She nodded, but Austyn could see the news upset her. She looked at Austyn.
"You didn't shave," she told him. "That's good."
He ran a hand over his face and jaw. He didn't have time. After everyone returned to the hotel last night, he'd been up with the rest of them planning what needed to be done. He'd grabbed only a couple of hours of sleep and taken a quick shower this morning to help him wake up.
"I've been thinking about how to explain you, in case we get caught by an Iranian border patrol."
Austyn was glad she was thinking about it.
"I have some ideas, too. We'll talk on the way."
He looked at Matt, hoping that the younger man was okay with that. Matt gave him a reassuring nod. Ken came down the hall.
"I assume everyone is ready," he said, looking at Austyn's and Fahimah's bags. His eyes lingered on her face. "I'd say you're getting back to normal very quickly, Dr. Banaz. In fact, I'd say you look beautiful this morning. Austyn, I don't think it'll be safe to let her out of our sight again."
An immediate blush colored her cheeks.
"Don't forget," Ken told her comfortably with a nod toward Austyn. "There's still plenty of time to ditch this one, you know."
"Thanks for your input, soldier," Austyn said curtly.
Ken pretended to ignore him. "Seriously, I can cross the border with you. I even speak the language. It would be so much easier to pass me off as a local than this red-blooded American boy standing here."
Austyn was starting to become annoyed with the man. He should have checked to see if Ken was married or not. Sometimes these guys needed a reminder… like a call from the wife and kids. In this case, Ken needed a knock on the head with a two-by-four.
"You speak Kurdish with an American accent," she told him, shaking her head. "I much prefer him not speaking at all."
Austyn took Fahimah's bag off her shoulder.
"Let's go, partner," he said, giving her a wink. She was so fair-skinned that every emotion poured right into her complexion. The word partner seemed to almost fluster her.
A crack-of-dawn departure had been out of the question, so Austyn had settled for anything before noon. They weren't going to leave through the front door of the hotel and have the dozens of people having tea on the sidewalk witness it. The van Ken was going to drive had been parked in the back, accessible through the kitchen door.
Coming out into the alley, Austyn saw they had a different vehicle from the van they'd driven last night. This one had a number of large dings in the front and sides. He glanced at Ken questioningly.
"I wanted to make it more authentic. Up here, along the border, they either drive a brand-new, hundred-thousand-dollar European car, like a Mercedes or BMW, or they drive some old shitbox that's on its last legs."
"How do you know that?" Fahimah asked in surprise.
"I saw it at Zahho, on the Iraqi-Turkish border. I was passing through about a month ago. Big money and abject poverty all mixed up in one big bag."
"Smuggling money?" Matt asked.
"Construction money," Ken told him. "Rebuilding projects and new construction everywhere you look. Some are cashing in and some aren't."
Austyn eyed the beat-up van. "I see that we aren't."
"Things have changed since I went away," Fahimah said, climbing into the backseat.
Ken sat behind the wheel. When they were all in, Matt handed Austyn a bulging envelope from his bag. He opened it as they pulled out of the alley.
"You're now from Argentina. You have a passport with your picture and a phony name on it. Most of the South American countries have tourists who travel in Iran. There are also maps, Iranian money — rials and toman — and a couple of pocket dictionaries for appearance. You have English, Spanish, Kurdish, Arabic and Farsi. There are some other travel documents… paper visas into and out of Iraq and Turkey. Also, postcards friends supposedly sent to you from Argentina."
"You've been busy." Austyn opened the flap of the envelope and looked inside. "Argentina?"
"Is that a problem?"
"No, that's actually good. I've been there before."
"I know. And you speak Spanish."
Austyn figured that there was nothing in anyone's personnel files that Matt couldn't access if he wanted to. That was his thing. He probably knew more about Austyn's background than he could remember himself. He pulled out the passport.
"We've put in entry and exit stamps from a dozen different countries. You like to travel."
Austyn looked deep in the envelope. There was something that looked like a badge at the bottom.
"What is that?" He reached in for it.
"You're a writer. Freelance and novels. You don't have a press visa, though, because this project is your own idea. You hope to sell it afterward."
"The badge?" Austyn asked, pulling it out.
"Buenos Aires Herald. That was your last newspaper job. The badge has a hole punched in it, meaning it's no longer valid. You kept it for a keepsake, though."
Matt handed him another bag.
"And what's this?"
"Camera. Everyone who goes into the refugee camps takes plenty of pictures. If you're going to write an article or a book, you'll need a ton of pictures," Matt told him. "Also, there are chocolate bars, some canned goods, first aid stuff. I called one of the American reporters who's in Erbil and tried to get an accurate account of the stuff they carry with them. He's the one that reminded me about the camera."
"You've thought of everything, haven't you?" Austyn asked, impressed.
"For your sake, I hope I have," Matt said.
"Now, what about Fahimah?"
"She has everything she needs."
"What do you mean?"
"I duplicated her old papers and printed all the documents she would normally carry with her. She's got a somewhat beat-up booklet that's the Iraqi equivalent of our birth certificate, her university ID card, travel permits issued by the new government."
"But she was presumed dead after a bombing at the university," Austyn reminded his partner.
"There's no way for them to know that. So many people die every day in Iraq that they're about two years behind in issuing death certificates, and a lot will never be issued. And you saw what we checked online. There isn't even a reasonably functional Web site for the university. I tried to call the university yesterday. There's no place to check information at all there. And why should they check, anyway? She's a Kurdish woman. No threat. Kurds are mostly respected in Iran. You're the dangerous one."
Austyn realized that Matt was right. She'd probably be safer across the border than she'd been in the past five years, if not longer.
"And she has those documents."
"I gave all of them to her this morning. We went over them. She should be all set," Matt told him. "By the way, she returned the laptop to me. She didn't think it'd be safe where you two are headed."
"The laptop isn't safe but we are?" He smiled.
"No," Fahimah interrupted. "We won't be terribly safe, either."
Austyn nodded his thanks to the other agent and stuffed the envelope into his bag. He and Ken each had a couple of DOD satellite phones on them. They had been given the three phones yesterday by the special units group in Erbil. These phones had their own dedicated gateways, so there was no out-of-service area anywhere. The decision whether they should take the phone across the border or not would wait until they got closer to their destination. Austyn figured he'd keep the one he had until the very last moment, even if he ended up chucking it.
"Okay," Matt said. "This is where I get out."
"This is the Brayati section of the city," Ken told him, pulling over. "See that mosque there?"
"Yeah."
"On the far side of it, you'll find a bazaar where you can pick up a taxi. He'll charge you a fortune, but he'll get you back to the hotel, anyway."