"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."