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."