The Forgotten

“Not exactly for free. I promised him something, but I don’t know how to get it. I’m not even sure what it is.”

Mecho described his friend’s request. Puller smiled and glanced at Lampert. “That’s okay. I know what it is.”

Mecho looked surprised but also hopeful. “So you can get this thing?’

“I can get this thing,” said Puller.

CHAPTER

96

PANAMA CITY, Florida, was known to generations of college students who invaded the town for spring break.

Port Panama City was a port with easy access to the Gulf along a nearly nine-mile-long cha

Ocean liners disgorged tourists.

Cargo ships brought products to America through here and took American-made products to the rest of the world.

It was a busy place, even at night.

Puller stood on the dock holding a box and eyeing the Cyrillic writing on the side of the steel-hulled cargo ship as cranes lifted metal containers onto the ship, stacking them on top of each other.

As he continued to watch, a large wooden box was carried on board. There were two men carrying one end and one man carrying the other.

The one man was Mecho. He was cleaned up from his fighting, his wounds bandaged and mostly hidden under his clothes.

For those who looked closely, and no one did, the wooden crate had two holes for air drilled in it.

Inside the box was Peter J. Lampert. He was bound, gagged, and drugged.

He would wake up in about six hours.

By then the cargo ship would be well out in the Gulf. It would make its way around the southernmost tip of Florida and then begin the long trek across the Atlantic. The cargo ship would plow along at an average speed of ten knots. Seventy-six hundred nautical miles and a month later it would arrive in Bulgaria.

Once Lampert touched Bulgarian soil he would never leave it.

The crate secured on board, Mecho came back down the gangplank followed by a heavyset man who looked strong as a bull.

His thick-veined neck was the size of an average man’s thigh. His sleeves were rolled up and revealed forearms knotted with cords of muscles. He wore a skipper’s cap, and a cigar stuck out from his mouth at an angle.

They reached Puller and stopped.

Mecho introduced the man as his friend and the cargo ship’s captain.

The captain looked at Puller appraisingly. “Mecho tells me you have something for me.”

Puller held out the box. “Ten bottles.”

The captain lifted the top of the box and looked inside it.

His smile was wide and immediate.

Puller handed him the box and the captain thanked him and carried it back on board ship.

Mecho looked at Puller.

“So what is this thirty-year Macallan?”

“It’s a scotch. Actually a very good scotch.”

“And it is thirty years old?”

“So they say.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Let’s just say that it was another opportunity for Peter Lampert to make restitution.”

Mecho’s jaw slackened in surprise. “You took it from his house? Weren’t the police around?”

“They weren’t watching me too closely.”

Mecho put out his hand and Puller shook it.

“I thank you for all that you have done.”

“I hope you find your sister.”

Mecho nodded slowly. “I will never stop looking.”

“But you can stop looking for Lampert.”

Mecho smiled grimly. “I will always know right where he is.”

Mecho turned and walked up the gangplank. Halfway up he turned and waved back at Puller.

Puller returned the wave.

A few moments later Mecho was gone.

An hour after that, the ship was gone too and Lampert had begun his long journey to his final resting place.

“Good riddance,” Puller muttered as he walked back to his car.

CHAPTER

97

WHEN JULIE CARSON OPENED her eyes the first thing she saw was the bright light overhead. The second thing she saw was Puller sitting next to her hospital bed.

He gripped her hand.

“I made it,” she said groggily.

“Never any doubt on my part. Docs say you’ll be good as new in no time.”

“Never got shot while wearing the uniform. Only while hanging out with you.”

“Seems to be an occupational hazard with me.”

She sat up a bit. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think I’m going on vacation with you anymore.”

“Completely understandable.”

“What happened to Landry?”

“In custody. Talking her head off. Bullock was thinking of retiring, but after this big bust he might run for governor.”

“So he’s getting all the credit?”

“Not something I care about, General.”

She squeezed his hand. “Julie. Off the clock now.”

“Julie,” he said.

“Diaz?”

“Colombians have already picked up her remains. She died a hero. They’ll see to that.”

“And Mecho.”

“He made it through with a few dings, like me.”

She focused on his bandaged arm and leg. “Oh, God, John, I just remembered you were wounded too.”

“Just a few more scars to add to the package.”

“Please tell me they caught Lampert. The last thing I remember is seeing him ru

Puller hesitated. “If I tell you the truth will you swear that you’ll never tell another soul? Even if you’re called on to testify?”

She sat up a little more and looked at him squarely. “What?”

“Maybe I should just let it alone. I don’t want you to have to perjure yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

Puller looked at the med lines going into a single unit inserted near her collarbone.

“Morph drip for the pain.”

“I think so, yes.”

“Morph messes with your memory.”

“It can. But we were talking about Lampert.”

“We were?”

“John!”

“He decided to take a little trip abroad.”

“He got away? On his yacht?”

“To Bulgaria. Understand he’ll be making it his permanent home.”

“How is that possible? Didn’t the police arrest him?”

“The police were a little tardy. We took Lampert’s tender to an isolated spot down the beach. From there, it was easy to put him in a truck and take him away. As far as the police know he got clean away. At least that’s what I told them when they asked.”

Carson stared at him for a long moment and then said, “I think I feel the morph erasing my short-term memory.”

“I can understand that.”

“When can I get out of here?”

“A few days.”

“Will you come to visit me?”

“I’ve been living here,” he said, pointing to a chair next to the bed with a pillow and blanket over it.

She smiled tenderly at this. “Diego and Mateo?”

“Back with their abuela. And they’re living in my aunt’s house. The other prisoners are being processed and will be returned to wherever they came from. That includes Lampert’s household staff.”

“Rojas?”

Puller shook his head. “No. Not today. But his time will come.”

Carson looked overly agitated by this and Puller put a calming hand on her arm. A few minutes later the morphine kicked in and her eyes closed.

Puller went outside and called his brother at USDB. He filled Robert Puller in on nearly all that had happened, only leaving out the fate of Lampert in Bulgaria.

“Damn, John,” said his brother. “You need another month of R and R to get over the last few days of R and R.”

“Actually, I think I’m ready to get back in the rank and file.”

“What are you going to tell the Old Man?”

“Not sure yet.”

“You going to tell him that his sister is dead?”

Puller thought about that and finally said, “No. I’m not.”

“I agree with you.”

Puller had given Sadie the dog to Diego and Mateo. The two boys and the little dog had instantly bonded. Puller figured they would be good friends for many years. And he hoped that living in a nicer neighborhood well away from the gangs would be a big plus in their lives. And Bullock had promised to keep an eye on them.