Solo by Hope Solo (best free ereader .TXT) 📕

the air, he had asked only, “Does the general know of your decision? Are you acting under his orders?”

“We discussed it,” was her only reply.

When the plane leveled, the stewardess brought sodas and sparkling water, while Aisha looked forward to her life in Tehran with Ghassem. She would certainly be congratulated by the Supreme Leader and others. She would at last be able to serve her country from inside. Perhaps she would be offered a leading role in one of the ruling committees.

She tried to close her eyes several times, but Lester Gulick’s body lurching toward her and crumpling on the floor forced her to stare out the window to erase the dreadful image.

She noticed the ambassador had left his seat for the cockpit. He now stood in the doorway and motioned for her to join him.

“The general would like to speak to you,” he said.

“You surprised me, beloved,” Yosemani said through the earphones the copilot gave her. “I did not know you wanted to visit Tehran. You should have told me. I must stay here a few more days, so I will not be able to join you before your return to Washington.”

“Husband,” she replied, “I am not going back to Washington. I will explain it to you when I see you. You will understand. There was really no choice.” She did not want to tell him, in front of the flight crew, how the insertion of the CIA officer was an obvious indication the Americans were on to her. And she had to do what she did at the airport.

Yosemani paused a moment and finally said, “God is great. I will make arrangements for you to be met at the airport and take you to my house.”

Just then Aisha became aware of commotion in the cockpit; the pilot and copilot looked truly alarmed. Glancing out the window, she noticed in the evening light that the plane was now over the Mediterranean. For an instant, she thought she was seeing a mirage, an illusion. A fighter aircraft was flying dangerously close to the airliner. The sight was so jarring she rubbed her eyes and looked again. She could now see the white star and the USAF markings, as well as the pilot’s white helmet. Hearing the crew’s frantic comments, she looked out in the opposite direction and could see the fiery red exhaust of a second fighter now escorting the ancient Boeing 707. In an effort to stay calm, her first reaction was the fighters were responding to some terrorist threat, that EUCOM, the American military command for Europe, was probably responding with an overabundance of caution. As the seconds passed, however, it was more and more difficult not to accept the obvious although it was difficult to understand how her defection had become known and how the decision for a military response had taken shape so quickly. She herself had not known exactly what she was going to do until she boarded the Iran Air flight. She was confused and horrified and trapped. Her body tensed and her mind was doing cartwheels.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain said in English over the intercom, “We are in touch with the two Americans fighters you can see out the window. Do not be alarmed, I am sure it is a misunderstanding.”

“What is going on?” Aisha shouted to the ambassador, who had returned to his seat. After a quick look out his window, he jumped up and stormed back into the cockpit. “I represent the Islamic Republic of Iran,” he told the crew. “I will talk to the American pilots.”

Aisha heard quick cadenced explosions outside the aircraft at the same time as red tracers shot from the fighters’ machine guns followed by screaming from the economy-class cabin behind the curtain. “Do something!” she shouted to the ambassador.

She felt the 707 change course in a wide sweeping curve. Were they going back to Brussels? Was this somehow related to Gulick? Could the Belgian police, or the Belgian government, have enough authority to turn the plane back in order to arrest her? Why was the pilot not explaining the reason for the new direction? Where were they going?

She walked to the back of first class and peered beyond the curtain. The stewardesses were all busy offering drinks and snacks to the economy-class passengers. However, they all clamored for information which was not forthcoming. . “Please stay calm, go back to your seats,” she heard one of them say. “Everything will be all right.”

Then she heard the first-class stewardess tell the ambassador, “The copilot told me we are heading for Germany.”

Germany? Why?

Aisha suddenly felt time slowing down. She looked at her watch and figured they should have been at least over Lebanese air space. While she was mentally reviewing a map of Germany to guess where they were being taken, she sensed the plane losing altitude.

“What is going on?” she asked the ambassador.

He looked at her squarely and said, “The fighter pilot told me he had orders to escort us to an American air force base in Germany. The military, they are all the same. Nuance is not in their vocabulary. He would just as soon shoot us down if we do not obey his orders.”

A few minutes later, the captain’s voice advised the passengers, “Please buckle your seatbelts. We will be landing at Ramstein Air Force Base in approximately ten minutes. I will give you more information as soon as it becomes available.”

Aisha was now certain: this was all about her. Her true role in Washington had been discovered. Not only would she be arrested for spying, now she would also be charged with murder. But she had killed the CIA man because this was war and people get killed in a war.

Instead of beginning a new life, her long-feared nightmare was about to begin. What would the Islamic Republic do to