“Why?” the girl asked, shivering. “Why can't we stay here?”
“It's not safe here.” Jordan rubbed her back, comforting the girl.
“Did someone find us?” Isbel's voice rang with fear.
“It's nothing to worry about.”
Isbel didn't question her more. “I'm so cold,” was all she said.
“You're fighting a fever,” Jordan explained. “Listen, I've already moved everything to the other room. All you have to do is walk a little way.”
“Good.”
“I'll help you.”
Jordan's cell phone rang as they started to rise.
Jordan glanced at the phone and ignored the call. It was Farrokh.
“Is there a problem?” Isbel asked.
“Wrong number,” Jordan lied. “Come on, we need to go.”
Monday morning, Jordan gathered her equipment: three regular guns, two machine guns, several strings of ammo, gas masks, a bundle of gas grenades, smokers, a satchel of documents, Isbel's bag packed with her medication, and her own bag containing a few personal items of clothing along with two scarves individually wrapped.
After ignoring Farrokh's call last night, she expected he might show up, but there had been no sign of him so far. If the man were smart, he'd take his daughter and head across the ocean to South America where he and Isbel could start a new life together. She'd help him out this one last time because of the girl, but if he interfered with this op again, he'd be pushing her to the wall. Nothing was going to stand in the way of her reaching the silo. Not today.
“Ready to go?” Jordan asked Isbel. “I picked up a cane for you last night. It should make getting around easier.”
Isbel thanked her and started to rise from the side of the bed using the cane, but lost her balance.
“Here.” Jordan reached for her arm. “Let me help you.” Once the girl was standing on her own, they started toward the door. “All you have to do is make it down the stairs. You can wait in the lobby while I get the car.”
But just as they reached the door, Jordan's cell phone rang.
It was Sonya.
The second Jordan answered, Sonya got straight to the point. “More trouble.”
⢠⢠â¢
Earlier that morning Dr. Hamin had worn a satisfied grin on his face when he announced, “Mr. Ahed's test results look good.”
Sonya stood. “That's great.”
“So how's our patient doing today?” The doctor looked at Ben.
“He seems to be much better,” Sonya spoke for Ben. “Much more alert.”
Ben sat up in the bed and nodded to the doctor.
“Let's take a look,” the doctor said next. And after a quick examination, he announced, “Everything looks good,” and he began notating the chart.
“It's like he never had a fever,” Sonya remarked.
“Yes, but as I told you, it's not unusual for a patient to run a temperature for a few days after surgery. We'll keep him on fluid antibiotics while he's here in the hospital and continue it orally for the next twenty days after he's discharged. Just to be sure he doesn't get an infection.”
“How much longer do you anticipate that he'll be here?”
“Not more than a day or two.”
“That's good news.”
“We'll reevaluate in the morning and see where we are.”
“By the way,” Sonya said, “what were the results of Officer Tavaazo's lab?”
The doctor looked up from notating his chart. “Right,” he said. “The gentleman tested positive for an upper respiratory infection. He was sent home with medication and advised to remain out of the general public. I also asked him to steer clear of Mr. Ahed, so hopefully that's the last you'll see of him.”
Sonya felt herself wanting to grin, but refrained. “You'd think an officer of the law would know better,” she said instead.
“Yes,” the doctor agreed, “it's surprising how little respect people have.” Then he looked at Ben and said, “Okay, Mr. Ahed, it looks like everything is coming along just fine,” and he patted Ben's leg. The doctor turned to Sonya next. “I'll make rounds again in the evening. In the meantime, let's see if we can't get Mr. Ahed up and moving around. The sooner he's able to get up and get around, the sooner he goes home.”
Ben nodded at the doctor and then watched as he left the room.
When the door closed, Sonya turned to Ben. “The doctor says you're doing fine,” she told him. “He says the test results look good. You ought to be out of here in a day or two.”
“That's a relief.” Ben expelled a long sigh.
“But he won't discharge you until you're up and able to move around on your own.”
“Makes sense.”
“He wants you up and walking.”
“Then by all means let's start running some track.” He threw back the sheet.
“Let me help you.” She reached for his arm. “You might want to tie your gown in the back,” without waiting for his permission, she started tying the straps. “You know,” she said flirtatiously, “if you ever change your mind about Jordan ⦠”
“I won't, but I'll take that as a compliment.”
She laughed quietly.
The nurse entered the room next and spoke to Ben. “I see you've wasted no time. Good, the doctor will be pleased to see you up and around. If you need any help at all, please let me know.”
Sonya threaded an arm through Ben's and led him to the door.
As they walked down the hall, Ben didn't complain; however, Sonya could see that he was in pain.
Halfway around the ward, he spoke. “This sure beats the heck out of sitting at the beach, draining a case of beer.” He forced a chuckle.
“You Americans have an odd sense of humor.”
“We try.” Ben grimaced.
“Don't take it so fast.” She tried to slow him.
“We've got places to go, people to see.”
“Yes, and if you have any chance of getting out of here by tomorrow, then try not to reinjure yourself. I'm not keen on sleeping in a chair for another week.” And after a pause in their conversation, she said, “What is it you Americans see in your beer?”
“Flavor,” he replied.
“Flavor? Your beer is like water. It has no substance.”
“We make all kinds.”
“So tell me, have you tried Russian beer?” She glanced up at him.
“A time or two.”
“And what do you think?”
“Not bad.”
“Perhaps I could
hook you up
â as you Americans like to say.”
“I take it you know a few folks in the business.”
“A cousin or two.”
“If I ever get home again, I might just consider the idea of importing.” He glanced down at her. “I have a corner bar. Did you know?”
“I think Jordan mentioned something like that.” A few steps later, they turned the corner and were close to reaching his room.
“Look, we're almost there.”
“Not a minute too soon.”
“So why do you work so hard, Ben Johnson â NASA scientist and pub owner?”
“I keep asking myself the same question.”
“A man who works, but doesn't know why.”
“Another five years and I'll have twenty years in with NASA. I'm thinking I'll take an early buyout instead of going for thirty. You know, retire early and spend some time having a little fun. Jeez, I could call in sick and retire now, I've got so much leave.”
“Don't you love your science?”
“I wouldn't exactly say it's a love affair.” He chuckled. “Don't get me wrong, I like science, what's not to like? Figuring out how things work is fun. And hey, if I had to earn a living, why not take a boyhood fascination to the next step?”
“Boyhood fascination?” She looked at him oddly.
“If truth be told, I could probably recite every line from the
Star Wars
movies,” he admitted.
“
Star Wars
?”
He smiled and glanced down at her again. “I thought it'd be fun to create the perfect light saber.”
She gave him a calculated look of confusion.
“Build lasers,” he explained.
“And you've spent your career developing this science to walk out on it, to simply throw it away?”
“It's not like I'm doing science the way I imagined it'd be.”
“What do you mean?”
“The war machine is behind everything we do. We say science, but
who's
funding it?” They both knew he was referring to the military. “And that's fine for others, we need defense. But after this experiment goes, I've done my part.”
“And you're not excited about your experiment?” she asked curiously.
“Don't get me wrong. It's great, it's exciting to have designed a laser than can destroy all that space debris orbiting our planet. Do you know how much junk is up there?” He paused to reflect, then said, “But I've had enough.”
“It seems you're just getting started.”
“After the debris situation is under control, let's face it, the laser just becomes another weapon. And frankly, I'm not real keen about that. As the old saying goes, you only live once. And it's time for me to start living. It's time for a change.”
She lightened the conversation with a pause, so he'd relax and so she could keep him talking.
“I've heard it said that
, too much of anything is bad, but too much Champagne is just right.
Perhaps in your case, you haven't had enough beer,” she said.
“Is that what you Russians say?”
“So when is your experiment scheduled to be performed?”
“It was slotted for release the first day in orbit.”
“What if there's a delay?”
“Experiments get reshuffled.”
“Because?”
“To avoid any spoliation issues,” he explained. “Cargo gets unloaded first at the Space Station, then the more time-sensitive experiments get shuffled to the front.”
She nodded.
“It's not a big deal. I've been waiting three years for this laser to fly on Falcon 9. Now that the Shuttle is no more, it's not like NASA is in control of missions any longer.”
She glanced at him with intrigue.
“Not everything we want gets a ride into space these days, at least not without paying someone else.” Ben groaned and pulled a hand to his stomach.
“Look,” she said, “we've come full circle. I think you're ready for a rest, are you not?”
“Yeah.” He grunted. “And not a moment too soon.”
Back inside the room, she helped him back into bed and as soon as he fell asleep, she took a little trip into the bathroom where she called Jordan. It was imperative to warn her that they were now sitting in a dead zone. She couldn't head to the silo until they knew for certain when Ben's experiment was slated to fly.
The second Jordan answered, Sonya got straight to the point. “More trouble.”
“What do you have?” Jordan asked.
“It looks fairly certain your boy's experiment will be delayed,” she explained.
“How did you find out? Did Snake call?”
“No. Your boy told me.”
“Ben? Does he know about the delay?”
“No, but when we were talking, the subject of his experiment came up. Your boy says if there's a delay, time sensitive experiments will take priority and get bumped in front of his. I thought this was accounted for.”
“What we need is real intelligence to know for sure.”
“I've said it before, but we may need to abort with too much uncertainty now.”
“Yeah, and why is it that you keep saying we should abort?”
“I've never seen a mission go so wrong and still pull off.”
“We can't abort, not without proper authorization.”
“Too much is going wrong. There's too much at risk.”
Jordan didn't agree. “We've come too far to walk away. I'm going to try to reach Snake. He ought to be monitoring NASA. He would have communicated with one of us if anything changed.”
“You go on and call. If Snake answers, let me hear back.”
After concluding the call, Sonya left the bathroom and returned to the chair beside Ben's bed. Without making a sound, she picked up a magazine she had looked at one too many times and started to reread an article.
“You were talking to Jordan,” he said, leaving his eyes closed. “Don't try to deny it.” He rolled his head around to face her, then opened his eyes.
“What of it?” She didn't try to hide the fact.
“Where is she? I'd like to know.”
Sonya gestured with a flip of the hand. “Just think of her as down the street.”
“Where?” He gripped the bedrail.
“Near the border of Iran, heading to Turkmenistan.”
He nodded appreciatively and released his grip on the rail. “When I get out of here I want you to take me to her.”
“You know the plan is to get you out of this country before anything else goes wrong.” Sonya started flipping through the pages of the magazine. Anything to change the subject.
But he wasn't ready to drop the subject. “I want you to take me to where Jordan is. I want to see her.”
“I'm taking you to our embassy in Turkmenistan. Jordan will meet you there.”
“I don't know who you two think you're fooling, but it's certainly not me. I've had a little time to think. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate everything you're doing for me, but you two owe me an explanation.”
She glanced up with a disapproving frown. “Don't get paranoid.” Then she crossed her legs and returned to the magazine. “Perhaps you should stop worrying and try to rest.”
“When I first saw Jordan dressed like a Muslim woman, I knew she was up to something. I just wasn't able to piece it together.”
She lowered the magazine. “You're imagining things. She has relatives here.”