"No, Dad. I'm fine."
"Josh, if you have strep throat, things will only get worse. The sooner I test it, the sooner we'll know."
Josh looked around the deck reluctantly. "Not yet. In a little bit. Maybe after the dives are over."
Kirk was ready to go, sitting on the railing and waiting for Philip. With the help of the kids, he started lowering the video camera cage and the nets carrying their tools into the water.
Just then, Philip went past them without saying anything. He was already dressed in his wet suit with the hood up and the gloves and boots on. David thought he was walking awkwardly.
"It must be tough coming up that ladder with all that gear on," he said confidentially to his son.
"I think I have what Philip has," Josh said out of the blue. "He's doing pretty well without all the drugs. I'll kick it myself, too."
David decided there was no point in arguing with the twelve-year-old now. Perhaps the downside of this trip, what with hanging out with people like Philip and his crew, was that Josh would naturally be influenced by their alternative-medicine attitudes. Another week and he could have a complete natural-healing nut on his hands. The past two nights Josh had refused to have any kind of meat with dinner, just because he heard Philip say he was a vegetarian.
Whatever, David told himself. Just so long as Josh got everything he needed now. He could fight the rest of it out with his mother when they got home.
"Are you okay?" David heard Kirk ask the other diver. "You don't look too good."
Philip was pulling the oxygen tanks on his back with the help of one of the parents. David saw him wave at Kirk to go in.
The younger man waited until Philip joined him at the railing. A few words passed between them that David couldn't hear from where they were sitting. There didn't seem to be any reason for concern, though, as the two flipped backward into the water together.
Some of the kids rushed to where a small TV hung on a portable mount next to a cabin door.
Josh was shivering.
"Come on, Captain Jack," David joked encouragingly. "Let's get it done before them there barnacles grows on us."
The boy looked at him and shook his head. "I think there's something wrong with you, Dad."
David laughed. "You're probably right, but we can do this before the video feed comes up. We run inside, you get another sweatshirt, and I'll take a second and check your throat."
"Okay," Josh replied, reluctantly pushing to his feet and following David downstairs.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The shouting match between the two Americans and the Kurd in charge would have been comical, if it weren't for the fact that the little Peshmerga kept tugging gently on the handle of the pistol in a holster beneath his coat. If Ken even reached for his pistol, Fahimah had no doubt someone would be killed.
"La darawa." The first soldier, who'd taken their papers, spoke to her in Kurdish and motioned for Fahimah to get out of the van.
"Dabe safar kayn bo Halabja." she replied, telling him they were traveling to Halabja. He nodded, but motioned again for her to move. She decided to do as she was told. She didn't like the look of the other soldiers who had joined the leader. They were holding their guns on the two Americans, and they looked as if they would just love to blast them away.
"Na tirsinok." Don't be afraid, the soldier told her quietly. We just want to talk to you.
He looked older than the rest of the Peshmerga. She hesitated, but he nodded reassuringly to her.
She turned around to the argument that hadn't eased at all.
"I'll be all right," she said loudly over the hood of the van to Austyn. She called out a second time to get their attention.
Austyn spun around and started back toward her. The Peshmerga leader was now screaming at him to stop. Ken was looking at her, as well, and ignoring the little Kurd. The Kurd pulled out his pistol, and Fahimah knew he would shoot Austyn in the back.
"Stop," she said to Austyn, holding up her hand.
He stopped.
Fahimah looked at the Peshmerga leader. "If you want to talk with me," she said in English, "I will. But there is no need to hurt these Westerners." She pointed to Ken. "You do not want to fight with an American soldier, do you, with all these people watching?"
She nodded with her head at the line of cars that had stopped by the checkpoint. The little man stared at her for a moment, then swaggered a little as he put his pistol back into its holster.
"You are a woman of great wisdom," he said in Kurdish. "But we will talk to you."
She pointed across the way. "I'm only going with them that far."
They both seemed reluctant… especially Austyn, who tried to come around the car to her, but the barrel of an AK-47 against his chest stopped him in his tracks.
"Will you stop?" she said to him directly. "I'm a Kurd. They won't hurt me."
Fahimah believed what she said. She turned to the soldier.
"Aya?" She asked where she should go to.
The man looked at his superior, who in turn nodded toward a small building behind the man's car across the road. The soldier next to her then directed Austyn and Ken to move the car farther off the road. She was thankful when Ken got behind the wheel and did as he was told.
"Hatin," the little leader told her.
She gave one last look over her shoulder at the van. Ken was already on his phone. Austyn had one hand on top of the van, his eyes glued to her as she crossed the road. She had no doubt that if she showed any sign of fear, he'd come charging across that road, gun or no gun.
The leader was no more than twenty-five, but he had regained his composure and again exuded authority in the way he walked and talked.
A rustic, white-brick building, no larger than three meters square, sat on the side of the road. One small, unshuttered window and an open door faced the roadway. Remembering the frigid winters in Erbil, she decided this had to be a very popular place for the soldiers manning this checkpoint during the cold months.
Fahimah followed the Peshmerga leader. There was no one else inside. A couple of chairs and a table stood against the far wall. A large flag of Kurdistan had been pinned to the wall above the table.
"I am Ahmad," he told her in Kurdish, with far less bluster than he demonstrated outside. He left the door open. "And I know who you are."
He was holding on to her ID, so naturally he would know who she was. She didn't bring that to his attention, though.
"You are Firishte's sister."
Firishte meant "angel," but he used it like a name.
"You know Rahaf?" she said, relieved.
"Yes, I know her very well. I worked alongside her at Saryas and Jwanro refugee camps. You are brave, like her."
She shook her head in modesty, never comfortable about receiving compliments.
"How is my sister? I'm on my way to find her, to see her. It has been so long. Do you know where she is now?" Fahimah had hundreds of questions, but she had to give Ahmad a chance to answer the ones she'd already asked.
"We have no time," Ahmad said. "The American soldier is calling his people. In ten minutes, a truck full of them will swarm around here. We have to get you out."
"Get me out where?" she asked, perplexed.
"Rahaf told me in strict confidence that you were in their jails." He motioned to her hair. "You suffered in taking the place of your sister."