Two miles later he arrived at the USDB. Somewhere in the background a train’s horn sounded. A Cessna lifted off from nearby Sherman Army Airfield, its bulky snout and sturdy wings battling a crosswind. Puller parked and left his wallet and most of his other personal possessions in the car, including his standard-issue SIG P228, which the Army designated the M11. He had checked his sidearm and ammo in a hard-sided case for the flight here. He was supposed to carry his gun with him at all times. Yet walking armed into a prison did not seem like a good idea to Puller, authorized or not. And he would have to secure the gun in a locker anyway once inside. For obvious reasons, no weapons could go in where the prisoners were.

There was one bored young member of the Military Police manning the scan gate. Though Puller knew it wasn’t possible, the soldier looked like he’d been pulled straight from boot camp to hold this post. Puller presented his driver’s license and his cred pack.

The burly, chubby-cheeked MP stared at the badge and ID card identifying John Puller as a Criminal Investigative Division, or CID, special agent. The crouching eagle with its head turned to the right was the centerpiece of the badge. It had large claws that gripped the top of the shield. Its one revealed eye looked menacing, the large beak poised ready to strike. The MP saluted and then gazed up at the tall, wide-shouldered man.

“You here officially, sir?”

“No.”

“John Puller Jr.? You related to-”

“My old man.”

The young MP looked awed. “Yes, sir. Give him my best, sir.”

The United States Army had many fighting legends, and John Puller Sr. was right near the very top of that list.

Puller stepped through the magnetometer. It beeped. He was wanded. Like always. The device screeched at his right forearm.