The Escape Read Online Free PDF Page B

his control now. And he hasn’t been in contact with my brother since before he went to prison.”
    “But patients with dementia have their lucid moments, Puller,” noted Daughtrey. “And with this case no possible lead is too small to follow up. Since you were next up on our list, why don’t we find a quiet place where we can talk?”
    “With all due respect, sir, I’ll meet you wherever and whenever you want, but only after I see my dad. It’s important for me to see him now ,” he added, acutely aware that he was collectively outranked by a country mile.
    The one-star was clearly not pleased by this, but Rinehart said, “I’m sure that can be accommodated, Puller. There’s not a soldier in uniform today who doesn’t owe Fighting John Puller due deference.” As he said this he glanced sharply at Daughtrey. “There’s a visitors’ room right down this hall. You’ll find us in there when you’re done.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    Puller slipped inside his father’s room and shut the door. He didn’t like hospitals. He’d been in enough of them while wounded. They smelled overly clean, but they were actually more full of germs than a toilet seat.
    His father was seated in a chair by the window. John Puller Sr. had once been nearly as tall as his youngest son, but time had robbed him of nearly two inches. Yet, at over six-one, he was still a tall man. He wore his usual uniform these days—white T-shirt and blue scrub pants and hospital slippers. His hair, what was left of it, was cottony white and surrounded the crown of his head like a halo. He was fit and trim, and his musculature, while not at the level of his prime, was still substantial.
    “Hello, General,” Puller said.
    It was usually around this time that his father started jabbering on about Puller being his XO here to receive orders. Puller had gone along with his father’s delusion, though he didn’t want to. It seemed a betrayal of the old man. But now his father didn’t even look at him and didn’t say a word. He just continued to gaze out the window.
    Puller perched on the edge of the bed.
    “What did those men ask you?”
    His father sat up and tapped the window, causing a sparrow to lift into the air and fly off. Then he settled back against the fake leather.
    Puller rose and walked over to him, gazing over his head at the outdoor courtyard. He couldn’t remember the last time his father had been outside. He’d spent the majority of his military career out of doors, more than holding his own against enemies doing their best to defeat him and his men. Virtually none of them had succeeded. Who could have predicted it would be a defect in his own brain that would finally bring him down?
    “Heard from Bobby lately?” asked Puller, being intentionally provocative. Usually the mention of his brother’s name sent his father into spasms of vitriol.
    The only reaction was a grunt, but at least it was something. Puller stood in front of his father, blocking his view of the courtyard.
    “What did the men ask you?”
    His father inched up his chin until he was staring directly at his youngest child.
    “Gone,” said his father.
    “Who, Bobby?”
    “Gone,” said his father again. “AWOL.”
    Puller nodded. This wasn’t technically correct, but he wasn’t holding it against his father. “He is gone. Escaped from the DB, so they say.”
    “Bullshit.” The word wasn’t uttered in anger. There was no raised voice. His father just said it matter-of-factly, as though the truth behind its use was self-evident.
    Puller knelt down next to him so his father could lower his chin.
    “Why is it bullshit?”
    “Told ’em. Bullshit.”
    “Okay, but why?”
    He had caught his father in these moments before, though they were growing less frequent. It was like the one-star general had said: Lucidity was still possible.
    His father looked at his son like he was suddenly surprised he wasn’t actually talking to himself. Puller’s spirits sank