BAGRAM AIR BASE
KYLE SWANSON AND LAUREN Carson ran at an easy pace, padding along side by side on a track that was part of the base exercise facilities. Hall declined the morning run to make some last-minute arrangements before they all headed over to Islamabad.
Lauren wore a lightweight Washington Redskins jersey, loose black nylon sweatpants, and dirty shoes that were coming apart at the seams from so much use. She did three miles every day. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail that swished as she ran. Kyle was in shorts and a Red Sox T-shirt. He doubted if anyone noticed him.
“CIA agents are supposed to be low-key and invisible. You don’t exactly blend in with the woodwork,” he joked. “Every guy on the track is going to trip over their own feet staring at you.”
She laughed and shook her head, making the ponytail bounce even more. “Can’t help that,” she said. “Jim taught me to do just the opposite. Since I can’t really hide my looks, I play it to my advantage. Being just a pretty dumb blonde is good cover. Nobody takes me seriously.”
“Until it’s too late.”
“Yeah. Men can be pretty dumb.” They finished the rest of the first quarter mile in silence, finding a rhythm in the run.
“Well, you are pretty.”
Lauren shot him a flinty sideways look, then changed the subject. “Jim says you’re rich. So why do you do this work if you have a lot of money?”
Kyle looked over at her with a flash of annoyance. “I live on my Marine salary, Lauren. I was lucky enough to fall in with some good folks, and we did some crucial and timely weapons development. Everything I did had Corps approval. The company has allotted me a small ownership stake and invested all of my shares in a trust. They never even let me see a statement. I don’t want to know.”
“That doesn’t answer the question of why continue with this killing people stuff if you can get out and live in comfort.” Their pace was comfortable, and neither was breathing hard.
“I like my job,” he said. This was not exactly the kind of conversation he’d had in mind when he asked if she wanted to come along for the jog.
They finished the first mile. “Tracks are boring,” she said. “Can we run on the streets?”
“Better not. You attract too much attention. Let’s stay in the Spec Ops area.”
“I’ve never killed anyone,” she said with a sudden honesty, a serious comment that surprised him. “Does it bother you afterward?”
“You have to deal with it mentally at some point,” Swanson replied. “If you ever have to pull a trigger, remember that your target was a danger and posed a threat, sometimes a major threat to others, even to your country. That is not some personal saddle to lug around for the rest of your life.”
“How many have you killed, Kyle? Jim says you’re the best.”
“It isn’t a numbers game, or some shooting competition with paper targets, Lauren.” His voice was edgy. “I never kept score.”
“Humh.” They ran around the track again without speaking. Then she said, “Know what I think? I think it is some kind of competition for you. Jim says that with Kyle Swanson, what you see is what you get, that you are Mr. Incorruptible because you don’t have to care about money, and you don’t have to care about right or wrong because you work for that weird Task Force Trident unit that answers only to the president. So what do you care about? You care about being the best, ol’ Numero Uno.”
Swanson picked up the pace, and so did she. “You are sounding like a psychiatrist with that kind of crap, Agent Carson. Don’t try to dissect me.”
She ignored his comment. “You’re like an NFL linebacker who cannot wait to get into the game. All your senses point you to the action, and only then, with some game-saving tackle at the goal line, only then is Kyle Swanson a happy man. How’d I do?”
“I’m not on your couch, shrink.”
She looked over with a teasing grin, reached out with the flat of her hand, and slapped his butt. “Wanna be?”
PRETTY? THAT’S ALL? HEthinks I’m just pretty? Lauren, appropriately yucky and aching after the long run, stomped back to a tentlike VIP barracks for women.
On the plus side, there was a feeling that she might have eventually been able to outdistance Kyle today. Maybe he was still not up to his maximum workout because of that wound he had suffered in Saudi Arabia; he might be still recovering. Perhaps he wasn’t Superman after all. That did not mean she was not intrigued by him. That was about the only good thing she could think of at the moment.
She found a private shower stall, shucked off her sweaty clothes, and turned on the hot water. Liberal handfuls of shampoo and conditioner were needed to slosh the clinging dust from her hair. This was one dirty place. She switched the water to a blast of cold.
As Lauren dried off with a thick towel, she found that she was not only miffed at Kyle Swanson, but she was also peeved with Jim Hall. Not long after she went to work at the CIA, they had almost inevitably become lovers, although it did not last a very long time. Neither wanted an office romance to derail a career. They ended it by mutual agreement but over the years had remained close, and they still occasionally slipped between the sheets, comfortable with each other. It wasn’t really a thing, but now Jim seemed to be pushing her away, making no effort to fight for her, to keep Kyle from making any moves. It was as if Jim were clearing her from his life. If he did not want her around anymore, why didn’t he just say so?
She brushed and flossed her teeth, sat on a bench, and slowly rubbed skin lotion on her hands and body. Why wasn’t Kyle being more aggressive? Didn’t he find her attractive? In the few hours they had known each other, she had already done everything but plead for some sex. He thinks I’m just pretty! I was in the Miss America Pageant, for God’s sake! She had an emergency need to go check herself in the long bathroom mirror and was relieved to see that she had not turned into a troll with big zits on her nose.
She slid into a blue bra and panties and a little robe, then spent some time giving her hair some serious brushing, followed by a bit of makeup, staring at her reflection all the while. Why doesn’t anybody want me? The clean dark suit and gray blouse were waiting in the garment bag, with her low heels, and when she put it all on, she immediately perked up. It was her CIA all-business costume. A little more lip gloss, spinning around to look at the back view, and she declared herself ready to return to the Spec Ops office.
Both of the bastards were there, standing beside a wall map, talking to the two crewmen of the ghost plane. None of them gave her a second glance. She growled a soft order to herself to stop pouting. Men can be such assholes. At least someone had loaded the Mr. Coffee with a fresh packet of Dunkin’ Donuts brew, so she poured a mug and walked over to the group. She could pretend to look at maps, too.
Jim Hall finally noticed she was alive. “Wheels up for Islamabad in an hour, Lauren,” he said.
“You look nice,” said Kyle.
Nice!? That’s all?