The Libra Affair (12 page)

She stroked his head. “Don't worry, Ben. I'm going to get you out of here. Alive.” And after lingering a brief moment, she pulled her hand from his grasp and replaced the gun in his hand. She couldn't allow herself to become emotional. Not now, not when there was more work.

“Jordan,” he started, reaching for her again.

“Don't forget, two solid, then four light, quick taps.”

“I can't go back there,” he said.

She knew he meant Evin Prison. She also knew if the authorities found him, he might put a bullet through his own head before they could drag him back there.

He groaned quietly.

She leaned down and kissed his forehead … to comfort him … not herself. He needed it … not her.

The cool of the towel was welcome, but that was it. The narcotics the prison officials had pumped into him before the transport left Ben restless. Chills coursed through his body as he stirred from a conscious to semiconscious state.

“Where am I?” he wondered.

He questioned whether he had said the words aloud or had just thought them. If only he could roll to his side and curl into the fetal position, he'd feel better, but he was unable to find the strength.

His body shivered uncontrollably. His muscles thrashed against the outer boundaries of his skin.

“Jordan?” Was he dreaming or had he said her name?

With his mouth dry, he needed water. “Water.” He was consumed with the thought, but he couldn't lift himself from the bed to go get it.

He rolled his head from side to side.

Water
, he thought.

Then he remembered the towel, which had slipped from his face. Finding it on the far side of the pillow, he placed his face against the wet surface. It was cool. It felt good against his tongue and lips and was enough for him to surrender to needed sleep.

But someone knocked on the door. Four taps.

Ben tried to open his eyes.

A woman spoke through the closed door.

This time he knew he had heard a voice, a woman's voice, but didn't understand the words.

A key turned in the lock. The handle clicked.

The gun had fallen from his grip. He reached for it but couldn't find it.

The door opened.

Panic soared through him.

Footsteps beat across the floor.

He rolled his head toward the woman. His vision was blurred. All he could do was squint through his swollen eyes to try to make out who it was.

The woman spoke to him again, but he didn't understand. He could barely focus on her face.

She raised an arm. She was holding something, pointing it at him.

All Ben could think was,
She has a gun, this is it.

He tried to speak, but his tongue was dry. His lips were hard and cracked.

The woman spoke again.

She seemed upset.

Panicked, he fished for the gun. It wasn't there.

Then another voice shot into the room from the doorway.

Ben didn't understand the words, but he knew the voice. He quickly jarred his head toward the women, straining to see. It was Jordan. She had come back. “Jordan,” he tried saying her name.

And like a phantom, the other woman just disappeared.

• • •

Jordan walked inside the room, searched the corners, and looked down at Ben. He was delirious — it'd be hours before he detoxed.

She took the wet towel and began dabbing the dry, matted blood from his head and neck.

“Jordan,” he tried saying her name whenever she touched a sensitive spot.

“It's okay,” she'd tell him. And when he settled back into his restless slumber, she continued her work until his face was clean. Then she undressed him and began sponge bathing the rest of his body.

He'd taken a few solid hits. There were several welts scattered from his legs to his chest. They'd struck his face more than once, swelling his eyes to the size of walnuts, but he was lucky; he'd suffered no broken bones. Had he remained inside Evin prison another day, that would have been next.

Next, she freed his legs irons and then inspected his feet. She was instantly relieved. They had spared him the dread of
bastinado
— feet whipping. It meant when he sobered, he'd be able to walk. And in the days to follow, he would meet with a full recovery. He was lucky, if all that remained was a bad memory. In time, he'd learn to suppress that, too.

When Jordan finished, she gently pulled the sheet from underneath Ben's body. After fluffing it, she let soft cotton fall loosely over his body.

She walked to the window and looked outside.

The morning air was still cool, but the heat of the day would rise soon. It was a good time to rest. There might not be another moment's peace. So she'd take what she could get, regardless of the time.

She walked back to the bed, slipped off her dress, and snuggled next to Ben on the bed.

• • •

A day later, Ben woke. It was late Friday afternoon.

“What's going on?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, but then groaned as he tried lifting his body.

Jordan powered down her satellite phone.

“Jordan,” he said, seeing her.

She turned.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, fine,” she answered. But the truth was, she was aggravated. She'd learned that SpaceX had delayed the launch of Falcon 9 until Monday, although the news brought opportunity; it'd give her more time to move Ben out of the country.

“You just look — ”

He stopped, appearing a bit dazed.

“Are you hungry?” she asked him as she walked to a table, where she found some flat bread and a small jar of apricot jam.

“I don't know, yes, I think so,” he said.

She carried the food to the side table next to him.

“Let me help you sit up,” she said, slipping an arm under his shoulder blade.

“Yeah. Thanks,” he grumbled.

“How bad do you feel?” She brushed away the hair in his eyes.

“Sore, lightheaded.”

“Let me make you some tea.” Without waiting for his response, she returned to the table.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

Not turning to him, she said, “Get you to an embassy.”

“And you?”

“Don't worry about me.”

“That's not possible.”

“Make it a priority.”

“Who are you, Jordan?”

She didn't answer.

“Don't lie to me.” His jaw tightened.

Still, she refused.

“Answer me!” His voice rose. “What are you doing here?”

“It's none of your business.”

“I don't care what you're doing, you're coming home with me,” he said.

She carried a cup of tea to his side. “Like you're really in a position to decide that.”

“Yeah, I am,” he protested.

“What
you
need, Ben, is to go home.”

“
We
need to go home.” His chest tightened.

“Ben,” she paused, then said in a firm voice, “it's time for you to forget about me. Permanently.”

But he challenged her, saying, “What do you think this past year has been all about?”

She didn't answer.

“You think what we had was nothing? Some game?”

She didn't reply.

“Hasn't it meant anything to you?” he asked.

She rose and walked to the table again. Neither spoke. Then she returned to him at the bedside with a few plums.

“Okay,” he started, “I was wrong about your grandmother being here, I get you're involved in something. More than meets the eye.” She didn't respond. “Like you're some kind of spy for the government. A courier. I don't know. I don't care. It's just a job, it's not you.”

She handed him a plum.

“The biggest surprise in all this,” he said, “is seeing this tough exterior you put up. I don't know who you're fooling, but it's not me.”

She finally spoke. “It's no act, Ben. This is who I am.”

“Oh, it's an act, Jordan. You forget, I've had a solid year to get inside that little head of yours. Maybe I didn't see all of the cogs and wheels turning, but I sure got what spun 'em.”

“And this little head of mine, Ben, is what got you out of the back of that van.”

“Okay, so you have a few skills, but I think I can see beyond that. I know what makes you tick.”

“Ben.”

“I do.”

“Ben, you just think you know me.”

“I know every morning when you wake up you make this little squeak when you stretch, I know when you wake up you're always happy, not grouchy like me. I know you like your eggs sunny-side up; you like your steak rare; you like to run at four in the morning; you grind your own coffee beans; you drink your coffee black, but not before your run; you're a neat freak; you never leave anything undone, unfolded, or dirty. For God's sake, Jordan, you may not talk about how you feel inside, but I know you.”

“Ben, come on, what's a few habits?”

“I know you don't like to look at yourself in the mirror because you feel lost; I know you feel like something's missing. There's a sadness in you, you're not complete. I've never asked. I won't. But I know it makes you quiet.”

“Ben,” she tried stopping him again.

“Deep inside you're afraid, you're afraid of letting the rest of the world see the real you. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because then you'd have to admit to the rest of us that you're just as vulnerable.”

“Please, Ben.”

“You try to hide, but you've always been in plain view to me. I see you.”

She exhaled deeply and ran her hands along her thighs. “We all have these habits,” she tried to explain. “Routines, things we do.”

“Whatever you're into, Jordan, it doesn't have to define you. It doesn't have to consume you. Walk away from it,” he said as if it were that easy.

“I can't,” she finally replied.

“You mean you won't.”

“That's exactly what I mean.”

“Nothing is that important.”

“Ben, Ben.” She shook her head.

When her cell phone rang, she went straight for it. “I gotta take a call,” she told him and without waiting, she walked to the bathroom and shut the door. It was Farrokh.

“Go,” she spoke into the receiver.

“Have you heard?” Farrokh asked her.

“The launch is delayed.”

“Until Monday.”

“We can't wait around here. I've got to get Ben out of the country.”

“Isbel's in the hospital.”

“And?”

“The authorities are questioning her. It's getting intense.”

“So what's the problem? She doesn't know anything.”

“I have to be here for her. I can't leave,” he finally admitted.

“She doesn't have anything to say. She'll be fine,” Jordan argued.

“You're going to have to find your own ride.”

“I don't think so,” she said adamantly.

“You're on your own.”

“Farrokh, you can't do this. Fat Su will kill you if you do this.”

“You're going to have to lift a car. I can't give you mine. Not now. It's sure to be spotted anyway.” His voice was rushed. “Unless … ”

“Unless what?”

“You can get Isbel out of the country, too.”

“You know I can't do that.”

“She risked her life for you and your friend.” The panic in his voice raced across the line. “You know she doesn't have a chance if I leave her here alone.”

“You have an obligation to finish this job.”

“No!”

“Isbel doesn't know anything. Or does she?”

“No.”

“Then she'll be fine.”

“That won't stop them. You know that. You know what they're like.”

“It was an accident,” Jordan said to him. “The girl was an innocent bystander. All she has to do is play it cool.”

But Farrokh persisted. “They don't believe her.”

“What do you mean they don't believe her? What's not to believe?”

“They think she's involved,” he explained.

“I wish I could help you, honestly, but I can't.”

Then he laid it on her. “You
will
help me, Jordan.”

“No.”

“If you want the launch codes, you'll help Isbel.”

“Don't be absurd. Do you want Fat Su's thugs after you? And don't forget about Isbel, they'll come after her, too.” Jordan paused. “You'll be down before you ever knew what hit.”

She made the threat, but there was no way she was going to contact Fat Su to let him in on Farrokh's game, not with this op going every which way but right.

Farrokh continued as if Jordan had agreed to take Isbel. “Isbel gets out of the hospital Sunday. You can take her with you to Turkmenistan.”

“No!”

“I'll drop her off in the lobby early.”

“You're not listening to me. It's impossible, Farrokh. I can't take Isbel with me. Have you thought about what the Chinese would do to her if they found out about her?”

“Don't let me down. Please. She's all I've got,” he insisted.

“Even if I could, it's too dangerous.”

“Do you think Fat Su would be happy to hear about our little mess?” And without mincing his words, he finally said, “If Isbel goes down, then so do you.”

“Are you threatening me?” she hammered back at him.

“Are you deaf?”

“Who do you think will be kinder to you, Farrokh? The Chinese or Iranians?” And while Jordan made a good argument, she knew if she didn't agree to take Isbel, she'd never get the codes out of Farrokh. He might even squeal to the Chinese NSB the first chance he had.

He didn't answer.

She was arguing against herself.

She said, “Adding someone else to the mix increases the chance of failure twofold or more.”