“Guy was killed here a while back,” said Robert.

Puller knew this. “Installation trusty. Baseball bat to the head on the rec field.”

“You checked?”

“I checked. Did you know him?”

Robert shook his head. “I’m on 23/1. Not a lot of time to socialize.”

That meant he was locked up twenty-three hours a day and then allowed out for one hour of exercise alone in an isolated place.

Puller did not know this. “Since when?”

Robert smiled. “You mean you didn’t check?”

“Since when?”

“Since I belted a guard.”

“Why?”

“Because he said something I didn’t care for.”

“Like what?”

“Nothing you need to know about.”

“And why is that?”

“Trust me. Like you said, I’m the smart brother. And it wasn’t like they could add any more time on to my sentence.”

“Anything to do with the old man?”

“You better get going. Don’t want to miss your flight out of here.”

“I’ve got time. Was it the old man?”

“This isn’t an interrogation, little brother. You can’t pump me for info. My court-martial is long since over.”

Puller looked down at the shackles on his brother’s ankles. “They feeding you through the slit?”

There were no bars at USDB. The doors were solid. For prisoners in solitary their food was delivered three times a day via a slit in the door. A panel at the bottom of the door allowed the shackles to be put on before the door was opened.

Robert nodded. “Guess I’m lucky they didn’t stamp me NHC. Or else we wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“Did they threaten No Human Contact status?”

“They say lots of things in here.”

The men sat in silence.

Finally Robert said, “You better get going. I’ve got stuff to do. Keep real busy here.”