He was in his fifties, lean, with hair probably as closely cropped as during his military career, only now it was mostly gray. His jaw was sharply cut and his blue eyes were alert and penetrating, which helped to gain the trust of a judge or jury. Puller and Knox flashed their cred packs. Fletcher didn’t look surprised by their appearance. “How can I help you?” he asked, his voice firm and low but carrying a throaty rumble that made it perfectly clear. Puller explained why they were here and Fletcher nodded. “I heard about the escape, of course.” He glanced around. “There’s an office space I use back at the JAG School. Perhaps that might be more private.” They walked there in five minutes. Fletcher closed the door to the small space that had a desk in the center with a computer on it. The walls were lined with wooden shelves filled with dusty tomes and stacks of legal periodicals.
