He was fifty miles away now and still didn’t know why he had not simply killed

the child.

 

There had been something in his head that had held him back. He thought he knew

all there was to know about what went on up there.

 

Obviously he’d been wrong about that.

 

As he fled east with the spoils of victory, Paul Rogers wondered what else he’d

been wrong about.

 

Chapter 8

 

PULLER PASSED THROUGH Richmond, where Lynda Demirjian was spending her last days

in hospice, and continued on south and east.

 

He was in his Army-issued black Malibu, which he liked because it had no bells

and whistles, just an engine, four wheels, and something to steer it with.

 

He drove fast down Interstate 64 and arrived in Hampton in time to check into a

motel and grab a few hours’ sleep.

 

He was up with the dawn. He grabbed a cup of coffee and a bagel from the

breakfast room in the motel lobby, climbed into his Malibu, and drove on to Fort

Monroe.