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got your Top Secret and SCI clearances.” He paused. “Even though what your brother did nearly blew that for you.”
    “I’m not my brother. And all my clearances were renewed.”
    “I know that.” The man fell silent and tapped the arm of his chair.
    Puller said nothing. He knew what was coming next. It always did.
    “So why not West Point for you, Puller? And why CID? Your military service is solid gold. Top scores at Ranger School. Hell of a combat record. A leader in the field. Your father earned forty-nine major medals over three decades and he’s an Army legend. You garnered nearly half that in six tours of combat in Iraq and Afghanistan. Two Silvers, one of which landed you in rehab for three months, three Bronzes with V-devices, and a trio of Purples. And you bagged a guy on the fifty-two-card most wanted deck in Iraq, right?”
    “Five of spades, sir,” said Puller.
    “Right. So you’ve got more than enough stars and scars. Army loves that combo. You’re a stud with an impeccable military pedigree. If you’d stayed with the Rangers you’d be a shoo-in for the top enlisted spot. If you’d gone to West Point you’d be a major or maybe even a lieutenant colonel by now. And you could’ve earned at least two shoulder stars before you left the Army. Hell, maybe three like your old man if you played the political games right. At CID an enlisted man tops out at command sergeant major. And my predecessor told me the only reason you filed your warrant officer application was because sergeant first classes sit their butts behind desks at CID while WOs can still get out in the field.”
    “I don’t much like desks, sir.”
    “So here you are, at CID. On the low side of the bars and clusters. And I’m not the first to wonder about that, soldier.”
    Puller let his gaze drop to the other man’s row of ribbons. White was dressed in the Army’s new blue Class Bs that were over time replacing the old greens. For anyone in the military the chest of ribbons and/or medals was the DNA of a person’s career. It toldall to the experienced eye; nothing of significance could be hidden. From a combat perspective there wasn’t anything in the SAC’s history worthy of note, not a Purple or valor device in sight. Certainly the ribbons were many in number and would look impressive to the layperson, but it told Puller that the man was basically a career desk-humper, who only fired a weapon for recertification.
    Puller said, “Sir, I like where I am. I like the way I got there. And it’s a moot point now. It is what it is.”
    “I guess it is, Puller. I guess it is. Some might call you an underachiever.”
    “Maybe it’s a character flaw, but I’ve never cared about what people call me.”
    “Heard that too about you.”
    Puller eyed the man steadily. “Yes, sir. I guess the case is getting cold out there.”
    The man glanced over at his computer screen. “Then get your gear and head out.”
    When White looked back moments later, Puller was already gone.
    He’d never even heard the big man leave. White leaned farther back in his squeaky chair. Maybe that was why he had all those medals. You couldn’t kill what you couldn’t see coming.

CHAPTER
    5
    S ITTING ON THE TRUNK of his black Army-issued Chevy Malibu, Puller drank one extra-large cup of coffee while he scanned the file under the arc of a streetlight outside CID headquarters. Clustered around here were all the criminal investigative divisions of the military, including NCIS, which had become a hugely popular television show. Puller wished he could solve crimes in sixty minutes each week as his TV counterparts did. In the real world it often took a lot longer, and sometimes you never did get to the truth.
    In the background the sounds of gunshots were relentless. The FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team and the Marines trained around the clock with live ammo. Puller was so used to the gunfire that he barely noticed it. He would only react if he hadn’t heard it.