Read Online The Prisoner of Guantanamo by Dan Fesperman - Free Book Online Page A

of figure of interest, then it’s above my security clearance. Maybe you should ask Tyndall.”
    â€œNot even from a Cuban angle?”
    â€œCuban? As in Gitmo?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œWell, this gets weirder all the time.” Now it was his cheeks turning hot. He hoped he wasn’t blushing.
    â€œYeah. I thought so, too.”
    â€œSo what the hell did he say, exactly?”
    â€œIf I’m leaving it out of my report, then I probably shouldn’t tell anyone else. Even you. Not until I can go over it with Niswar again.”
    Falk wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Was she omitting the detail to spare him or to avoid heat from above? Both, perhaps. With the military interrogators, there were always extra considerations involving your superior officers, and how they might react.
    But Falk was even more puzzled by where the information must have come from. In the course of his give-and-take with Adnan, he would have sworn he hadn’t let slip any specifics about his past.
    â€œSo who else was in there?” he asked.
    â€œNo one, fortunately. Just the MP, who doesn’t know a word of Arabic. Don’t worry, if it ever goes into a report you’ll be the first to know.”
    â€œThanks. I think.”
    She smiled, a bit grimly perhaps, but before she could say another word Tyndall interrupted, settling into a seat that had just opened up to Falk’s left.
    â€œLife gets sweeter by the day down here, doesn’t it?” He gestured to a swirled mound of chocolate soft-serve ice cream. It was the mess hall’s newest attraction, although Mitch was the only one among them who ate it for breakfast. “Next week they’ll probably be throwing steaks on the grill.”
    When neither Falk nor Pam answered right away, Tyndall awakened to the possibility he was intruding.
    â€œSorry. Bad timing?”
    â€œNo more than usual,” Falk said.
    â€œLike I said last night, I’m really sorry about that. It’s just that I only had two hours to try and get a whole network out of my man Muhammad.”
    â€œWhatever,” Falk replied.
    â€œHey. Blame our team leader. Demanding son of a bitch, especially where trivia’s concerned.”
    â€œTrivia?” A new voice approached from the service line. It was Falk’s roomie, Whitaker, looking for a seat. “You’re not questioning the value of the product again, are you, Mitch?”
    â€œTake mine,” Falk said, standing. The long hours without sleep seemed to catch up to him all at once as he rose. What he needed most was a shower and a nap. There would doubtless be paperwork to file, colleagues of Ludwig’s to interview, plus other leads to pursue, and the general would want it all done by yesterday. But without some shut-eye he’d never get any of it done.
    â€œYou’re just the man I wanted to see,” Whitaker said. “Especially if you’re headed back to our château.”
    â€œYou need something?”
    â€œNo. Just make sure you check the mail on the kitchen table. It’s not every day that a perfumed envelope arrives from Puerto Rico. Nice handwriting, too. Laying the groundwork for your next leave, big guy?”
    â€œWoo-hoo!” Tyndall offered, fanning the flame. No one turned toward Pam, but Falk knew they were dying for a glance. She obliged them by standing.
    â€œHere, Whitaker. Take my seat. I’ll leave you boys to the kiss-and-tell.”
    She kept it light, but not without a passing glance at Falk that was several degrees cooler than a moment ago. So much for shared trust.
    But that was the least of Falk’s worries. At the mention of a perfumed envelope—from Puerto Rico, no less—he could already guess at the fragrance, a bouquet now blooming in his senses despite the mess hall’s stale funk of overcooked eggs and wet mops. It was an island scent, part hibiscus and part spice, and it called