Robert Puller had been a fast-track major in the Air Force who had helped oversee the nation’s nuclear arsenal. He was a lock for at least one star, and possibly two. And now he was a convicted traitor to his country and would not be leaving USDB until his last breath had been drawn.

But he was still his brother. Not even the U.S. military could change that.

Moments later Puller fired up the engine and smacked the car into gear. Every time he came here he left a bit of himself behind. There might come a day when there would be nothing left to take back.

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.

John Puller was not a machine, but he also could see that he was awfully close to becoming one.

And beyond that he refused to engage in any further self-analysis.

He left USDB far faster than he’d arrived there. A far speedier wing ride east would take him headlong into another case. It was welcome to Puller, if only to take his mind off the one thing he had never come close to understanding.