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hard shove. She tumbled into the black pit and herscream echoed for what seemed an eternity as she fell thirty stories. It halted abruptly. The guard twisted the key and the doors closed.
    Kraiko sweated heavily and his face was deathly pale. For a moment, Vashin was certain Kraiko would be sick, as he was at the cemetery. “Politicians,” Vashin said to Gabrowski, “do not have a stomach for obedience. But Viktor is learning.” He shook his head in pity. “I give you my word,” Vashin said, “that we are honorable men and can be trusted.” He made a slight motion toward Kraiko. “Not like politicians.”
    Kraiko wanted to escape. “It’s late,” he croaked, fighting the bile rising in his throat. “Can we finish this tomorrow?”
    “Of course.” Vashin looked at his guest. “Is there anything else we can do for you tonight?”
    Gabrowski studied Geraldine and smiled. “I have always found Englishwomen very appealing,” he said.
    “Of course,” Vashin replied. He nodded at Geraldine and she walked toward the stairs descending to the guest bedroom. “We will finish our business tomorrow morning.”
    The Hill
    Brian Turner stood in the middle of the dorm room in Hagerman Barracks and checked the time. Just after 8:00 P.M. Friday night and less than two hours to taps. He and Little Matt had been preparing for Saturday morning’s room inspection since returning from supper and he was bored with the entire drill. “Stupid,” he muttered, “fuckin’ stupid. I gotta get out of this place.”
    Little Matt finished arranging the drawer in his locker and pushed it closed. “Your locker is gross. We ain’t gonna make it.” Saturday’s inspection was always a killer. He fell silent when he heard footsteps on the stoop, the cement walkway outside the room, come to a halt.
    “Who gives a shit,” Brian muttered, oblivious to the person standing in the open door. Little Matt jumped to his feet and came to attention.
    “Mr. Turner,” Zeth Trogger said, “read what the BlueBook has to say about profanity. Page one dash twenty-nine, I believe.”
    “Little Miss Blue Book,” Brian mumbled under his breath, an obvious reference to the deputy commandant, nicknamed Colonel Blue Book, who took reports and administered punishments for infractions of the rules listed in the Blue Book , the book of cadet regulations.
    Zeth ignored the remark and looked around the room. “Gross, absolutely gross. You’ll never pass. Haven’t you wussies learned anything?” She walked around the room and ripped the bunks apart before trashing Brian’s locker and desk. Then she inspected Little Matt’s locker, leaving it undisturbed. “Marginal, but it will get by.” She groaned loudly at the sight of his desk and destroyed it.
    Brian’s face filled with anger. “You can’t do that. You’re history, Trogger.”
    “Really?” she answered, surveying her handiwork. “What for? Hazing? Fagging? Get a clue.” She stood on a short ladder to work on Brian’s bunk that was above his desk. “Got a dollar, wuss?” Brian handed her a dollar bill. “Watch, wussie, and check the time.” She used the dollar bill as a measure to fold the blanket and sheet into a white collar. Next, she folded the corners at a perfect forty-five-degree angle. Then she remade Little Matt’s bed before arranging Brian’s locker and desk. She finished by putting Little Matt’s desk in inspection order. She stepped back and raised her hands when she was finished. “That’s how it’s done. How long?”
    “Thirty-eight minutes,” Little Matt answered.
    “Yeah!” Brian said. “About time someone cut us some slack here.”
    “Really?” she replied. The two boys stared in horror as she dismantled the bunks. “I’ll show you how it’s done, but you have to do it.” She spun around and walked out the door. “Have a nice evening, wussies. See you in the morning.”
    “Bitch,” Brian muttered.
    “I didn’t hear that,” Zeth called from