Zero Day (John Puller, #1)

by David Baldacci

He had never worn his emotions on his sleeve. He had never cried when men around him were dying on the battlefield, often horribly. But he had avenged them, in equally horrible ways. He had never walked into combat carrying uncontrolled anger, because that made you weak. And weakness made you fail. He had not shed a tear when his brother was court-martialed for treason. Men in the Puller family did not cry. That was Rule One. Men in the Puller family remained calm and in control at all times, because that raised the odds of victory. That was Rule Two. Any rules after that were largely superfluous.

It was a centralized stovepipe command structure with the Secretary of the Army at the top and special agents at the bottom, with three layers of bureaucracy in between. It was a lasagna dish with too many noodle beds, Puller thought.

“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.”

“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.”

“Zero-seven-hundred Juliet.” He listened to another long inhale and then exhale of smoke. She said, “Juliet? I told you my name is Sam.” “Means local daylight saving time. If it were the winter and we were in eastern standard time it would be zero-seven-hundred Romeo.” “Romeo and Juliet?” she said skeptically. “Contrary to popular belief, the United States Army has a sense of humor.”

Puller aimed his ride west, following the GPS, but really listening to his own internal compass. The high-tech stuff was good, but your head was better. High-tech sometimes failed. The head didn’t unless someone had put a bullet through it, and then you had far bigger problems than just being lost.

Two of the main differences between MPs and CID special agents were that MPs carried their weapons without a round chambered. CID agents went through life with racked guns at all times. MPs turned in their weapons when their shift was done. CID agents didn’t draw a breath without their guns in easy reach.

Puller studied her while she was studying the dead guy. No tears this time. Brief shake of the head. Woman was internalizing it. Probably embarrassed to have already teared up in front of him. And then the voice catch. She shouldn’t have been embarrassed. He’d seen friends die, lots of them. It never got any easier. It only got harder. You thought you became desensitized to it, but that was just an illusion. The hole in your mind just got deeper so more shit would fit inside it.

“How are you going to be able to sleep?” asked Cole as he lifted the third cup to his mouth. “My physiology is a little backwards. The more caffeine I consume the better I sleep.” “You’re kidding.” “Actually, the Army just teaches you to sleep when you need it. I’ll need it tonight, so I’ll sleep just fine.”

As the woman shuffled on Puller said, “Small town?” “With all its thorns and rose petals,” she replied.

Yet he is also brutal, hardened, and mercy has been absent from his vocabulary since the day he put on the uniform. The rules of engagement are clear and have been ever since men first took up arms against each other.

Total focus. This is it. All those years of sweat, of agony, of having someone screaming that you can’t do something but actually expecting that you will do it better than anyone ever has. All for the next three minutes. Because that’s probably how long it will take to declare a winner in this one encounter between desperate men. If you multiply all these individual fights to the death by a factor of a million it will add up to something called a war.

The old woman’s “home” constituted two rooms and a six-by-six bath with a shower almost too small for Puller to even get into. Stacks of things people her age often collected lay everywhere. It was like they were trying to stop time in its tracks by holding on to all that had come before. Stopping their march to death. As if any of us could.

The thermometer outside was already at eighty. It was also muggy. He had felt the sweat form on his body when he’d run to his car for the first aid kit. But when it was hot outside, you drank something hot. That made your body cool itself. When it was cold, the opposite. Simple science. But, frankly, regardless of the temperature, Puller liked his coffee. It was an Army thing. Puller knew exactly what it was. It was a few moments of normalcy in an otherwise abnormal world where people were trying to kill each other.

“I can drop you off at your car and then pick you up at the motel. Give us both time to shower and change. I need to scrub hard to get the smell of death off me.” “I don’t think anyone can scrub that hard.” “I’m sure as hell going to try.”

“Everyone knows Louisa. Salt of the earth.” “It’s nice to help the salts of the earth,” replied Puller quietly. “They usually get the shaft.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “I want you to stop beating yourself up about that trip wire, Puller.” “If I’d done that overseas my entire squad would be dead.” “But we’re not dead.” “Right,” he said dully.

“I’m sure he has lots of other appealing qualities.” “He does, actually.” “Good to know.” “I don’t like your attitude.” “I don’t have an attitude. I’m just trying to go with the flow.” “Try harder.”

“Blast close to just about everywhere around here. That’s why the population has shrunk so much. Who wants to live in a combat zone?” She gave him a quick glance. “Military company excluded,” she added hastily. “Trust me, soldiers would prefer not to live in a combat zone.”

It was Pentagon lore that there were DoD employees from the 1950s still wandering around down here trying to find their way out.

In the Army brevity was a virtue beyond all others.

She was in uniform. He had assumed that from the military time used in the text. Military folks were punctual; it became ingrained by your training.

There were lines around her eyes, crow’s-feet that were stamped in more deeply than a civilian’s. Leading people who carried weapons just did that to a person.

“We’re human, so that means we’re not perfect.” “The Army expects us to be perfect,” she shot back. “No, they just expect us to be better than the other side.” She eyed the notebook. “How will your report read?” “That you were very cooperative and provided me with valuable intelligence.” “I owe you, Puller. I had you all wrong.” “No, you probably had me pegged right. But your aim was a little off.”

“The soldiering part is easy compared to all the other crap. Firing a gun straight just takes practice. No practice in the world prepares you for the backroom hopscotch.” He paused. “You ever in? You look the type.”

“The more things are different the more they’re the same.” “An Army guy who’s also a philosopher. I’m impressed. Seriously, though, I don’t want any innocent citizens to die.

“It’s not a game to them. It’s a fence straddle and they’re not sure who to trust.” “I’d last five seconds up there. I don’t play well with others.” “You might surprise yourself.” “No, I might shoot somebody. So where to?” “Crime scene. Got an idea I thought of on the plane ride back.”

His voice was sound run over gravel until it got all clogged. He gave an enormous cough that nearly lifted him off his feet.

“Will you please stop calling them cancer sticks!” he snapped. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Touchy. George had smoked four of his coffin nails, and that usually takes him until close to 1 a.m.”

“I don’t travel for pleasure. I travel with a gun.”

As they neared it she said, “What if I decide to raise the alarm?” “It’s up to you.” “You won’t shoot me?” “It’s up to you,” Puller said again. “And no, I won’t shoot you.” He took a long breath. “In fact, I’ll back you up.” “You will? Why?” He looked over to see her staring at him. “I just will,” said Puller. “Right thing to do. Sometimes the brass forgets about that little detail. Right thing to do,” he said again.

Cole looked back through the rear window. “I can’t imagine losing my child.” “Actually, everyone can imagine it. No one wants to experience it.” “You ever think about getting married?” Puller thought, I am married. My wife is the United States Army. And she can be a real bitch sometimes.

Puller said, “Give me the two-cent tour on the implosion method.”

“It’s been five decades,” Puller said. “Do you think that stuff, if it is there, is still dangerous?” “Plutonium-239 has a half-life of twenty-four thousand years. So I’d say you aren’t out of the woods yet.”

“I can’t tell you for sure. But let me put it this way. If they kept the usual supply on hand that we maintained, and it got out somehow, it could make what we did to the Japs look puny by comparison. I tell you what, whoever made the call to leave it there should go to prison. But they’re probably all dead by now.” “Lucky them,” commented Puller.

If he was going to die, he wanted his last image to be of a man in a uniform going off to fight for something worth fighting for. In Iraq and Afghanistan the motivation had been easy. It had mostly come from the guy next to him. Fighting to keep that guy alive. It had also come from representing the pack he was part of, the United States Army in general, with the Ranger as a specialty. In third place had come his country. A civilian would have thought that unusual, that the priorities had somehow gotten reversed. But Puller knew better. His priorities were right in line with most who wore the uniform and were routinely catapulted into harm’s way.

THE FIRST PART of the mission went exceptionally smoothly. They entered the firehouse through a back door. Puller noiselessly attacked the lock and the wood swung back shortly thereafter. “They teach you breaking and entering in the Army?” Cole said in a low voice. “It’s called urban warfare,” he replied.

“Hoping we might not be able to get in?” “Maybe,” she admitted. “Facing fear is better than running from it,” he said. “What if it’s fear you can’t beat?” “Then it might be better to be dead,” he answered.

Puller liked details. They were often the difference between walking out of a situation and being carried out of it.

“But you’re in the Army.” “Not that part. And the Navy and Air Force control most of the nukes. The infantry are just the working-class guys shooting and getting shot at in all types of weather just like they did two hundred years ago. Biggest weapon I was around was a fifty cal. You can kill hundreds of people with a fifty. This thing can kill tens of thousands, maybe more.”

“This county is full of a lot of people, actually,” said Puller, as Cole stared at him from behind the light she held. “And they’re basically having a real shitty life right now. So the last thing they need is a mushroom cloud popping into their misery.”