The Libra Affair (18 page)

“Get him out of here,” the officer said next.

More officers filed into the room.

The officer spoke to Jordan next. “Lower your arms and place them behind your back.”

“What am I being charged with?” she demanded.

“Quiet,” the officer shouted at her. “Now lower your arms.”

“I have a right to know,” she argued.

“Now,” the officer replied.

She knew she had no choice. Unless she could fly-kick the sucker and scramble for cover, she was trapped. She glanced from side to side to calculate her odds and quickly determined the odds of survival were just too low. Giving in, she held her hands behind her back.

“I don't understand. I wasn't doing anything wrong, Mr. Ahed is my husband. He didn't want surgery,” she said.

The officer pushed the gun into her back, and said, “Quiet. Do as you're told.” Then, to one of the officers, “Cuff and search her.”

“What is this?” Jordan protested as the man patted her down.

“She has a weapon,” the officer said, then quickly raised her dress.

“Hey! What do you think you're doing?” she cried.

The officer took the weapon and handed it to his superior.

“Make sure there's nothing else,” he said.

The officer continued, then announced, “She's clean.”

“Lead her out,” the superior ordered. And together they paraded Jordan out of the hospital.

At the station, the officers took Jordan to an interrogation room where they reworked the cuffs and attached them to a steel bar on top of a metal table, then placed her ankles in irons to restrain her from kicking.

Jordan was prepared. This wasn't the first time she would undergo interrogation. Nor would it be the last.

Officer Tavaazo, whom they met earlier at the seaside, entered the room. He wore his thinness like a rake as he approached the table. He pulled out a chair and slinked into an empty seat. The arresting officers stood behind him.

Jordan didn't speak.

Tavaazo pulled a cigar from his pocket, lit it, and inhaled the smoke as if tasting something of a delicacy. And after the smoke dissipated, he finally spoke. “So tell me, ma'am, what is your name?”

“Jarrat Ahed,” Jordan answered. “And I don't understand why I am here. I am an innocent woman.”

Tavaazo picked up her passport and began examining it. “Mrs. Ahed?” he said to her in a questioning tone.

“Yes,” Jordan said. “Am I being charged with something? What have I done? I've done nothing wrong.”

He placed the passport back on the tabletop and slid it to the side as if positioning a fine piece of art. “I'm still waiting for my answer.”

“I'm sorry?” Jordan replied.

Tavaazo sprung from his seat without warning. He banged the tabletop with a fist and shouted into her face, “Your name!”

“Jarrat Ahed,” Jordan repeated.

Tavaazo relaxed his shoulders and returned to his seat, staring boldly into Jordan's eyes.

Jordan looked downward at the surface of the table. She knew if she had any chance of convincing this man of her new identity that she'd better play the helpless female. Let him think he had won the game.

Recomposed, Tavaazo started again. “This passport says your address is in Tehran. Is that correct?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied.

“What were you doing sleeping on the beach?”

“I told you.”

“I'm going to ask you again. What were you doing sleeping on the beach?”

“My husband was too sick to travel, we couldn't — ”

“Stop lying.”

“It's the truth.”

Tavaazo came across the table. “I don't believe you,” he spat.

Jordan cringed, but only for the show of it. She could keep this routine up all day.

Tavaazo toked on his cigar.

“He's sick with the flu,” Jordan added, then forced out tears. “I couldn't keep going. I didn't know where to go. We had to stop.”

“Yes, the man is sick. Very sick,” Tavaazo said mockingly.

Jordan nodded.

“But he doesn't have the flu.”

“But he does, someone at the hospital was making a mistake. A terrible mistake.”

“No, Mrs. Ahed, I don't think so.”

“What are you saying?” she asked, trying to figure out what angle Tavaazo was playing.

“What is a simple woman like you, Mrs. Ahed, doing carrying a semi-automatic weapon with a scope, laser spot, and silencer?”

“Protection.”

“Where did you get it?”

“It was a gift.”

“Gift? From whom?”

“A cousin.” She quickly volunteered a name. “Farrah Moradi. She doesn't live here. She lives in Iraq.”

“How was the weapon registered?”

“I don't know.”

“You are not permitted to carry a gun without registering it. And certainly not without taking a course on how to use it, especially a weapon like this one.”

“I didn't know,” she replied modestly.

“Come, come, Mrs. Ahed, everyone knows these things. Now why don't you tell us where a simple woman like yourself got such a weapon.” Tavaazo paused. “Because
you
certainly didn't get it from around here.”

“I don't know where she got it.”

“You seem to have an answer for everything except for telling the truth.”

“But I am, I'm telling you the truth.”

Tavaazo paused to make his next point. “Have you ever seen the inside of an Iranian prison, Mrs. Ahed?”

“I'm an innocent woman.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” he sang. “Not exactly. No, I'm afraid not.” He shook his head at length.

Jordan protested. “I haven't done anything wrong. It's not right to detain me like this!”

“Oh, we can detain you as long as we think necessary.” Tavaazo rolled the thin cigar between his fingers in both an arrogant and effeminate manner.

“I have rights.”

“No, madam. Not any longer, not until I say you do.” Tavaazo pulled on the cigar.

“I want to speak to a lawyer.”

But Tavaazo ignored her request and instead blew smoke in her eyes. “First,” he said, “the warden strips you. You wouldn't be of the modest sort, would you?” He paused, but not long enough for her to answer his question. “Then you are shaved, disinfected, and if you're lucky, you will be placed among the company of the other criminals. But you, no, no, no, I rather think you won't be so lucky. I think you will go straight into isolation where you will remain until you can begin to,” he raised the level of his voice, “tell the truth.”

Jordan knew her helpless act wasn't going to work, not with this man, not now. “I demand a telephone call.”

Tavaazo slammed a hand on the table, shouting, “No.”

Jordan looked down at the table. She knew Tavaazo was about to get real nasty.

Tavaazo stood. He blew another round of smoke in her face. “Look at me when I speak to you,” he said to her sternly.

She looked up and braced herself, but it was too late. Tavaazo backhanded the side of her head and face.

“Please,” she pleaded. “I don't know what you want.”

“Tell me,” Tavaazo continued, “what type of woman sneaks into a police station to steal papers that are being specially prepared for her … as a favor?”

“I had to get back to my husband.”

“And you couldn't wait?”

“I did. Three hours.”

“No, you didn't wait. You broke into a police station and stole papers that weren't ready. You were rude. Impatient. And a very bad guest.” Tavaazo began to pace.

“It shouldn't have taken so long,” she tried to defend herself as he circled around to the back of her.

“And if that wasn't enough, you shoot a sprinkler head to sound the alarm?”

She didn't respond.

“Perhaps I should send you downstairs to clean up the mess.”

She said nothing.

“Why don't you tell me about your vehicle?” he asked her.

She looked up at him. “Is there a problem?” she asked innocently, but it wasn't enough to stop Tavaazo from his next move.

Tavaazo backhanded her without remorse.

She keeled forward.

Tavaazo jerked her up by the hair.

“I'm telling you the truth,” she tried again.

“Hold her arms,” Tavaazo ordered one of the officers.

Jordan knew what was coming next. She'd known it the moment Tavaazo lit his cigar.

Tavaazo jerked the cigar from his mouth.

• • •

“Hello,” Isbel spoke into the receiver of Jordan's phone.

It sounded as if someone had answered the call, but they weren't saying anything.

“Hello? Please is anyone there?” Isbel asked again. Then it occurred to her she ought to say who she was. “I'm not Jordan. We need help.”

“Who is this?” the woman on the other end of the line finally asked.

“Isbel Okhovat.”

“How did you get this number?”

“I found it on Jordan's telephone. Who are you?”

“I'm a friend. What are you doing with Jordan?”

“She was giving me a ride.”

“To where?”

“Somewhere in Turkmenistan.”

“Ashgabat?”

“Yes, I think that's it.”

“Where is your father?”

“He's gone.” Isbel felt her chest rise. “He's gone,” she repeated. Then threw a hand to her mouth so she wouldn't cry. “You know him?”

“Where is Jordan?” the woman asked instead of answering Isbel's question. “Let me speak with her.”

Isbel spoke in a shaky voice. “She's not here. The police took her away.”

“Where are you? What city are you in?”

“I don't know, I don't know.”

“Calm down, Isbel. You must have some idea.”

“It's some small town near the Caspian Sea.”

“Okay, never mind about that for the moment,” the woman said in a soothing voice. “Tell me why the police took Jordan?”

“We got caught sleeping on the beach. We had to go to the police station to pay some money. It was taking a long time. The alarms went off. Then Jordan came for me. We went to hospital to pick up the man and that's when the police took her.”

“What was wrong with the man?”

“He was sick. I don't know, maybe he wasn't. Jordan said to act sick. She told the police he was sick. She told them I was sick, too.”

“How long ago did all of this happen?” the woman asked next.

Isbel tried to remember. “I don't know, maybe an hour ago. It's hard to think. Maybe longer.”

“Where are you right now?”

“I'm still at the hospital. In the parking lot. Inside the car.”

“Do you think you can stay there without being seen?”

“I don't know where I would go.”

“What kind of car are you in?”

“It's a white Samand. We had to change the plates.”

“Isbel, you've got to figure out which city you're in. Is there a name you can see on the hospital?”

Isbel suddenly cried out, “Oh no, they're back.” She quickly sunk down in the driver's seat.

“Don't panic, Isbel,” the woman told her. “Try to stay calm.”

“Oh no!”

“Try to stay calm, Isbel. Now tell me, whom are you talking about? The police?”

“Yes, the police. They're circling the parking lot. They'll find me.”

“Do you know how to drive?”

“I don't know, I don't know. My leg is wrapped in a cast. I think I can.”

“How close are they to you?”

Isbel rose and looked over her seat. “They're on the other side of the parking lot.”

“Listen to me, Isbel. You're going to be fine. Just do what I tell you.”

“I can't because I — ”

“Isbel! Listen to me.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Just start the car.”

Isbel started the engine.

“Is there an exit to the parking lot that's close to you?” the woman asked next.

“Yes.”

“Back out slowly. You're going to leave the parking lot and head toward the main street. You need to blend into traffic.”

“Oh no!”

“What?”

“A man saw me.”

“Who is he?”

“Just someone. Nobody. But he saw me.”

“Where is he?”

“Leaving in the car in front of mine.”

“Forget about him,” the woman scolded. “When he's gone, just pull through his spot and follow him. You've got to act normal. Take a deep breath and lay the phone down; just don't disconnect the call. Let me know when you're in traffic.”

Isbel drove out of the parking lot and onto the main thoroughfare, doing exactly as the woman instructed her to do until a police siren screamed from behind her. Panicked, the girl floored the accelerator. Without thinking, she stomped her cast-bound foot on the clutch, trying to change gears.

The police car was gaining on her.

Isbel cried, “No, no.”

The woman's voice shot from the phone on the seat next to Isbel. She was saying something, but Isbel ignored her and just gripped the steering wheel. The car jerked. The voice from the phone grew louder. Isbel had to do something fast. Approaching an intersection, she yanked the steering wheel to the right and turned onto a cross street.

The siren screeched as the police car neared the intersection.

“Isbel! Isbel! Pick up the phone.”

The girl reached for the phone, but in doing so, she accidently knocked it to the floor. Now it was out of her reach.

The siren grew louder. The police car turned.

“No, no, no,” Isbel cried as she gaped into the rearview mirror. She tried shifting gears, jerking on the stick. The car clunked, jerked, and kangarooed forward. Isbel had no choice. She steered the vehicle over to the side of the street, where it instantly stalled.