Adrianna said, ‘What did it look like?’
Henry’s eyes flashed defiance. ‘What the hell do you think? The tank was still burning when we got there… and there were a couple of crispy critters, hanging over the side -didn’t even fucking look like humans… but you know what? They were the enemy — that’s what — we had to do what we had to do… so… anything else?’
She shook her head, feeling her breathing quicken. ‘No… no, I don’t think so, Henry. I think it’s my turn, I do…’
She shifted her weight, felt sweat trickle down her naked back. ‘Before I start, I need to ask you a question. Have you ever heard of Amiriyah?’
‘Amir what?’
‘Amiriyah. It was a bomb shelter for civilians, in a nice neighborhood in western Baghdad. You never heard of it?’
A shake of the head, a clatter of the handcuffs.
Adrianna took the knife, gently moved it across Henry’s right cheek. ‘I don’t doubt it. Why bother? It was just an unfortunate part of the first Gulf War. Everybody remembers Kuwait and the Highway of Death and Stormin’ Norman Schwarzkopf and the yellow ribbons and the victory parades after the war. Right? Pretty parades in pretty towns, flags and cheering. I bet you went to a parade like that, Henry, right? A nice parade, nothing like those poor Iraqi boys got when their war was over. Most of the Iraqis killed were just poor ignorant farm-boys, many with their first pairs of shoes, and they ended up burned or blown to pieces or turned into dust by you and your weapons.’
Her breathing was really quick now, and she went on, the words tumbling past each other.
‘But let’s get back to Amiriyah, shall we? It was a bomb shelter that was used by hundreds of civilians every night, when the air-raid sirens howled in the air. Ever hear an air-raid siren, Henry? It makes a wailing noise that cuts right through you, turns your guts into water, as you wait for the bombs or missiles to strike. But the civilians who got into Amiriyah, they thought they were safe. It was a bomb shelter. Everyone knew the Americans had smart weapons. Everyone knew they would be safe if they got inside Amiriyah.’
Adrianna had to stop, her breathing was so hard. To her own ears, her voice was changing, the way the syllables were coming out, it was all different. She said, ‘But the Americans weren’t as smart as we thought they were, and they weren’t as smart as they thought they were. For early on the morning of February 13, 1991, the shelter was bombed by the Americans. More than three hundred civilians — mostly women and children — were incinerated. Instantly. Including my papa and mama. Do you understand? My mama and papa, two of the sweetest, kindest and most intelligent people in the world, struck dead by your bombs.’
Henry’s mouth was moving, like he was trying to say something, and she grabbed the identification wallet she had shown him earlier and flung it across the room, spitting out the words. ‘My name is not Adrianna Scott. It is Aliyah Fulenz. I am an Iraqi Christian woman, and I am here to seek justice.’
‘But… but… the CIA… how in God’s name did they… I don’t believe you…’
She felt herself smile. ‘For even as a young girl, I was quite smart, Henry. After my parents were murdered by you, I came to the United States. I lived with an aunt, and soon after I came here I started with my work. My story. My setting up of false identification papers was so easy, even at a young age. And the CIA? Once they started going through my background, they went as far as my high school years. Which was typically American, save that I was an orphan child, adopted by an elderly aunt, who had passed away. So there was no one left alive to contradict my story. No one. No one at all. It was so easy…’
Adrianna brought the knife up to Henry’s chin again. ‘So that was my story. And here’s another one.’ She pushed the knife in again while Henry groaned. ‘I have schemed and worked and planned and now find myself, with God’s help, I have no doubt, in a position of power. Of authority. Of trust and responsibility. And the people who have put their trust in me, they have no idea, not even a concept of what I am about to rain down upon them. For you see, in a few weeks’ time, aircraft will be flying out at night, to all places in the United States. Secreted aboard them will be canisters. Those installing the canisters will believe that they contain something benign. But they won’t. They will be carrying weaponized anthrax, Henry, weaponized anthrax that will be spread across your largest cities. And panicked people, already infected, will stream out into the countryside.’
Henry was whimpering as she twisted the knife against him. ‘Everyone you know and love and cherish will be dead in less than two months, Henry, including your bastard whore empire that runs across the world like some elephant run amok, crushing everything in its path. Do you hear me, Henry?’
‘Please… please, no, don’t tell me any more… why are you telling me this…?’
Another twist of the knife, another moan. ‘Because I’m human, Henry. I couldn’t have gone all these years without telling someone, so every now and then, when the pressure becomes too much, when I feel I’m losing my focus, my anger, I seek one of you out. One who has killed my countrymen, who helped kill my parents, and then I unburden myself…and I feel so much better when I’m finished.’
Henry was crying now. ‘Please… please don’t tell me any more… please don’t say anything more about you or anthrax or anything else…’
‘Why, Henry?’
Snot was oozing out of his nose. ‘Because… because I’m afraid you’re going to kill me, that’s why…’
She nodded.
‘Henry, you’re absolutely right.’
And with that, Aliyah Fulenz took her knife and slit the man’s throat.
PART TWO
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ten miles out of Memphis International Airport, Carrie Floyd stretched her fingers for a moment, above the control yoke of the AirBox McDonnell Douglas MD-11 that she and her co-pilot, Sean Callaghan, were piloting in the last few minutes of AirBox Flight Twelve, San Jose to Memphis. She was thirty-five years old and a veteran of the US Navy, and while she loved flying for AirBox — truth be told, she was lucky to be flying for any commercial outfit with the current airline industry slump — she hated the hours. AirBox was one of the handful of companies that guaranteed overnight delivery in the continental United States, which meant a hell of a lot of flight crews and package handlers worked vampire hours. Not fun for a single mom, and she thought briefly about seven-year-old Susan, down there dreaming, safe and snug in her own home and bed.
‘AirBox Twelve, switch to the tower now on one one nine point seven,’ came the quick, professional male voice of Memphis Approach Control through her earphones.
‘Roger, AirBox Twelve, switching,’ Sean said, toggling the radio-microphone switch on the control yoke.
Before them were the bright lights of Memphis, home to a hell of a lot of history and to Graceland — which Carrie had yet to visit, and doubted she ever would — and the international airport. Stuck in Tennessee but home to lots of cargo carriers like FedEx and Airborne and AirBox, and the number one airport in the world for moving packages. A hell of a thing. She focused on her flying, let her co-pilot handle the communications.
‘Memphis Tower, AirBox Twelve, checking in on the visual to three six right,’ Sean said, noting the number of the runway ahead of them, 36R.
‘AirBox Twelve, cleared to land, three six right, winds at five zero four zero.’