* * *
Two days later, Paul invited Zehra to the FBI office in Minneapolis. When she arrived, she found him propped in a swiveling office chair in the conference room. His leg stuck out, wrapped in a blue plastic brace. Conway was there and several other people Zehra had never met.
“How’s your trial going?” Paul asked.
“Under the circumstances, we got a continuance. It’s pretty clear Mustafa was the killer. Until things are sorted out, the prosecutor isn’t dismissing the case.”
“Why didn’t your client tell you this in the first place?”
“He thinks I’m an infidel. He’s probably a zealot who was willing to take the fall for Ammar.”
“Looks like he doctored the DNA samples at the crime scene and planted the knife and clothing in El-Amin’s apartment.”
Zehra said, “I still don’t know why all these Somali boys disappeared. Do you still think it was for fighting in Somalia?”
“Testing,” Conway said. “Some were recruited to fight, but others were diverted to an isolated camp in the desert and infected with smallpox to see how it worked.”
“How horrible. Have you found those boys?”
Paul shook his head. “Probably never will.”
Conway lumbered over next to Paul. “We’re lucky both of you are alive—thanks to you.”
Zehra shrugged and wondered if that were true. “What about the threats to me? My car?”
“We assume Ammar did all of that to disrupt your trial and the truth about your client. And although they wanted people to get sick, their main purpose was to cause panic. Hysterical, mass panic that would tear apart the country faster than any bomb or army could ever do.” Conway’s face twitched as he talked.
“By the way, does this mean I’m not fired?” Paul asked Conway.
“Uh, I forgot to congratulate you. Nice work. You got a good shot to take over from me when I bail on this place.”
“And I forgot to ask, what happened to the ICE agents and Joan Cortez?” Paul asked.
Conway laughed. “Before the rest of us could get there, they busted the mosque. They stayed there, waiting for Ammar, so we didn’t know they were inside.”
“She always wanted to grab all the glory,” Paul said.
“Well, now the agency’s been sued by the mosque, and I think Joan was busted back to working security at the airport.”
“What about the victim in my case, the Ahmed boy?” Zehra asked.
“Poor kid,” Paul told her. “They infected him and were ready to launch the transmission when the kid refused to cooperate. We figure Ammar had to kill him to keep things quiet until they could launch again. The fact the kid was hot explained why the killer wore all the protection.”
“But wouldn’t he spread the virus?”
Paul’s face twisted. “We hope to hell not. The experts from Atlanta are still working in the neighborhood. So far, it looks like the boy started feeling sick, so he went back to his apartment and stayed there by himself. We know this because his mother texted him. Our hope is that he was alone during the infectious period.”
“And when he came out and was killed?”
Paul shrugged. “The CDC has quarantined the neighborhood. Luckily, it was only three blocks from his apartment to where he was killed. The best I can say right now is we hope it’s contained.”
The conversation rolled on, but Zehra lost interest. She looked at Paul and saw him with new eyes. He even looked handsome in a formal, old-fashioned kind of way.
“Thank God the governor’s made his statement,” Conway said. “Even the brass from Washington came in to help write it. They decided to call the whole thing a ‘training exercise.’ The possibility of the real deal was never mentioned. If the public ever knew the truth—”
Paul turned to Zehra. “How are you doing?”
“Oh, I’ve got my family and my garden, but—”
“Don’t worry, we’re not done chasing these guys down. I promise.”
Zehra didn’t want to hear any more. Guilt and fatigue haunted her, but she found herself angry instead. Angry at all the violence and fear the terrorists had caused. “Thanks, Paul, but we all have to do something.” She stood to leave. The sun outside lit up piles of white clouds to the east. She walked to the door.
Paul called after her. “How can I thank you? Will you at least have dinner with me?”
She turned to smile at him. “Sure.”
“And you know I’m fascinated with gardens.”
“You’re a liar.”
He came toward her as his face colored pale red. “I can learn.”
“I can teach you.”
“How about a lesson later this afternoon?”
Zehra grinned. “Okay. But the first lesson in gardening is hard work. We’ll start with weeding and cleaning up.”
“Huh? I was thinking wine and sitting on your deck.”
“I’ll put you in charge of the hibiscus. It loses all its petals overnight and they must be picked up. But the reward is to see the new flowers that always bloom every day. They give me hope.”
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