XXXIV: Genius
"My apologies, but I cannot tell for certain, Munir." Sayid drew himself upright from where he had slouched in the overly comfortable armchair in the Ambassadors' Club lounge, his hands tightening on the chair's arms and his body straight against the chair's back. "Absent a wrench, some access to the planes that I lack, that's impossible for me to determine."
Munir gave him a look like he knew otherwise. Sayid thought, He thinks that I am hiding something. The aristocrat's eyelids lowered, giving his clean, precise features a suspicious cast. He studied Sayid for a long moment. "I see," he said quietly, and Sayid heard implied condemnation. "I will trust in you, as I have. There are some things, I am sure, which remain mysteries even to your scientific knowledge. It is only an airplane, however, and you are certainly enough of a genius to figure out what we ask."
Sayid shook his head. "What you ask of me depends more on chance than I am comfortable saying. Any answer I could give you would be a gamble, and gambling is the province of the devil. I will not take that chance with the information you want from me."
There was a long silence. The only sound in the airplane lounge was the humming of the air conditioner and Nasim still flipping through The Sun, glossy pages flicking past one another. The boy hadn't paid any attention to their conversation, it seemed, and Sayid was glad for that. He looked back towards Munir, his face a studied blank. He would not give the rich family's scion any trace of a reaction to go upon.
Besides, this did not concern him anymore as much as it once had. Nadia was not in London. She must be in the United States. He had looked everywhere else, so he wanted only to leave England now, to fly across the Atlantic, to start looking in America for her. He had to go there. He had to search the one last place he had left to find her. There was no other alternative, not when he had committed so much time to the search. He would not abandon it now for Munir and his talk of science and scientific experiments. He could not tell Munir this, though. The man would never understand.
Munir took out his pipe again, striking it. Sayid watched the man's hands, the university ring glinting in the light. He'd had a class ring from Cairo University as well, but he never wore it. It seemed too fashionably Western, too modern, too pretentious, and he disliked that. It suited Munir, however. Munir took a drag on the pipe, and Sayid noticed that this time, it was not offered round to himself. "Here is an alternative," was proposed in between puffs on the pipe. "You need not take guesses that you cannot take. You need only work up a schema for us, with the probabilities. I have assured you that this is on the auspices of Oceanic."
"You have," Sayid replied. "I am satisfied of that. But what I don't understand, Munir, is this: You hire me, specifically, to calculate the probability of survivors in an airplane's crash-landing. You want me to work up plans for it. You say that this is not for terrorism, but for a science experiment. If it is for a science experiment, then why do you lack real scientists?"
Impatience crossed Munir's face, and Sayid wondered, momentarily, if he was about to get a lecture. The pipe was taken out, inspected for a moment, before Munir's eyes met Sayid's. His words were not a threat, but somehow, that made them seem worse. "We asked you instead of real scientists, as you say, because you were not in a position to refuse the offer."
Sayid tensed despite himself. He knows, he thought. Somehow, he knows. But who might have told him, and why now – almost seven years after I left? If they were going to have me before a military tribunal for my actions, they would have done so before I had left.
"And why is that, sir?" he said as steadily as he could.
"You cannot return to Iraq. You are only here, or anywhere, because you are searching for something. I am not sure what." Munir's voice was suspiciously light on those last words, but he did not give Sayid time to counter that. "You are lost, Officer Jarrah, and we have given you an opportunity to find yourself. We will not play chess with you, however. If we are wasting our time, then tell me. We will pay you for what you have done, how you have helped, and then we will not bother you again. We will even send you on your way for your search, with our blessings and God's as well."
It seemed presumptuous of Munir to know what a deity blessed, but Sayid knew enough to avoid pointing that out. He simply shook his head at the man. "I will not commit myself to an operation for which you will not answer simple questions. I am sorry. I must have answers to know I am doing the right thing, and I will not compromise that. Payment, however," he admitted, "for what I have done – that would be appreciated."
"You are too honest, Jarrah," Munir chided him, using Sayid's last name alone. It was not meant as an honorific, Sayid knew. "You warned us of this, certainly, but we did not know. We will trouble you no longer, and we will not report you to the Iraqi attaché."
They know for certain. The blank on Sayid's face stayed, transformed itself into a look of confusion, but he knew it was not believable. "I don't under – "
"Now, you are not being honest." Munir's voice was steel. "We know what you did, Jarrah. Your friend with the spectacles – before he went on a shooting rampage, we spoke with him. He said that he knew what you had done for the Jazeem girl, the revolutionary. Couple that with the Qadir boy's information that you found out at the interrogation of Mr. Dana about the communiqué, and, put simply, you were betraying your country for a long while."
That wasn't true, Sayid knew. They were misinterpreting it. He had not known about Nadia – had not put it together – until he had seen her being taken in that day, until he had witnessed her as a prisoner. He had not turned traitor to Iraq until Omar had been shot and he had shot himself, and told her to run. The penalty for treason was death, no matter when it happened, but he had only done so in that instant. He was no traitor, except for Nadia, not for Nadia's ideas. He still believed in Iraq. Of that, there could be no question.
He had to be cautious, now. So he was. "So you intend to blackmail me? Turn me over to the Iraqi embassy, then, and I will report myself for what I have done."
"You play games, Jarrah. We do not. We will not do you such a disservice. You will be paid, and you will be sent on your way. Tickets will be provided; I will meet with you again in Heathrow. If you change your mind before the flight, please let us know." There was a note of desperation in there, but Sayid could not quite figure out why nor, at the moment, did he care. He would not associate with Munir any more in the future than was absolutely necessary. The fellow was dangerous – not personally, but he now held far more power than Sayid would have liked. "Where do you want to go?" Munir asked in conclusion.
Sayid said the first city that came to mind. It had to be believable, and if he looked like he was considering it, it would not be. "New York," he said, and then thought, Where else? "I am grateful," he murmured, though he wondered if he really was.
Munir did not welcome his gratefulness, nor did he bow goodbye. He simply motioned that Sayid should leave the lounge, a flick of the fingers that felt to Sayid like a king dismissing a disobedient servant. Sayid moved for the door, pulling it open and heading into the corridor. He was instantly conscious of footsteps behind him, and a voice, not in Arabic like his previous conversation had been, but in English, calling his name. "Mr. Jarrah!"
Sayid turned to spot Nasim again. He wondered how much the boy had noticed, and how much out of what he had noticed had been understood. He stopped in his tracks, turning to face the boy. "Nasim?"
"Mr. Jarrah, I was listening to your conversation. Hope you don't mind; I know it was a pretty poxy thing of me to do." It was only a formality, Sayid knew. Nothing more. The boy continued, obviously not too concerned whether Sayid minded: "Now, I don't speak a lot of Arabic, you know, because I get to thinking I'm saying the wrong thing, but I can tell what went on there wasn't good."
Sayid waited for the boy to say something useful.
The boy started to walk, too quickly for comfort, motioning Sayid to follow. Sayid did, the sounds of their steps echoing in the airport. "I was listening to Munir and the others talking, earlier. They were speaking to a fellow in English. Oriental bloke. American. Not too sure whom he was, but they mentioned some more things about the planes. I was playing Nintendo and I had my headphones on, and they thought I wasn't listening." He smiled ingenuously, clearly pleased with the deception he'd shown. His voice dropped low, so as not to arouse suspicion. "They mentioned something about a plane crash. I'm not too sure about the whole of it, but I know they said that much. They said that they wanted you to help them."
Sayid shook his head. He did not feel angry, though he felt like he should feel anger. He felt only disappointment for having been lied to, though, for almost believing Munir. His own voice grew quiet, too quiet for the Heathrow guards to hear. "So it is a hijacking?"
"No. Munir asked that, but that wasn't the case."
"Then what was it?"
The boy shrugged helplessly. "Just go to New York and forget about the whole bloody mess, Sayid. You'll be given the money to do so. Just leave." He turned around, shaking his head, his eyes on the ground before him, not looking back towards Sayid as he made his way back to the Ambassadors' Lounge.
Sayid thought, He knows more than he's telling. It was not his place to inquire, though, and he had already tempted fate enough today. People knew what he had done to save Nadia and they had not used it to damage him as they might have. They were giving him a chance to extricate himself from a dangerous situation, and for all that he would not gamble on telling Munir the details of the airplanes that he did not know, he also would not gamble to stay in a situation in which he clearly was unwelcome.
Besides, as long as they were not planning anything other than a simple science experiment, he could afford them some room. He was not concerned with it. There was nothing with which to be concerned. Science followed rules, order, good. He had no reason to believe otherwise, and he would not believe otherwise simply because he personally disliked Munir and the aristocrat had tried to blackmail him. He had not even been really blackmailed, either. All in all, he had made out well.
He was safe. He had done the right thing, the smart thing. He had not overplayed his hand. Do not think that, Sayid, he told himself. God does not favor gambling. He would allow himself this lapse, though, for it was appropriate. He had gambled today and, from what he could tell, he had won. It had been difficult, but most things that mattered had always been difficult, so today was no different. He would only need to receive money from Munir for what services he had rendered, and he would be on his way. He was safe, and he was close to finding Nadia – because he had to be by now – and he had done the intelligent thing by not getting involved any further than he was comfortable. As he left the airport, heading from Terminal 4 into the south, the setting sun to his right, he realized that, for once, he was happy with his chances.