There was a lot of paperwork and face time with Bullock, the state police, and the Feds. They said this would intensify the hunt for Stiven Rojas, but that the man had proven very elusive in the past.
“Keep trying,” Puller told them before walking out of the last debrief.
Carson was released from the hospital two days later, bandaged, bruised, and tired.
But alive. Very much alive.
That morning she and Puller flew back home on a private jet sent down by the Army.
“Gulf Five,” said Puller. “Never been on wings like this.”
“Stick with a rising general and she’ll take you places,” Carson told him as the steward poured out two glasses of champagne for them.
Puller drove to his apartment after promising to have dinner with Carson that night at her place. A friend of his had taken care of AWOL while he’d been gone, but he let the cat out for a good long time and then played with him for an even longer time.
The next day he drove to Pennsylvania carrying a small package. He parked near a field of green grass, climbed out, and walked to the middle of the field. He opened the top of the urn and took his time sprinkling his aunt’s ashes across the Pennsylvania countryside, just as she had wanted. He closed the empty urn, looked to the sky, and said, “Goodbye, Aunt Betsy. For what it’s worth, a long time ago, you meant the world to a little boy. And the man he became will never forget you.”
Puller knew what he had to do next. In fact, it was past time to do it.
He drove back to Virginia, showered, put on his dress blues, and headed to the VA hospital.
He walked down the sterile corridors, his frame tall and ramrod straight.
He heard his father before he got close to the room.
The same nurse as before confronted him in the hall.
“He’s been a bear the last few days. Been screaming for you nonstop. Thank God you’re here.”
“Yeah,” said Puller. “It actually feels good to be here.”
The nurse looked at him oddly as he passed by her and opened the door to his father’s room.
Puller Sr. was in his usual blue scrub pants and white T-shirt. He looked both agitated and confused.
When his father caught sight of him, Puller stood as erect as possible and executed a single crisp salute to his father.
“Reporting in, General.”
His father’s agitated state seemed to melt away and was replaced with a scowl. Puller would take a scowl over confusion from his father any day.
“XO, where the hell you been?”
“In the field executing your orders, sir,” Puller said in a loud voice, enunciating his syllables just as the Army had taught him.
“And the outcome?”
“Mission accomplished, General. Fair winds and following seas.”
“Damn good work, XO. Damn good. At ease.”
“Yes, sir,” said John Puller and he lowered his hand and sat down next to his father.
For the moment no longer a solider.
Now only a son.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
![The Forgotten _3.jpg](https://litlife.club/books/264837/read/images/_3.jpg)
TO MICHELLE, for keeping it real and fun.
To David Young, Jamie Raab, Mitch Hoffman, Emi Battaglia, Tom Maciag, Maja Thomas, Martha Otis, Karen Torres, Anthony Goff, Lindsey Rose, Bob Castillo, Michele McGonigle, and all at Grand Central Publishing, who support me every day.
To Aaron and Arleen Priest, Lucy Childs Baker, Lisa Erbach Vance, Nicole James, Frances Jalet-Miller, and John Richmond, for being the best team a writer could ever have.
To Anthony Forbes Watson, Jeremy Trevathan, Maria Rejt, Trisha Jackson, Katie James, Aimee Roche, Lee Dibble, Sophie Portas, Stuart Dwyer, Stacey Hamilton, James Long, Anna Bond, Michelle Kirk, and Natasha Harding at Pan Macmillan, for leading me to new heights in the UK.
To Arabella Stein, Sandy Violette, and Caspian Dennis for being great partners across the pond.
To Ron McLarty and Orlagh Cassidy, for continuing to knock the audio performances out of the park.
To Steven Maat at Bruna, for taking me to the top in Holland.
To Bob Schule, for your friendship, enthusiasm, and editorial skills.
To Chuck Betack, for keeping me straight on all things military.
To the families of Jane Ryon, Griffin, and Mason, I hope that you enjoyed the characters.
To my buddy Carl Brown, I hope you enjoyed seeing your name in print.
To Kristen, Natasha, and Erin, because I’d be hopelessly lost without you.
And to Roland Ottewell for another great copyediting job.
ALSO BY DAVID BALDACCI
Absolute Power
Total Control
The Winner
The Simple Truth
Saving Faith
Wish You Well
Last Man Standing
The Christmas Train
Split Second
Hour Game
The Camel Club
The Collectors
Simple Genius
Stone Cold
The Whole Truth
Divine Justice
First Family
True Blue
Deliver Us from Evil
Hell’s Corner
The Sixth Man
One Summer
Zero Day
The Innocent
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Contents
WELCOME
DEDICATION
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
CHAPTER 76
CHAPTER 77
CHAPTER 78
CHAPTER 79
CHAPTER 80
CHAPTER 81
CHAPTER 82
CHAPTER 83
CHAPTER 84
CHAPTER 85
CHAPTER 86
CHAPTER 87
CHAPTER 88
CHAPTER 89
CHAPTER 90
CHAPTER 91
CHAPTER 92
CHAPTER 93
CHAPTER 94
CHAPTER 95
CHAPTER 96
CHAPTER 97
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ALSO BY DAVID BALDACCI
NEWSLETTERS
COPYRIGHT
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.