He eyed Knox and motioned with his head.
She ducked into the house, her gun pointing center left. Puller followed her performing his arc center right. They cleared the first floor and then checked the garage.
“That’s Myers’s BMW,” said Puller. “I don’t know whose Maserati that is.”
Knox opened the door to the Maserati, popped the glove box, and took out the registration.
“Josh Quentin.”
“Okay, this is starting to make sense.”
“Do you think they’re here?” asked Knox.
“We have more house to search, but I didn’t hear anything.”
“You think they’re dead?”
“I think we’d better check.”
They moved up the stairs and went room by room on the second floor. In a bedroom, Puller reached down and picked up a length of rope and a balled-up washcloth.
Knox said, “Looks like someone was restrained. Who do you think it was? Myers?”
“I don’t know.”
They split up, with Knox taking half the floor and Puller the other half. Knox cleared her section and then found Puller in one of the bathrooms.
“Find anything?”
He pointed around the toilet. “Looks like someone was sick to their stomach.”
Knox wrinkled her nose. “Smells like it too.”
“And then there’s this.” He led her over to the shower. “Check out the pipe.”
She looked at it. “Someone nearly crushed it. Did you check for a tool mark?”
“It doesn’t look like a tool was used. From what I’m seeing it was someone’s fingers.”
"That pipe is metal and it has to be thick enough to withstand the water pressure.”
“I can think of only one guy who could make metal seem like putty.”
“Paul. So he was here. Do you think he was the one tied up?”
Puller shook his head. “That rope never would have held him.”
“So he had someone tied up. Myers?”
“It’s her house. But it could be Quentin.”
“I wonder how Paul found out about this place?”
“I don’t know. But he apparently was here.”
“But why would he think Myers has anything to do with Jericho?”
“I don’t know, Knox! Unless he stumbled onto what they’re doing in that upstairs room at the bar.”
“I guess he could have. He worked there.”
Puller examined the couch and then focused on something. “It’s a few strands of hair fiber.” He picked them up. “Doesn’t look like Myers’s. Maybe Josh Quentin’s? His car’s in the garage too.”
“Maybe that’s who Paul was looking for? Maybe he followed Quentin down here. And didn’t even know Myers was going to be here.”
“That could be.”
“And we know he and Myers are working together to pass secrets. It would make sense that they might meet here,” noted Knox.
“So Paul, Myers, and Quentin were all here together. And people tied up with washcloths balled up in their mouths so they couldn’t cry out and warn someone.”
“So Paul was holding them both? And now where are they? Did he take them somewhere?”
Puller nodded. “It’s certainly possible. Maybe to get to Building Q? To get to Jericho?”
“Okay, but if so, how do we get in there without an invite?”
“Maybe we need to make our own invitation.”
“How?”
“We have a two-hour drive to come up with one.”
64
ROGERS SLOWLY OPENED his eyes. He felt like a tank round had been fired right next to his brain. Cloudy, fuzzy, unfocused. Like he and Johnnie Walker Black had been on a drinking binge for a month.
And he couldn’t move his arms or legs.
Slap.
The hand hit him lightly on the jaw.
He blinked rapidly and focused on the person next to him.
Claire Jericho stared back at him.
He was lying on a gurney. He was not bound, but he couldn’t move. He licked his dry lips.
“What did you do to me?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing too remarkable. Anesthetic gas. How are you feeling?”
“I can’t move my limbs.”
“Nerve blockers. Brachial plexus and femoral nerve, among others. We used those before on you.”
“And why did you do that?” he said, his teeth gritted.
“Well, there aren’t many restraints that can hold you. I thought this best. It’s not painful. And it does wear off.”
He looked around. “What is this place?”
“This place is safe, Dimitri.”
“My name is Paul.”
“That’s right. Paul Rogers.”
She pulled up a chair and sat down next to him.
“How did Quentin tip you off?” he asked.
“He didn’t. He followed your instructions to the letter.”
“How did you know I’d be there, then?”
“Josh Quentin never summons me,” she said simply. “But I was already on my guard.”
“Why?”
She slipped a small notebook from her jacket pocket and opened it to the first page. “You were convicted of second-degree murder. You served ten years of a fifteen-year sentence and then were paroled. Unfortunately, you were paroled a day early because of a clerical error.”
“How did you know? They couldn’t take my prints.”
“DNA,” she interjected. “They took DNA from you. And when that DNA sample was eventually picked up by us four years ago we knew where you were.”
“If you knew four years ago why didn’t you come for me then?”
“We couldn’t very well do that. You had killed someone. But we kept watch and we are very glad to have you back.”
“Why?”
“For testing, of course. When we designed the system we had no real idea of its longevity. But with you here now, we can run precise tests that will tell us exactly the durability of what we placed inside you.”
Rogers said, “I’ve been back to Building Q. Nothing has changed.”
“If only that were true, Paul. What we’re doing now is mundane and unimaginative and, quite frankly, dull. Exoskeletons? Nano-muscle fiber for a paltry thirty percent strength boost? We more than quadrupled your strength metrics. And exos are cumbersome, heavy, severely limited. Better NV goggles? Who really cares? Now, the liquid armor concept is something different, but not that terribly innovative. With bionic boots we get past the limiting factors of the spaghetti strap we call our Achilles’ heel, but, again, that’s not a game changer.” She rubbed her hand over his immobile arm. “Nothing comes close to what we did with you, Paul. You fulfilled our mission of creating a meta-biologically dominant soldier.” She removed her hand. “But the Pentagon shut down the whole program. It really was the most misguided decision and has set us back decades. The wars in the Middle East would have been far different if we’d had a division made up of soldiers like you. Far different.” She reached up and touched the spot on his head. “And this, this was the crowning achievement. This made everything else we did to enhance you secondary.” She paused and then added in a reverent tone, “A fighting machine who has no fear. It was the greatest attribute one could bestow on a soldier.”
“Fear is necessary in a war, if you’re the one fighting it,” said Rogers through clenched teeth.
“Nonsense. Fear makes one weak. A soldier who feels is not a real soldier.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew what it was like to be in combat.”
She shook her head again, her expression now one of disappointment. “That’s hardly the point, is it?”
She looked back at her notebook. “Two people were found murdered in an alley near the depot where the bus you took from prison dropped you off. We also found your parole papers in the trash can. Then you no doubt made your way across the country. Stolen cars, probably. And then we come to West Virginia.”
She turned the page.
“A gun dealer, Mike Donohue, was murdered in West Virginia. The police report said that a knife had been driven through his chest with such force that it had pinned him to the wall of his trailer. An astonishing feat of strength. Donohue was a large man with a deep, thick torso.”