"The eggheads at NIH say that the effectiveness of fighting this strain of bacteria with the DM8 A is definitely questionable," Matt told him. "But they're taking out the biggest guns they have. They've ordered the pharmaceutical company to crank out as many doses of the antibiotic as they can. If there's a widespread outbreak, they want it ready for distribution."
"We've been trying to keep a lid on the situation since it first showed up ten days ago," Austyn commented. "I guess that was a wasted effort."
"Only one company is being used," Matt told him, shaking his head. "Reynolds Pharmaceuticals. They're the same ones who take care of the vaccines for our troops. They do government jobs on a regular basis."
Austyn had worked before with a number of engineers and researchers at Reynolds. He felt better that some confidentiality was being maintained.
"They're more worried that the antibiotic won't work at all," Matt said, voicing his concern.
"Or if we can distribute it to the victim early enough to have an effect."
A stronger gust of wind swirled through the yard, raising dust and debris. Austyn looked over his shoulder at where Rahaf sat. She had leaned her head back against the fence, her eyes closed. The white column of her neck was exposed. Despite all the years of hardship, it was impossible to miss her delicate chin and how well proportioned her face was. In her healthy days, she surely must have been considered a delicate and beautiful woman. He glanced through the files containing the old photos of her. Looking at them, he'd not considered the woman on the podium beautiful. He knew, though, that many women working in scientific fields made a point of trying to look plain, trying to be noticed solely for their intelligence and their contributions. It was like you could only be beautiful or smart. Not both.
A vague suspicion, not yet fully formed, wouldn't leave him.
He motioned with his head toward the scientist, and they took a couple of steps closer to her. Austyn stopped abruptly, though, and his partner followed suit.
"Did I miss something out here?" Matt asked.
Austyn shook his head and looked at Rahaf again. "You've read everything in Dr. Banaz's files. What color are her eyes?"
The other man shot him a curious look but went along. "Hazel. I expected them to be brown, but her student visa documentation said hazel."
"That's right. The file says hazel." He motioned with his head to the prisoner. "But her eyes are green."
"Hazel, green, blue… they're all close," Matt said, looking sharply at the prisoner. "You think this isn't Banaz?"
"I'm not ready to jump to any conclusions," Austyn replied. "How about an English accent? Do you remember reading anything in Dr. Banaz's files that she had a British accent?"
"That's not something that an interrogator would mention." He shook his head, staring at Rahaf. "She spoke to you?"
Austyn nodded.
"And she has a Brit accent? You're sure?"
Austyn nodded again.
"How could she have a British accent? She was educated in the U.S." He lowered his voice, looking suddenly concerned. "Are you saying that we might not have the right person here?"
They weren't far away, and Austyn hoped she heard pieces of their conversation. He wanted her to know of his suspicion.
"I don't know. But something doesn't feel right."
Matt shook his head. "How can she not be Banaz? She's undergone dozens of interrogation sessions over the years. We would have picked up the fact that she's the wrong woman."
"You'd think so," Austyn agreed.
"We have her fingerprints," Matt reminded him.
"The fingerprints were taken after her capture," he replied. "In spite of her years studying in the U.S., there was no reason for her to get fingerprinted. Those were pre-9/11 days, and unless she was applying for a green card, she wouldn't have had her prints taken. You know as well as I do that the security guidelines weren't the same as they are now. And as far as comparing it to anything the Iraqi government might have had, I doubt if anything was ever tracked down. Don't forget, we have never admitted that a body was recovered."
If Rahaf was listening to this conversation, she gave no indication of it. She hadn't moved. Austyn wondered if she was even breathing.
"The marines took her out of that lab," Matt argued. "She was wearing Dr. Banaz's badge. She was in possession of her keys. She matches her description. There was no reason to think otherwise."
"You're right," Austyn acknowledged. "There was no reason to think otherwise."
"She admitted that she was the scientist," Matt continued. "Now, why would anyone lie about something like that? Who the hell is crazy enough to spend all these years in jail, pretending to be someone else?"
"Someone who's trying to protect someone else."
He tried to remember some of the details of Banaz's files. There was no mention of parents, other than the fact that the girls were from a Kurdish tribe. He stared at the prisoner.
"The girls," he said aloud. "Her sister. They were only a year apart. What was the sister's name?"
Matt opened a folder and browsed through it for a moment. "Fahimah Banaz. There's not much about her here, except that she was a professor of political science at the University of Baghdad. She was only a year older than her sister, Rahaf. Missing. Suspected to have died back in 2003 in a bombing near the Tigris River part of University of Baghdad campus."
"Was her body ever recovered?"
Matt shook his head. "Not that we have any record of."
"What else do you have on Dr. Fahimah Banaz?"
"Nothing here," Matt told him. "I'll get on the captain's computer and find some information… whatever they have on the sister."
"Why don't you do that," Austyn said in a louder tone. "And make sure we have some pictures. Fingerprints would be ideal. It's possible that the university files in Baghdad might have something, too. Probably more than what's left of Saddam's government files. We need our people in Iraq to contact any faculty or students that might have had dealings with Professor Banaz. We can interview them on the phone and fly them over, if necessary."
Austyn looked at the prisoner again. Although her eyes were still closed and her posture was unchanged, she was with them, hearing every word. There was tension in every limb. A vein pulsed near her temple. Her face was suddenly reflecting some new stress. Now they were in business.
"Another piece of information that I want right away is Fahimah Banaz's education. Where did she go to school? I'm curious to know how much time she spent in England. Or whether she attended a British school in Iraq."
Matt and Austyn exchanged a look. There was a lot that didn't need to be said but they both understood. If the forces in Iraq happened to have picked up the wrong person, then there was a possibility that Dr. Rahaf Banaz was out there today, running free. If that were true, then it meant there was a strong chance she had a hand in engineering the bacteria's release. Matt headed toward the door across the yard.
Austyn walked toward the prisoner. He crouched down before her and stared at her face, studying every inch. He was close enough that it was impossible for her not to know he was there. It was a battle of will. It could have been a minute or five minutes, he didn't know. She finally opened her eyes and stared back.
'Another Dr. Banaz," he said flatly. "Which are you?"