Jan Coffey, page 10
"That is your problem and not mine, Agent Newman," she said flatly. "I do not trust you."
"And I thought we were past that," he said in a mock pained tone.
"Neither of us is past it, as you say," she said seriously. "I am not in shackles, but I am still your prisoner."
"We're guarding you, protecting you. This is different than being a prisoner. I thought you understood that."
"Call it what you want," she replied thinly. "I believe what you have shown me with those pictures. I believe what has happened to those innocent people in America. I'll try to help you, but your past treatment of me has taught me not to trust any of you."
"Dr. Banaz, I didn't do anything to you. I've been honest with you from the first moment we met."
"There is no I, Agent Newman. You are here representing your government. That says everything about who you are."
"I don't carry a gun. I'm not a soldier or a policeman," he told her impatiently. "I'm a scientist."
"The same thing has always been true of me. I was a civilian, a scientist. If anyone had cared to do any research, they would have found that I never participated in any of Saddam Hussein's programs to develop biological weapons. There has been a great deal of good that has come out of the research I have done," she reminded him, not caring that there were others who were listening to this conversation. "But I was kept and treated with fewer rights than a prisoner of war. I was forgotten, lost. The rules of the Geneva Convention do not apply to me, according to America. So do not remind me of how little I care for you and your country. Do not ask for more than I am willing to give. I told you that I will help. I will remain true to my promise. I will tell you where to go once we reach Erbil. Leave it at that."
Fahimah looked straight ahead, finished with the discussion. It was a relief when he didn't argue more. She felt her cheeks and ears burning. Emotions had become foreign to her over the years, but now anger heated her blood. It had been so long since she'd allowed herself to feel and speak this way.
No one said anything. The noise of the helicopter overhead competed with the sound of the road, providing the only disruption to the silence inside the Humvee. Even the two-way radio remained quiet. She hadn't let anger overwhelm her during the years of her imprisonment, but she'd reached her limit. Like the long-trapped magma of a sleeping volcano, feelings about the injustices she had endured were suddenly erupting through the surface. It had begun yesterday, when in her fury she'd ripped through the room where they had moved her. She wished there was some physical means of venting those feelings now, but she knew she wouldn't get far with the two large bodies pressing her on either side. She had to find other means of calming herself.
Fahimah closed her eyes. She placed the computer on her lap and loosened her hold on it. She focused on her breathing. In. Hold. Slowly out. In. Hold. Slowly out. As she breathed, she felt the flow into each limb, joint by joint, muscle by muscle.
The shoulders of the two men on either side rocked against her. She lost her focus, anger and frustration pushing back into her consciousness. She focused again on her breathing, taking in the good... holding it so that it might spread through her… breathing out the bad. She was trying to relax her limbs with each breath, but it was difficult. There were so many distractions. So much noise. She tried to focus only on the rhythm of her breaths, to become separate from the body. In and hold and out. Again. Again. Trying began to give way to allowing. Awareness began to fade.
A sudden jolt caused the computer to fly off her lap. She opened her eyes, grabbing for it desperately. Agent Newman was the one who caught it before it was thrown against the front seat. He handed it back to her.
"Thank you," she whispered, trying to avoid eye contact. She tucked the leather strap under it and placed it on her lap again.
There was another jolt. She was crushed between the two men as they shifted and tried to regain their seat.
"You might want to put your seat belt on," Agent Newman suggested, reaching for his. There wasn't much room for him to maneuver.
"Sorry, sir," the driver said apologetically. "We're not far from the base."
Fahimah looked out the window at the group of Afghani kids running after the cars. The guns didn't deter them. Their bare feet, dirty faces, hungry bellies were reminders of what she'd seen before. She could hear their voices through the glass and realized that the helicopter had left them.
"Naan... naan... naan..."
They were asking for bread. Fahimah stared at the tents set up past the faces. This reminded her of the refugee camps that had been set up all over the Iranian border after Saddam's troops had destroyed all of those Kurdish villages, after he had killed so many men. Young children and women had been left to fend for themselves then, too.
The cars were slowing down. Fahimah saw security checkpoints ahead. The Afghanis were forced to stay on this side of the barriers. The radio came to life again, issuing instructions about driving through. Just before they reached the barriers, however, something hard hit the right side window of the vehicle.
Fahimah found her face shoved forward onto her lap by the soldier sitting to her left. Her nose hit the laptop hard.
"Speed up!" the soldier growled.
"It was just a rock," the driver replied.
"They're waving you through," Newman said. "Go."
Fahimah felt the vehicle speed up again. With her face still pressed against the laptop, Fahimah felt blood trickling down her face. She brought her hand up to her nose. The smell of leather from the computer case turned her stomach again. She tasted bile in the back of her throat. She took another deep breath as the weight of the soldier eased from her.
"Are you okay?" Newman asked, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her into a sitting position again.
"I warned you before. Your people are the ones who're trying to kill me."
She didn't know where the tissue came from, but he started patting her upper lips, holding her head up. She took it away from him and wiped her nose herself.
"Sorry," the soldier on her left said gruffly. "We can't be too careful."
"It was nothing," she replied quietly. "The bleeding has already stopped." She accepted another tissue that was handed to her from the front seat and wiped a drop of blood from the leather case.
In another minute or two, the Humvees began to slow again. At this checkpoint, armed soldiers looked into the vehicle and under it before allowing them to pass. After weaving back and forth through concrete barriers like a ski slalom, the road straightened and took them into the base.
The roads inside the base were busy, filled with military vehicles and Americans in uniform. A few Afghani civilians were visible in their turbans or caps and dark vests and their simple long shirts over white pants and sandals. They stood out among the soldiers in camouflage khaki and gray and green. Most were young men and boys. They appeared to be laborers.
"We have fifteen minutes before the aircraft is ready to board," Matt Sutton said over his shoulder after talking on the phone.
"Take us as close to the plane as possible," Newman ordered the driver. "Somewhere in or near one of the hangars, if possible."
The driver spoke to someone on his phone. They were stopping at another security checkpoint as they moved from one section of the base to another. Beyond the barrier, she could see the airstrips. Huge military cargo planes lined the side of one runway. Each vehicle came to a complete stop, and the driver and Agent Sutton both opened their windows. The driver passed some paperwork out to a soldier as two others circled the vehicle, looking under the car as they had at each checkpoint with a mirror on the end of a thin metal pole.
Perhaps it was the combination of the hot breeze outside, tainted with the smell of petroleum and jet exhaust. Perhaps it was the blast of air-conditioning on her face. It could have been anything, but suddenly she felt sick to her stomach.
"Can you open your window?" she asked in panic.
Agent Newman did as he was told. "You look kind of green. Are you okay?"
It was too late.
"Let me out," she groaned, reaching over him hurriedly for the door handle.
Luckily, he was quick and Fahimah scrambled after him. She barely had both feet on the pavement when her stomach emptied violently. Immediately, she went down on her knees as another wave of sickness hit her, making her retch as she emptied everything that was left inside of her. Her stomach was knotted with painful cramping, and she continued with dry heaves.
The air felt like it was on fire. The bare skin of her neck and her head sizzled under the stunningly hot sun, but Fahimah started shivering uncontrollably. Agent Newman was saying something into her ear, but she could not understand him. She felt hands under her arms, lifting her and moving her to the side of the road where she knelt, her eyes closed. It took some time before she could control her nausea.
As Fahimah sat there, she heard the Humvee that she'd been riding in back around to the side of the road, putting her in shadow. She took short breaths through her mouth, fearful of any smell or taste that might make her sick again.
There were noises of people moving around her. Someone was asking about doctors, about directions to the infirmary.
"No… no," she whispered weakly, forcing her eyes open.
Agent Newman crouched down next to her, his sunglasses pushed on top of his head, his expression showing concern.
"We're going to take you to the infirmary," he told her gently.
She shook her head and sat back on the warm road surface. "No. I am fine."
"You don't look fine to me," he told her.
"I've had two meals in the past twelve hours. My stomach is not accustomed to it."
"It could be something else. Perhaps food poisoning? Or something even more serious."
"No. It is nothing," she said sternly. He didn't look convinced. "You get sick occasionally, Agent Newman. After you vomit, then you feel better. Isn't that so?"
"No, not me. I never get sick."
She snatched the bottle of water that he was holding out to her.
"Please just give me a minute or two and I will be back to normal." She took a mouthful of water, rinsed her mouth and spit it out. She repeated it a couple of times more, unwilling to chance swallowing any of the water yet.
"You're shivering. This could be more than just food disagreeing with you. I can't have you dehydrate while we're on the flight out. I certainly can't have you die on me."
Her water bottle was already empty. He handed her another and took the empty one away.
His persistent worry was actually comical. "I'm thirty-six years old. I know my body. I always shiver when I get sick to my stomach, Agent Newman."
Someone else passed her some tissues. Newman slowly pushed himself to his feet. It took Fahimah a couple of minutes more before she was sure she was strong enough to prove her argument. She rinsed her mouth with the water again and took her time to stand up. The sun was bright. Everything around her was in a haze. The shivering, however, was already subsiding.
There was no way that she was not getting on that plane.
"The infirmary isn't too far away," Agent Newman said one more time.
Fahimah waved him off impatiently and looked at the open door of the Humvee. She shook her head. "No."
The other vehicles had pulled to the side, as well. The soldiers escorting them were looking out of open doors or standing next to their vehicles.
"I am not getting in yet. I want to walk around a little."
Half a dozen soldiers created a shield a few feet away from her. She was protected from view of others on the base.
"That's where we're going." Sutton pointed to a huge corrugated steel building some five hundred feet past the barricades.
"I can walk there."
"I don't think that would be a good idea, sir," the soldier who had been seated next to her said to Newman.
"We are on an American base. If you do not trust your own people, then whom are you going to trust?" she asked before turning away. They were being so stubborn, she thought, raising her face to the sun. Now the heat actually felt good.
She didn't know what was said between them, but she must have won the battle, for the three cars drove around her, passed through the checkpoints and then continued slowly toward the building that Agent Sutton had pointed to. Giant doors on the side facing them were open, and on the runway next to it, a military aircraft was being fueled. She guessed this was the plane taking her back to Iraq.
Fahimah looked behind her. As she'd expected, Agent Newman and her protector, the burly soldier who'd given her a bloody nose earlier, had stayed behind.
"Ready to walk?" Newman asked.
She nodded, going around the cinder block barriers and toward the hangar where their caravan had headed.
Agent Newman fell in step beside her. The other man kept some ten feet away, walking behind them.
Getting rid of the food in her stomach actually made Fahimah feel much better than before. She didn't mind the heat and stretching her legs felt good. She hadn't walked this far outdoors in years.
"Fin glad we got one thing settled."
Fahimah glanced up at the agent. His sunglasses were again hiding his eyes.
"What have we settled?" she asked.
"Your name and your age. Dr. Fahimah Banaz, age thirty-six."
She stopped, looked up at him and snorted derisively.
He shook his head. "Don't waste my time denying it. I know the truth and you know the truth. That's enough."
She was now, more than ever, in their power. She knew that they could easily prove that she wasn't Rahaf. She tried not to panic, forcing her voice to remain steady. "What do you mean, That is enough'?"
He pushed the glasses down on the bridge of his nose, looking into her eyes. "You're taking us to your sister, to where we can get a remedy that will stop the microbe."
"I am helping you to get the remedy," she said, correcting him.
"Then you won't renege on your promise," he stressed.
"I will not go back on my word, if that is what you mean," she told him. "But I will not lead you to my sister." There was no longer any point in denying the truth.
"She might be behind the attacks."
"She is not." Fahimah said adamantly. "If you believe that, then you put our deal at risk."
"It doesn't matter what I believe. A court of law can determine her guilt or innocence."
She stopped and stared at him for a moment. Newman stopped, as well, but did not look at her.
"You have released me from my promise. My assistance ends now," she told him angrily. "I know my sister. I know what she went through to help people and to keep people from getting hurt. I'm telling you that she has nothing to do with this."
"I cannot change what my government might logically suspect. I know that they-"
"I have paid a thousand times over for your government's misplaced suspicion," she shot back hotly. "Go ahead and arrest me. Take me back to that prison. Shoot me if you want. I'm not taking another step to help you." She turned on her heel and started walking back toward the security gate.
Before she even reached their burly escort, a large hand caught Fahimah by the arm. Newman turned her around to face him.
"You have quite a temper, Dr. Banaz. I think you should consider doing a little more meditating."
Fahimah folded her arms across her chest, glaring up at him. "I have been in your prisons for five years, and I have never said a word, in order to protect my sister. I will gladly go back there for another fifty. I won't help you to hurt Rahaf."
"Look, I have no intention of hurting her or arresting her or prosecuting her. I'm looking for a way to stop people from dying. I can learn from her. The remedy might not be enough. If we can't stop who's behind the attacks, we'll be forever fighting against time. She might know the real people behind all of this. She knows so many people in this field. She could help us find them, stop them."
"But you believe she's behind these outbreaks."
"I was speaking honestly about what others might think," he said in obvious frustration. "When I came to offer you a deal, I had no idea that you might not be Rahaf Banaz. But now I need to find your sister. Innocent people are dying. I do not want anything to happen to her, and I will give you any guarantee you ask for that is within my power."
Fahimah knew that he would say anything. It was not the first time American agents had made offers in return for her cooperation. It was different this time, though. She had only one way to go, and that was forward. Now that they knew Rahaf was out there, the Americans would find her, with or without Fahimah's help. For the first time in five years, though, Fahimah was truly in a position to bargain. She would use it to save Rahaf.
"Let's go," she said quietly, starting again toward the hangar.
"Where are we going?" He fell into step with her.
"To Erbil."
"And from there?"
"I will tell you when we arrive."
"But what about your sister?"
"You have just asked me to trust you with the life and future of my only sister. I ask you to trust me. This is all I will say for now. It should be enough."
He fell silent and walked thoughtfully with her toward the plane.
Chapter Twelve
Lewes, Delaware
You can't talk us out of it. We're going, Mom," Josh stressed as he continued to stuff his backpack with the clothes he was taking on the week-long trip.
Arms folded across her chest, her shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, Sally Link wasn't ready to give up this fight just yet.
She turned and looked in the doorway of the adjoining bedroom. David was still packing. "David, you're the adult here. Talk some sense into him. You guys can go on this trip another time."
"No, Mom. There's a waiting list," Josh answered for his father. "We signed up for this trip three months ago. Please, this has been the one thing that I've been looking forward to all summer. I want to go on it."
Sally knew what her son was up to. He was trying to work on her sympathy. Josh's year so far had consisted of two chemo treatments and ten days in the hospital. It was a miracle that he felt as good as he did during this vacation.
