to say a gift, but you know what I mean.”
“You’re right. But during a battle with the North Vietnamese, Atkins saved Vincenzo’s life. That’s how he was wounded. The wound was in an area that made him... it caused Atkins to be unable to father children.”