"She was innocent. I could not let them find her. She was very sick when I was captured, and they would not have understood. But those two men outside—"
"They are still holding you prisoner," he interrupted her. "Yesterday, the word spread quickly that Firishte's sister was in Erbil. I heard also that American soldiers were guarding you. When I heard, I knew I had to act. I owed that to Firishte."
Yesterday, she made sure to use her name every place she'd called and with everyone she'd seen at the hotel. She knew how the news traveled in Kurdistan. It was more effective than any modern communication system.
"I thank you, Ahmad," she said. "But I am not their prisoner."
He wasn't listening to her. "We can bring a car to the back and have you taken away before their soldiers arrive. We can have our people drive you to the border."
Fahimah shook her head.
"That won't be necessary," she said more forcefully. "I want Rahaf to meet the younger American. It is important for her to meet him."
Ahmad looked at her blankly.
"He needs my sister's help. He is a scientist, as she is. He is the one that saved me. He freed me from the prison," she explained.
She looked out the window at the van across the road. Austyn was standing straight as an arrow beside the vehicle and staring across at the building. Ken was still speaking on the telephone. She turned back to the Peshmerga leader.
"A terrible disease has struck America."
"This is nothing to us. We have disease here, as well. I like the Americans, khanoom, do not misunderstand me, but what of it? They have many doctors in America."
"Ahmad, this is the same disease that caused Rahaf to lose her leg. But in America, people are perishing every day. Children are dying painfully. I know my sister, my friend. Rahaf would want to help."
"They did you wrong," he reminded her, still not sounding completely convinced.
"Yes, they did," she replied. "But they did that wrong to me. And I have not forgotten that it was because of the Americans that our own people were not wiped from the face of the earth by Saddam Hussein."
"Nothing will ever destroy the Kurdish people. The Peshmerga have—"
"The Peshmerga have had Americans fighting at their side since 1991."
Ahmad said nothing for a moment, so Fahimah took advantage of his hesitation.
"That man out there had nothing to do with my imprisonment. .nor did the people who are dying," she said passionately. "You call my sister an angel. Do you think she would want to see anyone die when she has the knowledge to possibly help them?"
Fahimah could tell she had him. The man's dark gaze looked out the open door at the van across the road. A Peshmerga soldier with his weapon drawn still guarded the two Americans, but the traffic was once again flowing. Fahimah could not believe that these people would go to all this trouble to find her… to free her. For so many years, she had felt so alone.
"What about the American soldier? Why do you need him?" Ahmad asked.
"He is only driving us to Halabja. From there, Austyn Newman and I cross the border into Iran on our own."
"He is American. How will he cross the border?"
"His passport is forged," she said, deciding on honesty. These were her people. They were here to help her.
He looked across the road again. Ken was out of the van now and looking anxiously down the road. Fahimah knew he was hoping his reinforcements would arrive soon.
"If you are no prisoner, then the Peshmerga will take you to Halabja," Ahmad said adamantly. "You will not travel with the American soldier."
Fahimah thought about that for a moment. She'd feel safer traveling with these Kurdish soldiers over an American soldier anytime. She'd already learned that Americans were a target across Iraq, regardless of the region. And in going with them, the Peshmerga leader would save face.
"Very well… but Austyn Newman comes with me," she reminded him.
He agreed. "We will take both of you there. And in Halabja we have contacts with some of the Iranian border guards. We will arrange for you to cross over when there will be the least trouble."
It was all too good to be true.
"Okay?" he asked in English.
"I want to say yes, but let me talk to them first," she told him.
He shrugged. "Firishte never asks anyone's permission. She is in charge. She does what she thinks is right. You should do the same."
"I am not asking their permission, I'm going to tell them," she told him. "But I do not want American helicopter gunships chasing us through the mountains."
He smiled. Fahimah noticed his top four teeth were missing. This close, she could also tell that the unshaven face hid old scars. He was a young man, but he had obviously earned his position of authority.
The Peshmerga forces had been around since the advent of the Kurdish independence movement in the early 1920s, following the collapse of the Ottoman and Qajar rulers who ruled jointly over the area always known as Kurdistan.
Being a Peshmerga, "those who face death," was a great honor, but it was an honor that was not easily won. The Peshmerga did not lead easy lives. Many fought and died young. Many had suffered brutally at the hands of Saddam's torturers. From what she had gathered from Ken's words and from what she read on Sutton's laptop, many of the Peshmerga had only left the mountains and their long decades of guerrilla warfare after Saddam's fall.
She started out the door, and he walked out behind her.
"I need to talk to them alone — as you wanted to talk to me alone — so they do not feel that you are pressuring me to do this."
He smiled again. "Baleh, Dr. Banaz," he said with a salute.
It was touching, in an odd way, to have so tough an individual as this young fighter be so respectful.
Fahimah crossed the road, weaving between the cars that were stopping at the roadblock security check on their way into Erbil. Both Austyn and Ken ignored their armed guard and met her in front of the van.
"What was that about?" Austyn asked.
"First, let's get out of here before they change their mind," Ken suggested. "We're so short-handed around here that no backup to speak of will be coming."
"There is no need for backup, as you say," she said to Ken before turning to Austyn. "Some new arrangements have been made for us."
She explained the reason for the stop and how Ahmad and others believed she was still their prisoner. She also told them about the offer to have Peshmerga fighters escort them to Halabja and from there to arrange for them to cross the border.
"That's crazy. We don't need their help," Ken said, stunned by her words.
"But we are better off with it," she said flatly. "The Peshmerga are worried about me. Considering my past treatment at the hands of Americans, they have every right to be concerned."
"I don't like it. I was given the task of taking you both to Halabja, and frankly, I don't—"
"Ken, this is nothing personal against you, but we will be safer with them than with you."
"How do you know they're not going to drive you into the mountains and cut your throat?"
"How many years have you been here?" she asked him quietly.
Ken looked over his shoulder, avoiding her gaze.
Fahimah spoke gently but firmly. "These fighters see it as their duty to protect the Kurdish people. You know that. They stopped us because they were worried about me."
"Yes, but—"
"Besides, you were taking us only as far as Halabja. We still need to find a way to cross the border. This man, Ahmad, will take care of that second leg of the trip."
Ken didn't say anything more. She looked at Austyn.
He shrugged. "You trust them. That's good enough for me," he said. "Did he tell you that he knows where Rahaf is?"