Jan coffey, p.9
Jan Coffey, page 9
The air force general at the far end of the table spoke again. "Gentlemen, since the fall of Saddam's government, we've had only sporadic, isolated violence in Erbil… unlike most of Iraq. Of any region in the country, that one would be probably the safest to take her into right now."
A brief buzz of individual comments started around the room and then stopped abruptly when General Percy laid his meaty hands on the table.
"What's she bargaining for, Hanlon?" Percy asked gruffly.
"Her freedom," Faas replied, looking the general steadily in the eye.
"All right, then." Percy didn't blink. "But I won't forget who's putting the lives of American soldiers on the line."
Chapter Eleven
Brickyard Prison, Afghanistan
They had nothing to say to each other, and yet Captain Adams never ceased with the effort to engage Fahimah in small talk.
Thinking about it, Fahimah decided that it would be a difficult transition for anyone, especially an army captain in charge of a facility like this, seeing a detainee moved from dangerous "enemy to America" status to "we-depend-on-you-to-save-our-country" status in the matter of an hour or so. But the new status was exactly that, and Fahimah was being treated accordingly. The pendulum had swung completely.
Being able to move about without shackles or handcuffs or blindfolds made her feel immediately that she'd rejoined a world she never thought she'd belong to again. Receiving a change of clothing was another positive step. But none of this compared with the change in her jailors' attitude. She was given choices in food and even in the clothing she wished to wear, to some extent. She'd been allowed to take a shower in a private stall. She'd even adjusted the temperature and decided on the length of time she wanted to stay under the warm, cleansing water. This had been the most luxurious, the most stunning, of all her newfound freedoms.
Fahimah knew all of these were part of the ploy, of course. Another chapter in her long record of captivity. They could snatch it away at any time. Still, she was willing to go along with it all, even if it made the future more unbearable than the past had been. It bought time. It would give her a chance to find her sister. It was the only chance they had, and a small key opens big doors.
"You have good weather to fly in," Captain Adams said to her, moving around her desk to the window, where a small air-conditioning unit was working overtime, blasting only slightly cooler air into the room. Fahimah looked past the captain's shoulder. Two days in a row, she was getting a glimpse of blue sky. The captain's office was on the second level of the old brick-making facility. Two small windows overlooked a partially paved road with a view of mountainous terrain in the distance. Until yesterday, Fahimah didn't know what kind of building they were keeping her in. She'd heard someone say something about being in Afghanistan weeks ago, but she still didn't know what part of the country she was in or how many other people were imprisoned here.
She glanced at the table next to her, toward the magazines they'd given her that morning. Long ago, she'd locked up her mind, sealed her thoughts in an impenetrable bubble, but last night she'd made the decision to unseal that part of her. As a result, for the first time in perhaps years, she'd found herself starved for news. There was so much that had been happening in the world, so much that she had missed.
The news of Saddam's hanging had been a surprise, but not a shock. She'd figured that was only matter of time, anyway. There had to be a great deal more important news. She'd asked about a few things, but the Americans were clearly a little hesitant about how much they should tell her. When she'd been captured, half the world had been searching for a devil named Osama bin Laden, and a few were still looking for him. Arabs were a difficult lot, she thought, and the Saudis were the worst. Always stirring the pot of misery, and simply to drive up the price of their oil a few bloody pennies.
The few magazines they'd given her had offered very little of what she was after. Celebrity marriages between people she'd never heard of were breaking up, and a movie star was adopting what appeared to be a fifth or sixth child, but overall the magazines offered no perspective of what was happening in the world. Still, she had read the magazines cover to cover in the matter of a couple of hours.
"Do you have a home, a place where you can go back to, once this... this business is all finished?"
Fahimah was surprised by the question. She looked up. Captain Adams had moved to the front of her desk, her hip resting on the corner of it. The woman was looking directly at her. Fahimah had to remind herself that she should carry no grudge against this person. Governments and policies she could blame, but individuals like this one were only pawns in a larger and more complicated game. The same thing applied to Rahaf and Fahimah herself. They'd lived in a country that was run by a butcher. That did not make them butchers. In fact, they were just the opposite.
Still, despite this logic and the conscious desire to put animosity aside, it was terribly difficult to warm to a former jailer. Abuses occurred here; individuals were being denied the so-called inalienable human right to a trial, and Captain Adams occupied the top position of authority in this prison. Fahimah could not pretend to be friendly with the person holding the key to the shackles. She would play along with this pretense of freedom, but she would not forget that there were many others still locked in the cells below. If they were here, she guessed, they were in the same situation as she. No trial, no jury, no idea of what was going to happen to them tomorrow or next week or next year.
"I don't know," Fahimah shrugged. "I don't know what is left of my country."
Adams nodded with understanding, crossing her arms over her chest. Her expression became pensive. 'This war has taken much longer than any of us thought it would. There are times I think the same thing about my own home and family."
Fahimah appreciated the candidness. From the horrible photographs she'd been shown by the agents, it appeared that people in the U.S. were under attack, too. Her thoughts immediately focused on what she'd promised Agent Newman. She hadn't lied. A remedy to the microbe existed. She'd seen Rahaf taking it. But if they were to find the remedy, then she would have to keep alive the hope that her sister was still living... and that Fahimah could find her. She rubbed the back of her neck. Thoughts of the plots she would need to hatch once they got to Erbil airport crowded her mind. There was so much that she still needed to figure out.
There was a knock on the door before the two American agents entered. She hadn't seen or spoken to either of them since last night. Each man gave her a long, hard look, as if he were seeing her for the first time.
Rather than a new pair of coveralls, Fahimah had borrowed some clothes from Captain Adams - camouflage fatigue pants, a white cotton shirt and plastic sandals. In spite of her very short hair, she didn't want to look like one of the soldiers. Of course, she thought, there weren't many American soldiers who looked half-starved. She'd been somewhat shocked this morning in the bathroom at how frail she looked.
"Captain Adams mentioned that you've been asking for some means of catching up on the news," the younger of the two agents told her.
Fahimah remembered that this man's name was Matt Sutton. From their interaction yesterday, she surmised that he had a lower rank than Agent Newman. Sutton was shorter by two or three inches, but with the exception of their height, the two men had the same athletic build. Both had short, dark hair, but that was where the similarities ended. Matt Sutton had boyish good looks. Newman's face, however, was too complicated to be summed up in a couple of words. Handsome and ugly did not really seem to apply. He had a nose that looked like it had been broken, piercing blue eyes and a moon-shaped scar on a strong chin. Already, Fahimah had been able to see that his moods had a great effect on his facial expression. That, she supposed, determined how he would come across to a new acquaintance. Yesterday, he'd sounded kind and understanding. That kindliness had been reflected in his face. Today, there was a dark cloud surrounding him that wiped out her first impressions of him. She turned her attention to the other agent as Sutton opened an oversize shoulder bag and took out a smaller leather case. Inside, there was a laptop.
"You're welcome to use this. I loaded a number of past issues of newspapers and magazines onto my laptop for the flight."
She stared at the proffered computer. It was a precious gem.
"The only thing is that everything loaded is in English. If you'd prefer some of the issues in Arabic..."
"No, English is fine," she said, reaching for the computer before he changed his mind. He handed her the leather storage case, too. She touched the piece of equipment, ran her fingers along the thin edge, already realizing that technology had changed a great deal since her capture. This machine weighed a tenth of the last laptop she'd handled.
"I guess you're ready to leave," Captain Adams commented, breaking a moment of silence.
"Do you have any personal belongings at all, Dr. Banaz?" Agent Newman asked, turning to her.
He was wearing sunglasses today, and that made his expression much more guarded. He looked older… and more threatening. She wondered if he still harbored the doubts he had expressed yesterday, or whether he had decided that she really was Rahaf. She also wanted to know if he'd shared that doubt with the people to whom he reported. If that were the case, then they were using her as a means of finding her sister.
No matter what happened, she wasn't going to lead the Americans to Rahaf, just to turn her over to them. The headache at the base of her skull was back. She would drive herself crazy thinking about all this. She looked up. He was waiting for an answer.
"No, nothing else." Fahimah shook her head. Her only belongings consisted of the clothing she was wearing and the new toothbrush that she'd rolled in tissues and wrapped inside a black Nike cap before stuffing it into the pocket of her pants. She'd refused the offer of more clothes. It might have been pride or stubbornness, but she refused to take anything more than was absolutely necessary. She put the laptop in the leather case and got to her feet.
"I'm ready," she said.
Captain Adams extended her hand. Fahimah decided against snubbing her and shook the other woman's hand. She stood a couple of inches taller than the captain. She gripped the woman's hand hard and kept her back straight.
"Perhaps we'll meet again," the captain said.
"I hope not," Fahimah said in all seriousness, not sure if they were talking about "meeting again" in the same context. But it didn't matter. She didn't care if she ever saw her again.
They ran into a soldier right outside of the captain's office. Fahimah thought the young woman might have been one of the guards who'd transferred her from one cell to the next, or slid a tray of food inside her door during her months here.
The soldier nodded to them. "Good luck, Dr. Banaz."
Fahimah was starting to hate this sudden civility. She didn't want these people to be her friends. Matt Sutton went ahead of her down the stairs. Fahimah kept a hand against the wall going down. She'd had a meal last night. Another small one this morning wasn't sitting in her stomach exactly as it should. She wasn't accustomed to eating, so there was very little her stomach accepted. At the same time, she wasn't used to moving around, to standing. She didn't want to fall on her face going down the stairs.
Stepping out into the brilliant sunshine, Fahimah shielded her eyes with one hand. The outside air threatened to suffocate her with heat and dust. Figures of men and women in uniform and three closed vehicles were all that Fahimah could see when she was able to force her eyes open against the bright sun.
Fahimah was surprised that they weren't blindfolding her as they left this facility, but she wasn't about to remind them of it. There was no wasting time outside. She was told to climb into the middle vehicle in the caravan. Agent Newman climbed in after her. Fahimah moved to the far left to give him plenty of room. The other agent sat in the front with the driver. The air-conditioning was already set on high. The smell of leather and dust and recycled air caused her stomach to churn. She took a deep breath, willing her stomach to settle. The closed windows of the Humvee were tinted so that you could only see out.
Outside, everyone moved quickly once she was settled into the vehicle. She noticed a group of soldiers moving around the cars. They all had their weapons drawn. They were constantly watching the terrain around them. Fahimah looked out the window. There was nothing, just barren land and serrated hills. Rock and dust, as far as the eye could see. Her sister, Rahaf, had traveled to this country once for work, but this was Fahimah's first view of Afghanistan.
The radio in the vehicle crackled to life. The driver started talking to someone through a transmitter. She heard the loud roar of a chopper move overhead. She pressed her face against the window and looked up at the sky to see. The helicopter seemed to be hovering right above the car.
"Move this way," Agent Newman ordered, a split second before the door on her side of the vehicle opened. A large, powerfully built soldier wearing a bulletproof vest nodded and climbed in.
Instantly, Fahimah found herself sandwiched between the bodies of two large Americans. She moved the laptop to her chest to protect it.
"Couldn't you spare another car?" she asked quietly.
"No," Agent Newman said in a clipped tone. "Let's go over the rules now."
"I should have known that there would be rules."
Her response obviously surprised both men in the backseat. The armed soldier shot her a quick, amused look before turning his attention back to what was going on outside. Agent Newman's gaze stayed on her much longer.
There was nothing improper in the look he was giving her, but Fahimah suddenly felt very uncomfortable sitting so close to the man. She tightened her hold on the computer case and looked ahead as the caravan of cars started down the road. From the noise of the helicopter circling above, she knew it was part of their escort.
"All right, Agent Newman. What are the rules?" she asked, encouraging him to say something.
"Dr. Banaz, we believe your life is in danger. We have taken st-"
"My life was in danger back in that prison." She motioned over her shoulder at the facility they were leaving behind.
"Let me finish," he said in a sharper tone.
She shrugged, looking ahead. The driver and Agent Sutton gave no indication that they could even hear the exchange in the backseat. As the landscape sped by, Fahimah thought the vehicles were driving far too fast. Only an occasional glint of the sun off the rear window of the vehicle ahead of them was visible through the storm of dust they were raising.
"You've agreed to cooperate," Newman started again. "We're operating with the belief that someone who you might know, perhaps someone who worked for you or with you, could be responsible for the release of this bacteria in the U.S."
She couldn't argue that point. Rahaf must have feared the possibility of the microbe being used against humans when she'd asked Fahimah to go to her lab and destroy the documents having to do with her research. Her sister had always given Fahimah the impression that the purpose of her research was to find cures to horrible diseases, including those caused by microbes that could be packaged for use as weapons. From personal experience, they both knew how terrible biochemical weapons could be.
Fahimah wondered now if her sister had heard anything about what was going on in that country. Unconsciously, she tapped her fingers on the computer in her arms, wondering how much information about the outbreaks was known at all. Newman had never mentioned whether or not this terror had been made public.
"We also know that as much as we try, information leaks out from our bases." Fahimah felt the soldier beside her stiffen, but Newman continued without a pause. "So if our enemies don't already know about your existence, it will probably be just a matter of hours before the news will surface."
Fahimah looked up to Agent Newman's face. He was going with the assumption that she was Rahaf. That meant everyone else out there believed that, too, including, perhaps, whoever was behind the attack. That is, of course, if the outbreaks were even the result of some terrorist effort.
"Why should that cause you to worry about me, Agent Newman?"
"Your offer to help could ruin the plans of Al Qaeda… or whoever is engineering all of this. They'll try to kill you so that you don't help us."
The words should have been an icy steel spike of fear in her gut. He'd intended them to be frightening, she was certain. But after all she'd been through over the past five years, the words did nothing. Death was seen as the end by many, but for Fahimah it was only another realm of existence, the next stage in this experience. She'd wished death would free her from prisons so many times over the years.
"This kind of escort might work in Afghanistan," she said, pointing at the roof of the Humvee just as the helicopter roared across their path. "But once we're in Iraq, I think it will be too much. In fact, it will only draw unnecessary attention to you. An escort such as this one will tell whoever these people are that you have arrived. It is an invitation to be attacked, Agent Newman. You might as well have someone waiting at the airport and carrying a sign with my name on it."
"We'll have different security arrangements once we land in Iraq," he replied. "Perhaps now that we're under way, you wouldn't mind telling me where we are headed from Erbil airport?"
"We have discussed that before. I will tell you once we arrive." She looked out the window. "We have a saying, 'Stairs are climbed step by step.'"
"Well, that's great, Dr. Banaz. But we're not talking about an afternoon jaunt in the countryside for two. There are a lot of people who need time to prepare for this."
