The Deadliest Strain

Chapter Thirteen

At the last minute, the decision was made to not use a military aircraft for the transfer of Dr. Banaz. The quickest flight pattern was over the Caspian Sea, north of Iran. With their ability to climb quickly to cruising altitudes, small commercial-type jets were frequently used for transportation between Afghanistan and Iraq. They provided a less-obvious target for some missile-wielding, half-wit freedom-fighter sitting in some mountain range in Turkmenistan or Azerbaijan.

Two air force pilots were being used to fly the ten-seat jet. Two of Fahimah's military escorts from the Brickyard and three more from the airbase at Bagram were accompanying them during the flight.

Austyn sat across the aisle, one seat back from Fahimah, on the plane. As they cruised, he watched her go through page after page of news on the laptop. Before getting on the flight, he'd called Faas Hanlon. He'd told the director about his certainty now that the wrong sister had been held in the CIA-run prisons for the past five years. The conversation had been brief and to the point. As far as Faas was concerned, the original plan remained in place. Austyn and Matt were to accompany Fahimah wherever she led them. At the same time, U.S. Special Forces in Iraq would be put on alert to look for the younger sister. The search was on, and Faas sounded satisfied with the turn of events. Now, Austyn thought, they had two lines of investigation to follow. Rahaf Banaz could potentially help them, or possibly she was behind the attacks. Either way, finding her could lead to a solution for the situation in America.

Austyn hadn't forgotten what he'd promised Fahimah. She wanted her sister to go free. A lot of that depended on what the younger sister's involvement in all of this was. Austyn guessed even Fahimah didn't really know. She'd spent five years in prison, and it was pretty unlikely that there had been any communication between the two.

No matter what happened, Austyn was determined not to allow Rahaf to become lost in one of the CIA's black sites like her sister. One way or another, he would make sure that she was treated fairly.

Austyn saw Fahimah close the laptop. There were so many questions he had for her. At the same time, he knew that only a very thin line of trust connected them. There was certainly no comfort zone.

He undid his seat belt and stood up. Matt had taken the last seat on the same row as Fahimah. He was constructing possible scenarios on Rahaf over the past five years, based on history of the fighting in Iraq and on possible identity changes she might have undergone. Upon seeing Austyn stand, the other agent shook his head. Nothing yet, he mouthed.

Austyn moved toward Fahimah. The leather case for the laptop was on the seat across the aisle where she'd placed it.

"Do you mind if I sit down here?"

She glanced across at the leather case before looking up. "Would it matter if I minded?"

He nodded. "Yes, it would."

"Then I mind," she told him.

Austyn nodded, forcing himself not to push it. She needed to be able to trust him. If he bullied her, they would never develop the rapport they'd need when they reached the Kurdistan region of Iraq. He took the step back to his seat. He was about to buckle himself in again when she turned her head around.

"Very good. You pass the test," she told him. "You may sit here."

"Just like a teacher," he said wryly. "I should have known there would be tests."

She said nothing and picked up the computer case off the seat. Austyn sat down as she turned her head away.

She had both hands resting on the computer, and she appeared to be looking out the small airplane window at the passing banks of clouds. He watched her profile for a few moments. In spite of all she'd endured, she was still very attractive. She turned and glanced at him. Those green eyes startled him, oddly disconcerting him when she looked at him.

"All caught up with your reading?" he asked, motioning with his head to the computer.

"Hardly at all," she replied. "I only read bits and pieces of things. Most of the headlines or the first paragraph or two."

"Can't stomach more than that?"

She shook her head. "I have missed a great deal." She paused. "But you have a valid point. It is a great deal worse than I could have imagined."

He wanted her to open up to him more. "In what way?"

"In every way. The world appears to be coming apart," she retorted. "To begin with, the war in Iraq. From these articles, it is clear that you have created a situation that has resulted in a civil war dividing my country. It seems that it has become a way of life for the Sunni to be killing the Shia and vice versa."

Austyn started to reply, but she waved him off.

"It is not just there," she said, continuing. "Look at what is happening in Africa. In half the continent, continuous genocide is being practiced. Even these Western journalists point to the role of self-serving financiers of the West in supporting these murderous regimes. And the Saudis play a huge part in that, as well. It always was and still is amazing to me how blind the people of democratic Western countries continue to be about the special interest groups that ruin countries in order to exploit them. So long as their gas prices are low, they care nothing about how these groups, with their government's support, put a murderer in power in a country. In my own country, so long as Saddam was fighting Iran and selling oil cheaply to America, he was a good friend." She looked at him. "I can go on and on. Would you care to debate any of this?"

"You're the political science professor. I'm not going headfirst into any argument with you unless I have time to prepare."

A hint of softness touched her expression. She was obviously pleased to be acknowledged for the profession she had before.

She leaned her head back against the seat and looked out at the patches of clouds again. "And there is so much filtered news."

"Filtered news?"

"Of course, filtered. These are American publications… or funded by their interests," she said. "Before your people put me in prison, the censorship in your papers was so transparent. Nothing has changed."

Austyn wasn't going there. It wasn't censorship in the strictest sense of the word, but he knew sections of Homeland Security monitored what they called "sensitive information." It was no secret that mainstream news had adopted a new "sensitivity" about the way information was presented after the September 11 attacks back in 2001.

"I saw you doing some searches on the university where you used to teach."

Her gaze narrowed. "You were watching what I was doing?"

"You knew I was watching," Austyn said matter-of-factly, keeping eye contact. "You also know that we're keeping track of every search you do on that computer."

She shrugged and looked out the window again. "I was hoping you would not be so blunt about it."

"I thought we were dealing honestly with each other."

"You can think whatever you want."

Austyn enjoyed her quick tongue. It was admirable that after so many years of silence in prison, she hadn't lost it.

"Did you find anything useful about where you used to teach?" he asked.

She shook her head. "A report of bombings on the campus."

"The world thought you had died in one of the early attacks," Austyn told her.

"It seems that whatever parts of the university your missiles and troops didn't destroy in the initial attacks, the civil war and suicide bombings since have leveled." She reached out and pressed the back of her hand lightly against the glass window. "Who knows, but I might have fared better than many of my colleagues."

"I assume that your sister doesn't know you survived the taking of the lab," Austyn asked. "You had her keys. You were wearing her badge. She must have known that you were there."

Fahimah nodded slightly.

"After the bombing, reports were circulated that no one in the lab had survived. Do you think she believed them?"

She did not respond, keeping her eyes fixed on the clouds outside. The files indicated that Fahimah had been allowed no contact with anyone outside of the prisons over the past five years. Austyn wondered if he could trust those reports.

"It would be a nice surprise for her to hear from you," Austyn continued.

"I am sure she will be very happy," Fahimah replied under her breath.

"How do you know she's still alive?"

Her hands fisted and returned to her lap. "Faith. I would have felt it, known it in here—" she touched her heart" — if she had died."

Austyn was a man of science. He didn't believe in those kinds of things. "I don't know anything about that, but I hope you're right."

The green eyes looked into his. "You don't think you're a believer, Agent Newman. That's fine. In time, you'll prove yourself wrong."

There was no reason to argue and explain that in his thirty-eight years of life, he'd relied on facts and figures to find his way. They were never going to be friends. She was only helping him to find her sister. The less she knew about him, the better.

"I do hope you have something more substantial than faith to lead us to your sister and her files."

"Don't ask any more about the details of our journey," she told him flatly. "I will lead you to what you want."