The Prince of Bagram Prison by Alex Carr Read Free Book Online Page A

question.
    “No,” he said. “No problem at all.”
    “M AJOR ? ”
    Kat looked up from the papers she was grading to see the dean of faculty at her office door.
    “General,” she answered, rising from her chair.
    Still playing army? she could hear Colin say, and suddenly she was embarrassed by the pretensions of the place. Her rank a lie, even. The rank of an officer.
    The man shifted from one foot to the other, glanced down at his fingers. Nervous, Kat had always thought, uncomfortable with his own authority.
    “How's the new crop of cadets treating you?” he asked, with the forced joviality of someone who's about to break a particularly bad bit of news.
    “Fine,” Kat answered.
    “There's someone coming to see you this afternoon,” the dean said. “From Arlington.”
    Kat motioned to the papers on her desk. “I have class.”
    “It's been taken care of.”
    No explanation other than this.
    Out in the hall a pair of cadets passed, walking with the strained posture that was required of all first-year students: chins up, backs straight, hands at sides.
    Arlington, Kat thought. The Pentagon. “Am I being called up, sir?”
    The General hesitated. “I don't know,” he said guiltily.
    But Kat could tell that he did, and that she was.

 
    “You don't like us very much, do you?” Colin had asked.
    It was Kat's last night in Oman, and she'd taken a taxi to the sprawling, American-style mall in Muscat. She'd been hoping for a change of scenery, a respite from the constant sea of army drab, but the mall's one bar, an American chain, was packed with coalition soldiers.
    She didn't recognize Colin at first. He was wearing real civilian clothes. Without his M-16 and his entourage, he looked like any other off-duty soldier or civilian contractor.
    “Bagram to K-2,” he reminded Kat, climbing onto the empty stool beside her. “I was the green-looking one sitting across from you, trying not to sick-up my last MRE.”
    Kat took a long pull off her Budweiser, then set the bottle down on the bar. A group of marines had commandeered the jukebox, and it was belting out “Sweet Home Alabama” for the third time in a row. “I thought you SAS guys weren't afraid of anything.”
    “SBS.” Colin grinned. “Special Boat Service. No mention of airplanes.”
    He'd shaved since she'd seen him on the C-130, and the skin on his jaw was pale where his beard had been. He was slight of build, not much taller than she was, with the body of an acrobat, all finesse.
    “And you?” he asked. “What brings you to our little corner of paradise?”
    “Army intel,” Kat said. “I've been at Kandahar.” She didn't mention her transfer to Bagram. She had already made up her mind to sleep with him if things worked out that way, and she didn't want to complicate the situation with the possibility that they might see each other again.
    Colin laughed. “No wonder you hate us so much. I'd be jealous, too, with the leash they keep you on.”
    “It's called the law,” Kat countered defensively. “Without it we're no better than they are.”
    “Don't tell me you actually believe that bullshit.”
    “Don't tell me you don't.”
    Colin tilted his beer to his lips and finished off the bottle. “As far as I can tell,” he said, “we're already no better than they are.”
    She half expected him to leave then, and was relieved when he signaled the bartender for another drink.
    “So why are you here?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “My friends are here, my team. We watch out for each other—it's what we do. And you? God and country, I suppose, setting the score straight like your compatriots over there?” He nodded at the marines.
    “My brother died on September eleventh,” Kat said.
    Colin colored slightly. “I'm sorry.”
    There was nothing trite about the remark, no expectation of anything in return, just the truth of it, and Kat immediately regretted having said anything, as if she'd hit him below the belt.
    “I didn't love