The Libra Affair (13 page)

“Thank you,” he replied as if Jordan had just agreed to take the girl.

And what could she say.

He quickly continued, “There's a Samand parked two streets down, first left, second house on the left. Belongs to an older lady. She rarely uses the car, keeps the keys in it, and parks it in her garage. She won't hear you, she's hard of hearing, and if you grab it first thing, you'll be gone before she's awake.”

“So you have a car.”

“Just get Isbel out of the country,” he replied.

Jordan was irate. Farrokh knew all along that he had another vehicle lined up for her. She should have known. He'd blindsided her with all of this.

In anger, she said to him, “Why don't you take Isbel yourself?”

“I'm going underground.”

“Take her with you.”

“I can't. Not where I'm going.”

“Where's that?”

“South to Iraq for starters. Then north.”

“And if I don't do this?” she threatened him.

“I won't give you the codes.”

Two taps wrapped on the bathroom door.

“I gotta go, Farrokh,” and Jordan disconnected the line. She had until Sunday to decide their fate. She could get the codes and consider Isbel's fate next. Maybe Farrokh hadn't thought of that.

Jordan opened the door. Ben was swaying in the doorway.

“What's going on?” he asked her.

“Nothing,” she said. “Come on, let's get you back in bed.”

Ben gripped the doorframe. “You were talking about that young girl who broke her leg. Weren't you?”

“How do you know some girl broke her leg?”

“My eyes may be swollen, but I saw her in the road, Jordan.”

Jordan was surprised that he saw anything in his state.

“She was part of the set-up, wasn't she?” Ben pushed for an answer.

But all Jordan said was, “It doesn't concern you.”

“You can't leave her behind, not if she's in danger. We did this to her.” He glared at her through his puffy eyes.

“You don't know what you're talking about, Ben.”

He slumped to the side of the wall.

“Come, you're still half-drugged.” She took him by the arm and led him back to the bed. When he was comfortably situated, she said, “I'm going out to get us something to eat.”

“Do you know what they'll do to that young girl if the authorities take her into custody?”

Jordan stared down at him.

“Do you?” he repeated.

“Yeah, Ben. Actually, I do.” But she wasn't going to detail just how poorly it would go for the girl.

“Then I know you won't let that happen,” he said. “Not the Jordan that I know.” He tried sitting up. “She wouldn't let that happen.”

“It's out of our control.”

“You'd let an innocent young girl be put through torture? Someone who helped you and me? Someone who risked her life?” He groaned quietly as she helped him back down.

“It's out of my hands. And yours.”

“I can't let this happen. I'd never sleep in good conscience again.”

She shook her head without speaking. She couldn't allow emotion to enter the equation, especially considering that Chou had specifically ordered her to take care of Farrokh after this mission concluded. If Farrokh was a liability, so was his daughter.

“Jordan.”

“I'll be back,” she said.

• • •

Jordan returned to the room in less than an hour with a basket of food. The walk to a local restaurant had done her some good. Gave her time to clear her head and to check out the location of the vehicle she'd own in the morning.

With her mood lifted, she spoke to Ben in a kinder voice. “Hope you're hungry.”

“Starved,” he said cheerfully as he sat up, letting the sheet fall from his chest to his naked waist. “Come sit down.” He patted the bed.

She laid a colorful scarf across the top of the sheets.

“Try this,” she said, handing him a Tah-chin.

He crammed the rice cake into his mouth.

“Slow down, there's plenty,” she said.

“I can't remember when I ate last,” he said with his mouth full. “What is this?”

“A saffron rice cake. It's one my favorites, too.” She smiled at him, maybe for the first time since she'd seen him there in Iran.

“It's good.”

“Here, dip it in this.” She handed him the yogurt sauce.

“They'd make a great bar appetizer.” He grinned.

“Yeah, well, you'd be cooking all day.”

He looked at the cake in his hand. “Really?”

“Looks are deceiving,” she said. “There's nothing fast about Persian cooking. Here, try this.” She handed him a chicken kabob.

“Ah man, that is some kind of good.”

“You look like you're feeling a little back to normal.”

He rubbed his head. “Except for this banger of a headache.”

“They really doped you up.”

“You could say that.”

She watched as he ate, consuming the food with both passion and hunger. Yogurt sauce dribbled down his chest.

“You're making a mess,” she said as she reached to dab it.

He grasped her hand and kissed it.

She spoke softly, saying, “I know how you hate a mess.”

He pulled her closer.

“Ben.” Her hand fell to his leg barely covered by the sheet draped just below his waist.

He hushed her.

“You're in no condition,” she tried stopping him, but she could see everything was ready with the bulge rising from beneath the sheet.

“You let me be the judge of that,” he said and leaned in closer to find her lips.

“Did you get enough to eat?” she asked as her way of protesting.

“Never.” His voice was low, wanting. His erection throbbed insistently against the sheet.

She wanted to resist, but the sensation he was driving through her was unstoppable.

“Come here,” he whispered as he slid a hand down her neck, followed by his lips.

“I can't,” she said, her voice unnaturally strained.

“It's okay, Jordan. It's just me.” His hand found the nipple protruding through her dress. His lips followed. His hands fell lower.

“The food,” she said as he laid her back and positioned himself above her.

“Don't worry.”

“Wait,” she tried to stop him. “Let me clear it from the bed.”

“I got it.” As he leaned forward, the sheet fell, revealing the flesh of his naked body. Then he grasped the corners of the scarf, placed everything into the basket and pushed it to the far side of the bed, saving an apricot between his teeth to share with her.

“You're not well,” she said unconvincingly.

But he didn't stop. He slid a warm hand along the bareness of her lower leg. Not stopping, his hand rose higher and crossed over to her inner thigh. “It'll be okay,” he said.

She closed her eyes, surrendering to his touch, a touch she never believed she would feel again. She wanted to forget how much she needed him and how hard it was for her to resist his desires. But she couldn't.

Who was she kidding; he gave her balance.

“It's all good,” he said. Then raised her dress, exposing the curves of her waist.

His touch was smooth, gentle, strong.

“So good,” he repeated, letting his hand trail slowly downward. He played her body like an instrument, circling her waist to her navel with a hungry hand.

She exhaled, letting him explore deeper.

His fingers dipped inside her scant black thong and quickly slid between the wet of her intimate folds. She wanted him, now. But he teased her, pulling her thong only to her mid thighs. He slowly returned his hand to his playground.

She arched the small of her back as he stroked fast and light, her breath now heavy, near panting.

“It's all going to work out,” he said as he teased her more by slipping his finger inside her, forcing her to beg for more, making her crazy with unspoken desire.

“You'll see,” he whispered as he thumbed a nipple next, taking his time to make her breast rise and fall to his touch.

She opened her eyes. “What do you mean, Ben?” He never spoke this much when they made love, ever. A few whispers, but that was it.

His touch was now wayward and deep, captivating, hypnotic. “You don't have to worry,” he spoke a moment later, his words soft, his breath labored. Then he slid off her thong, positioned his face between her thighs, and rolled a hot tongue across her intimate flesh, tasting her, heightening her ecstasy, and sending sparks of excitement throughout every inch of her.

She threaded her fingers through his wayward dark curls, twirling his locks, lightly moaning.

“Let me take you there,” he said, reaching up to clasp his fingers tightly around her hard nipples.

She breathed hard, unable to speak.

He understood.

“I could stay here forever,” he breathed.

Unable to stop, Jordan quivered. Her body was no longer her own. Her hips thrust to the beat of his tongue until her song was played and she could stand it no more and exploded, releasing a heightened moan. “Ben,” she cried as she climaxed. “Oh my God.”

He looked up at her; his expression satisfied. “Everything's all good.”

And as hard as it was to stop, she forced herself to rise up on her elbows. “About what, Ben? What do you mean?”

“Can you relax?” He tried urging her back down. “We're not finished … not yet,” he said, smiling at her.

“No,” she resisted him. “What aren't you telling me?”

He rose up and moved toward her lips, pumping his hips hard against her so that she felt the full impact of his intentions.

“Ben, answer me.”

“I did exactly what you wanted.” He kissed her, then placed his hands around her hips. He was ready. He slid his erect member lower, deeper. With one thrust, he would be inside and halfway to heaven.

“What?”

“Okay, if you must know, I booked us a ticket home,” he finally admitted.

“You didn't.” She sat up, disengaging herself from his heat.

“We leave in the morning.”

“Ben, Ben. Tell me you didn't.” Panic suddenly coursed through her spine.

“It was as easy as a phone call.”

“Who did you call?”

“Oh, and the girl gets a ticket, too,” he added.

“No, no.” She slipped out from beneath him and hopped from the bed. She quickly began assembling any loose ends scattered around the room.

“What are you doing, Jordan?”

“Packing.” She faced him. “Which embassy did you call?”

“Swiss.”

She glanced at her watch. “You're sure you talked to someone at the Swiss Embassy?”

“Yes.”

“When did you call? Right after I left the room?”

“Yes, but it's cool. Everything will be okay,” he insisted.

“No, Ben. What you don't realize is that you just put our lives at risk.”

“Jordan.”

“Who do you think monitors those calls?”

He looked at her askance.

“Especially calls made from a local hotel to an embassy for help?”

He straightened and looked at her perplexed, his erection now gone, but she continued to pack. “They can't do that. Can they?”

“We're
not
in America, Ben. This is Iran. Get dressed.
Now!
”

He fell silent.

“Come on,” she said. “We don't have much time,” and she pulled him to his feet. “Your clothes are over there. Hurry.”

“Where are we going?”

“We have to relocate before it's too late.”

Jordan wanted to be mad, but she knew Ben had meant no harm.

“I'm sorry,” he kept repeating.

Not responding, she stopped at the door to the room, faced him, and said, “Listen to me.” When he started apologizing again, she said, “Be quiet.”

“Okay.”

She faced the door again and listened. There were footsteps in the hallway — not rushed, the pace was casual — which suggested the people were only hotel guests.

“Okay.”

She lifted her dress, checked the safety on her gun, and replaced it inside her strap.

She opened the door not an inch and slid a small angled spy mirror into the hallway. “It's clear,” she said and walked out of the room. But two steps into the hallway, she stopped cold.

Footsteps pounded against the planks of the front staircase. More than two, fewer than five, most likely three men. She could take them, but not with Ben. He'd only get in the way. And now there wasn't even enough time to make a break toward the back staircase.

He was a step behind her. The door was closing.

She reacted and threw her weight into him. She knocked him back inside the room and on his rump. Stumbling, but able to catch herself before the fall, she sprang forward and grabbed the door just before it slammed shut, then closed it without making a sound.

She signaled for him to be quiet.

She dropped belly to the floor and slipped the mirror underneath the door where she watched the first man arrive at the top of the landing. He immediately pounded on the door to the first room. The second man entered.

Jumping to her feet, she ran to the back window, threw the blinds back, and looked outside into the rear parking lot. A single lamppost illuminated the area. She held up the gun, aimed, and with one shot took out the light.

In a low voice she said to Ben, “I know you're hurting, but we've got to scale down to the ground floor. Can you do it?”

“Yeah.”

“Grab the sheets. We've got to make a rope.”

From the hallway, a loud bang rattled. Jordan knew the Iranian authorities had just bashed in a door. They were searching every single room, leaving no stone unturned.

“Let me tie them together. If we don't get this right, it won't hold your weight,” she said as she began tying a series of knots down the first sheet. “You'll have to go first.”