Puller would have to check at Treadwell’s place of business to see if they might be missing a quantity of tungsten carbide, if they even carried it. And if so, the case might take on a whole new light. He pondered how this could be tied into what Mason had told him. If the targets were the pipeline and the reactor, that type of ammo could be used to puncture the pipeline and maybe the reactors. If so, that meant Treadwell was tied up with jihadists. And Puller wondered how that was possible. How could folks like that operate in an area like this and no one the wiser?
Then he started to think about the pipeline. Owned by a Canadian company but operated by Trent. Was Trent working with terrorists? Was he being paid to help them carry out this mission? But why would a fabulously successful coal mogul do that? Blowing up a nuke reactor could make all of Trent’s coal mines radioactive.
Unless they were paying him for more than his business was worth. And that might explain the death threats. And Trent being so nervous. Maybe he’d had a falling-out with his “business partners.”
Puller eased the Malibu from the curb. He had fewer than three days to discover the truth. He knew the odds were long against him. But he had put on the uniform to serve his country. And serve it he would. Even at the cost of his life.
CHAPTER
67
The Mercedes SL600 was parked in front of Puller’s motel room when he drove in around two o’clock. Jean Trent was sitting in the driver’s seat. The car was running and the AC was cranked. Puller parked next to the other car and got out. Jean Trent did the same. She had on a sleeveless pale yellow dress with a V-front and a white sweater over top, coordinated pumps, and a white pearl necklace. Her hair and makeup were flawless. The old motel seemed an incongruous backdrop for such glamour.
“Looking for a room at the motel?” Puller said as he walked over to stand next to her.
She smiled. “When I was fifteen I used to clean this place for four dollars an hour and thought I was rich. Sam did the same, but she only got three dollars an hour.”
“Why the discrepancy?”
“She was smaller and couldn’t work as hard. People around here drive tough bargains.”
“I believe it.”
“You got time for lunch? Or have you already eaten?”
“I haven’t. At the Crib?”
She shook her head. “Another place. Nicer. Over the county line. I’ll drive.”
Puller thought about this. He had short time to divert a possible catastrophe. Did he have time for a leisurely lunch? Then his thoughts went back to what Mason had said. Trent operated that pipeline.
“What’s the occasion?”
“It’s lunchtime and I’m hungry.”
“Have you been waiting long?”
“Long enough. Guess you’ve been busy.”
“Guess I have.”
“How’s the investigation coming?”
“It’s coming.”
“You are remarkably tight-lipped.”
“It’s an Army thing.”
“No, I think it’s a cop thing. My little sister is the same way.”
“Saw your hubby was back in town. He joining us for lunch?”
Her radiant smile diminished a few watts. “No. He won’t. You ready?”
He looked at her fine clothes and then down at his own work ones.
“Fancy place? Not sure I’m dressed for the occasion.”
“You look just fine.”
She drove the country roads with an expert’s touch, hitting the turns and accelerating at just the right moment so the big Mercedes engine was at optimal rpm on the straightaways.
“You ever think of signing up for NASCAR?” he said.
She smiled and punched the gas on a particularly long stretch of road, winding the car up to eighty. “I’ve thought about a lot of things.”
“So why lunch with me, really?”
“Got some questions, hope you have some answers.”
“I doubt it. Remember the tight-lipped thing.”
“Then your opinion. How about that?”
“We’ll find out, I guess.”
Ten miles later they crossed into another county, and two miles farther down the road she pulled onto a tree-lined asphalt driveway. Around two curves the land opened up as the trees receded and Puller eyed the sprawling two-story stucco and stone building. It looked like it had been dropped, intact, from Tuscany. There were two aged fountains out front and nearby a small stream with a waterwheel slowly turning. There was an outdoor tiled eating area in an adjacent courtyard. A weathered wooden pergola strung with flowering vines provided a ceiling for this dining space.
Puller looked at the sign hanging over the front door. “Vera Felicita? True happiness?”
“You speak Italian?” she asked.
“Some. You?”
“Some. I’ve been there many times. Love it. I’m thinking of moving there one day.”
“People always say that when they visit Italy. But then they come back home and realize it’s not as easy as it sounds.”
“Maybe.”
Puller looked around at the expensive cars sitting in the cobblestone parking area. Most of the outdoor tables were filled with people as nicely dressed as Jean Trent. They were drinking wine and forking and spooning into elaborate-looking dishes.
“Popular place,” he said.
“Yes, it is.”
“How’d you come to find it?”
“I own it.”
CHAPTER
68
Jean Trent climbed out of the car and Puller fell into step behind her as she headed to the front entrance. She stopped and turned to him.
“We’re also a B-and-B. Four rooms. And I’m thinking about adding a spa. I brought in a CIA chef, and a professional team to run everything. We’re hoping to get our first Michelin star this year. We were cash flow positive after eighteen months. Our reputation has really grown. People come from Tennessee, Ohio, Kentucky, and North Carolina.”
“And no coal mines around?”
“This is one of the few counties in West Virginia that has no coal.” She looked around. “What you do have is unspoiled land. Mountains, rivers. I spent a long time looking for just the perfect location and this is it. I did business plans and demographic and marketing studies. I wanted to fill a need. That’s the best way to build something that’s lasting.”
“I didn’t know you were a businesswoman.”
“Probably lots of things about me you don’t know. You want to find out more?”
“Why not?”
They went inside and were shown to a private book-lined room where a table for two had been laid out. Puller knew little about decorating, but he saw that the interiors had been put together with an experienced eye. Everything was good quality, comfortable, nothing overdone. He had been to Italy many times, and this was probably about as close as one could come to it in West Virginia.
The server was dressed in a white jacket and black bow tie and attended to them with quiet professionalism. They scanned their menus, but Puller finally let Jean order for him. The bottle of white came first and two glasses were poured out.
She said, “I know you’re technically on duty, but I’m especially proud of this Italian Chardonnay and I’d like you to try it.”
He took a sip and let it go down slow. “Has significantly more body than one associates with an Italian white.”
She clinked her glass against his. “It’s called Jermann Dreams, 2007. But an Army man who knows his wines. How did that happen?”