Whatever Austyn's feelings had been before, however, his involvement with places like the Brickyard prison had changed with the bacteria outbreak in Maine. How he'd felt before no longer mattered. Now he was glad that there was a place such as this, where they could find and question a suspect. The consequences of not learning more about the bacteria they were facing were potentially devastating.
"Over there." Matt motioned to something outside his window. 'That must be the Brickyard."
The military jet was now dropping through patches of cloud. Austyn looked where his partner was pointing. A cluster of buildings sat between a pair of hills some distance away from the base.
"I think you're right," Austyn agreed.
They'd been told that an abandoned brick-making factory had been converted for use as the prison. Austyn saw a military supply truck driving along a dirt road, away from the factory. A cloud of dust rose up in its wake. The countryside surrounding the prison was barren, a wasteland of pale rock and dirt and scrub foliage.
The jet started its descent to the runway. Austyn stuffed the files and pictures he'd taken out to review back into his briefcase.
"I guess we're as ready as we'll ever be," Matt commented.
The landing was smooth, and they shook hands with the pilot. As he stepped out of the plane, Austyn's first reaction was that the base looked a lot worse from the ground than it had from the air. The landscape and the tents and uniforms and the faces of the soldiers all blended in with the dust that covered everything.
A corporal met them at the plane, and Austyn listened to him as the escort walked them toward a nearby hangar. It had obviously rained that morning, but with the exception of some puddles, the sun had dried everything. The air was parched, but there was a heaviness in it that you felt deep down in your lungs. A military fuel truck driving along the runway raised more dust and made the air even more difficult to breathe.
Austyn noticed the looks they drew from soldiers they passed. He remembered what he'd heard about the lack of variety in the food here. The service personnel looked forward to any stash of food that visitors brought along. He regretted not having thought ahead.
He focused on two dust-covered Humvees racing along the concrete and pulling up a few yards from them. A woman with captain's bars on the collar of her field jacket climbed out.
"That's Captain Jane Adams," the corporal said as she approached them. "She's in charge of the facility you're going to."
Higher rank didn't spare the officer from the dust. She and the driver were covered with the same dirt as the vehicle they'd arrived in. Matt and Austyn were introduced to their host and hustled into the Humvee.
Captain Adams was barely over five feet tall, and thinly built, but she had an authority in her voice and a sharpness to her gaze that made her seem about six foot six.
Before leaving Washington, Austyn had been told of an ongoing internal investigation at the agency regarding prisoner handling at the Brickyard prison. In an effort to head off action by any oversight committee, there'd been a complete turnover of staff during the past year. Captain Adams was heading up the new crew.
As they left the camp, two more military vehicles joined them, one in front and one in the back, forming a caravan.
They passed through a number of security checkpoints before reaching the open road.
"We have to be careful," Adams told them. "We still have roving gangs of Taliban insurgents that pop up unexpectedly under our noses."
Both agents listened to the captain as she told them briefly about the base and the ancient city of Bagram and the locals. Much of what was being said was similar to what they'd heard from the pilot. Neither agent interrupted, though, and soon Adams was asking about news from stateside. It was clear that the lack of attention the country was giving to Afghanistan was a source of irritation for her.
Austyn pulled on his glasses. Even with the windows shut, they were eating their escort's dust. The slight discomfort they were experiencing, however, was nothing compared to what was going on outside.
The poverty was palpable. The drawn, worn faces of the few ragged Afghanis that they passed after coming through the checkpoints were clear indicators of their suffering. At one point a mob of kids playing in front of a corrugated steel shack started running after the cars, lining the road and chanting something in their native tongue. Many were missing arms and legs, hobbling on crutches behind the others. Austyn remembered what he'd heard about the land mines. The Afghani children formed the largest number of casualties. Outbreaks of a number of epidemics had also been taking their toll over the past few years.
The harsh landscape and the culture of survival here was fascinating to Austyn, but he knew he had to focus. When Captain Adams paused, he broke in with his questions.
"Captain, what have you been told about our visit here?"
"The information has been trickling down too slowly for my liking, but I understand there's been a biological attack in the U.S."
"I hope you were also told that this is classified information," Matt responded. "Unlike the anthrax scare of few years ago, none of the details have been officially released to the press or public."
"Yes, sir. I understand," Adams answered, motioning to the driver. "Sergeant Powell here has all the necessary clearances, but it's up to you what you care to tell us. In fact, no one else at our station has been briefed in any way about the purpose of your visit."
"Begging your pardon, sirs," Sergeant Powell told them, looking in the mirror. "You should know that the secrecy has started a lot of speculation. Everyone working at the Brickyard thinks you're part of that congressional committee focusing on the detention facilities."
"I can live with that," Austyn replied. "About this prisoner. What can you tell me that's not in the files?"
"I don't really know what is and what isn't in the files that were passed on to you," Captain Adams told him. "Rahaf Banaz is thirty-five years old and a Kurd. Why she was working for Saddam's regime is still a mystery. She was captured after the marines raided a laboratory in the eastern Diyala region in Iraq back in 2003. She was moved around to different black sites in Iraq, Turkey, Romania and Latvia, and then brought here eight months ago."
Austyn had read about the moves. Dr. Banaz was well known enough in the international research community that there had been a lot of squawk about her whereabouts.
The U.S. response from the very start was that she'd been killed in the attack when they'd raided her laboratory.
"How has she been treated?" Matt asked.
Captain Adams shrugged. "Off and on solitary confinement. There have been no interrogations for quite some time. None since her arrival here. And there's certainly been no abuse," she added defensively.
"And her cooperation level?" Austyn asked.
"Nonexistent." The captain turned around in her seat. "She never complains. She doesn't speak. In fact, she doesn't respond to anything at all. She has moved into a zone that we see some prisoners go into once they've lost any hope of freedom. Four times since she arrived here eight months ago, she's gone on a hunger strike. Each time, we had to move her to the medical facility at Bagram, hook her up to tubes and force-feed her. But I was told when she arrived not to conduct any more interrogations of her, for the time being."