She'd put up with imprisonment for five years… and for nothing. They would go back to the university in Baghdad.
They would find other professors who would remember her. They would detain and interrogate students who must have graduated by now, but who would be able to help them. They would dig into her personnel files. Fahimah had studied at Oxford. Yes, she had a British accent, for she'd spent nine years of her life in England. She'd always been careful to hide it. Today it had ruined everything. All the American agents had to do now was just ask. They would find her sister. And now, with what was going on in America, the disease caused by the bacteria, they would pin the entire thing on Rahaf.
The bedding was next. She tore the blanket off. The sheets ripped in her thin fingers. Her own strength surprised her. She didn't know where it came from, but it was there. She upended the mattress, ripped the pillow open using a sharp metallic edge of the cot. Clumps of synthetic foam spewed out. She wanted to find relief in this destruction. But there was no relief. Her anger only escalated.
Enough was enough. She had paid for the nonexistent crime that these Americans thought her sister was guilty of. She and Allah were witnesses to the fact that Rahaf had paid a stiff penalty, too. Fahimah couldn't take it anymore.
The cot was light, and she lifted it and threw it against the door. The loud bang echoed through the room. She looked around wildly, at the chaos she'd created. This should have made her feel better. But it didn't.
Suddenly, she felt very tired. She crouched against the wall for a moment and caught her breath.
The agents from the U.S. were here to make a deal, to convince her to help them. At least, this was what the one named Newman said. He was clearly in charge. She had to take advantage of that before they were certain of the truth. They had played her. She could do the same.
Fahimah stood and walked to the door. She raised both fists to the small window and hammered on it.
"Why did you have to show those pictures to me? I had nothing to do with it. I hate you. I'm tired of this. Do you hear me?"
She looked over her shoulder at the cot sitting on its side, at the sharp edge sticking out at the corner. She stepped away from the door, jerked at her sleeve and looked at her wrist. With a grim smile, Fahimah looked back at the cot and started toward it.
They must have been waiting just on the other side of the door, for she didn't have to take more than a couple of steps. There was a click behind her and the door opened. Agent Newman stepped in ahead of two guards.
"Stop right there, Dr. Banaz. We don't want to do anything stupid, now, do we?"
Chapter Eight
Faas Hanlon climbed out of the helicopter and moved quickly out from under the whirling blades. Two of his top people were waiting for him near three black SUVs parked at the edge of the cliff overlooking Boynton Canyon. Agents were on phones and laptops in each of the vehicles.
The site below was something out of a Steven Spielberg film set. Large silver-and-white tents covered sections of the canyon. Police tape and ropes had been set up all along the parameter. Dozens of police cars parked in the vicinity of the resort kept away curiosity-seekers. Crime labs set up inside trucks and vans were parked everywhere inside the restricted area. The tents hid most of the foot traffic, but the occasional glimpse of people from this view revealed that they were dressed in some kind of protective gear and masks.
"Give me the status, Bea," Faas demanded of the woman standing beside him.
"We've contained the site, sir," Bea Devera shouted back, pointing out the perimeter. Her Homeland Security jacket flapped in the wind caused by the chopper.
"I can see that. What about casualties?"
The situation was more critical than any disaster they'd encountered as yet in this administration. Every investigative department in the government was working together to figure out exactly what it was that they were facing. The potential damage was unknown, but the speed with which the disease struck was stunning.
"Five confirmed dead so far. The two occupants of the truck, the two police officers who found them, and one jogger who got too close to the scene before our search-and-rescue teams arrived."
"Where are the bodies?"
"They just airlifted the last one out of here. The others are en route to our facility in Phoenix."
Faas looked at the folder Bea held under one arm. "Pictures?"
"They're not pretty," she said grimly. She handed him the folder. "There are two Polaroids here. We took a lot more with the digital cameras. They should already be available to view online. You can look at them when we go down to the site."
Faas looked hard at the photos. The pictures were taken from outside of the truck. A dead police officer, showing early signs of decomposition on his face, was sitting against the door.
"Do we know exactly how fast the bacteria killed?"
"No, we don't. From the time the police officers called in after finding the bodies in the truck to the time when our people started arriving on the scene was two hours and fifteen minutes. By then, all five were dead."
"But I was told the officers called in when they realized they were infected."
"Yes, sir. But we lost contact with them about ninety minutes before arriving on the scene. These canyons do funny things to communication devices. The locals say there's a vortex here—"
"Two hours to respond," Faas snapped unhappily. "That's too slow. These people don't understand the severity of what we're facing yet."
"They do now, sir," Bea said in defense. "Most of our equipment and experts were on the East Coast. We were operating under the mistaken premise that the bacteria had been localized to Maine. We had to fly most of these people in from L.A. The mobile crime labs came in from Phoenix, but they couldn't get on the site until the proper protective gear arrived."
Faas appreciated Devera's loyalty to her team.
"How about the local emergency response?" he asked.
"They were instructed not to approach the victims," the other agent explained. "Local police were tasked with closing the trails and keeping the gawkers away."
Without divulging specifics, Homeland Security had communicated these instructions overnight to every law enforcement agency across the country.
"Beyond the initial five people, we're certain that no one else has been infected?" he asked.
Bea exchanged a look with the other agent.
"We can't say that for certain. We don't know where the two teenagers in the truck were before stealing the vehicle.
We haven't even been able to positively ID the two," she explained. 'There were a couple of backpacks and wallets in there, but we're not sure if they're stolen property, as well."
Faas turned as a command control van pulled up behind the SUVs. This was a new method of investigating. The agents in charge weren't being allowed on-site.
"As far as our people being infected," the other agent told him, glancing toward the van, "they seem to have everything under control down there. The protocol we're following is similar to that for an Ebola outbreak."
Bea broke in. "Now that the van has arrived, we'll be directing operations from up here."
A remote-control investigation. They were expected to work like surgeons who use computers to operate on patients lying in hospitals on the other side of the country. Faas grimaced at the thought, not for an instant wanting to be on an operating table under those conditions.
"Maine and now Arizona," he said aloud. "Any connections between the victims? Any similar places they visited? Things they ate or drank? Anything that ties them together? This folder is empty. I need a lot more." He handed the manila folder back to Bea.