The Libra Affair (28 page)

“No, now hear me out.”

She waited.

“You might not be in a position to talk, but there's nothing that prevents me from saying what I think.” Then he gave her a serious look that said: “You're here, I'm here, and you're going to listen to what I have to say.”

“Okay.” She closed the magazine and set it in her lap.

“At first, I couldn't figure out what Jordan would be doing in a country like this. I didn't think it was anything terribly important. Maybe she was delivering a message. Maybe she was making a drop, picking something up. Maybe she was even spying on some fat cat, but all those ideas didn't last long. Not after I saw her in action back there at the hotel in Tehran. You know, she saved our tails by making us scale down the outside wall of the hotel using bed sheets.”

Sonya didn't respond.

“After that little escape, I knew something bigger than I had imagined was going down. Only I couldn't put my finger on it. With everything happening so fast — first prison, now surgery — I haven't been able to think clearly.”

She didn't confirm or deny what he was saying.

“You know,” he said, “Jordan tried everything under the sun to keep me from following her into Iran. Back on the plane, I know she was only trying to protect me when she swapped my passport. She tried to warn me, she told me to
go with it
,
but I missed her cue.”

Sonya nodded. There was nothing she could do to stop him.

“After the jailbreak — thank you, by the way, if I haven't already — I wondered what drew Jordan to me in the first place. Don't get me wrong, we make a perfect match … in more ways than one.” He smiled to himself. “But you know, the math didn't add up.” He paused again. “I'm not a complete chump. If Jordan's some hotshot spy, I knew her reason for being with
me
came down to one of two things: either she was passing time — I was just someone she found to spend some time with, have a few laughs, drinks, whatever — or two, she needed me.”

Sonya didn't confirm or deny the postulations.

“And you,” he said unemotionally, “just answered the question.”

“I'm not following,” she lied because this wasn't the time for pillow talk or exchanging national secrets.

“Of course you do,” he insisted. “It was right there in front of me the whole time, I just didn't want to see it.”

“I'm sure I don't — ”

“So,” he interrupted her, “are you going to tell me why you two women are so interested in my laser experiment, or do I have to keep guessing?”

“I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Stop!”

She didn't flinch a muscle.

“I'm sorry,” he apologized, “I didn't mean to raise my voice at you.” He took a breath and continued. “I overheard your conversation just now. Every word of it.”

She conceded to the fact with a single word, saying, “Okay,” because she needed to hear what else he had to say.

He kept going. “So after hearing you two discuss the delay of my experiment
just now
in the bathroom, it started me thinking about something that's been nagging at me. Why are the Americans and Russians working together? And what is it they're trying to accomplish over here in Iran?”

She tightened her lips.

“You're either looking for nuclear warheads or after the oil.” He paused to study her reaction, but when she remained stoic, he continued. “I don't think a couple of undercover agents could do much about hidden weapons, unless there's a whole army of you people hidden over here.” He paused to reposition himself in the bed. “Maybe we're gearing up to invade Iran. I hope not, but who knows.” He moaned quietly. “All I know is that the Americans and Russians are definitely after something big, something major, and that something involves my experiment.”

She could play this game all day and night, but she knew he was too smart; he'd piece everything together sooner rather than later. So she finally admitted, “I can't discuss it.”

“Right.” He gave her a look. “Things aren't always as they appear. Or are they?” He paused. “The part I'm in a quandary about is what exactly you people think my laser experiment is going to do for you.”

“Perhaps you're making too much of it,” she suggested.

“No, no.” He wasn't buying that either. “A laser strike to ignite something would be very accurate, quite clean, and the beam would be virtually undetectable
because
— as I'm sure you must know — the beam is invisible. And its light travels so fast that it would barely measure a blip.”

“What does that matter? One laser strike is nothing.”

“Not exactly. It's one free shot is what it is,” he corrected her without any remorse.

“So what's one shot?” she tested him.

“That all depends on the hit. If you're blowing up a nuclear reactor, that's one big giant pop.”

She shook her head no.

“You say Jordan's at the border?” he asked.

She only stared at him; she should never have alluded to as much.

“Then it follows she's out digging in the sand,” he said.

“I think we've talked enough. It's better not to know everything, especially when none of this matters.” She rose from her chair, tossed the magazine to the side table, and walked to the window. He was close, too close. She had to put an end to this conversation.

Except Ben wasn't about to drop the matter. “Why?” he pushed.

She answered this question, hoping it'd shut him up. “Because you become a target,” she said, not looking back at him.

“You people think there's a nuclear stockpile out there, don't you?” he asked. “I'm right.”

She shook her head no. “Just leave it alone.”

“I can't,” he said. “I can't leave any of this alone, not now, not when I'm involved.”

“No, Ben Johnson, you're not involved.” She turned to him now. “And
you
need to stay that way.”

“I'll figure it out one way or the other. You know that.”

“You're better off if you don't.” She flipped her hair to the side. “Safe is ignorance. Be smart. Keep it that way.”

“I can't. I'm not built like that.”

She turned back to the window. “I will tell you this — if and when you do figure it out, you won't say or do anything about it, not without risking your life …
or
the lives of others.” She looked over her shoulder and stared back at him. Her meaning was clear — Jordan, the girl, his family, friends, and who knew whom else.

A silence passed between them.

“I have a proposition,” he finally said.

“We can't go,” Jordan announced to Isbel as she walked into the room. “Not yet anyway.”

“Is everything all right?” the girl asked.

“We've been delayed, that's all.”

Jordan dialed Snake's number as she walked toward the balcony. “I'll be right back,” she told the girl, then opened the door and stepped outside. When the connection went through, a recorded message played, advising the caller that the number was no longer in service. She expected as much; however, she also knew
the no longer in service
recording was only a front. She left her message for Snake and then returned to the room.

Snake would come through one way or another; she had faith.

Jordan switched on the television set. Together, she and Isbel passed the better part of their morning watching local news until Jordan had had enough. “Are you up to anything like playing cards?”

Excited, Isbel said, “Do you know Rami?” which was the Persian name for Gin Rummy. “My father taught me just this year.”

Jordan sat down on the bed with Isbel and together they began playing, with the girl giggling as she won most of the hands.

“Are you sure you only just learned this game?” Jordan teased.

Isbel smiled. “Yes, only two months ago, but we played a lot at school during breaks.”

“And I suspect you soundly beat everyone there, too.”

Isbel laughed. “Yes, quite a lot,” she admitted, then shyly flashed Jordan a loving look like a daughter might to her mother. They played awhile longer before Isbel said to her, “Thanks for helping me, Jordan.”

Jordan glimpsed over her hand of cards. “No problem,” she said and soon found herself lost in thought. She didn't want to take the girl; she didn't want to help anyone. She didn't want Ben to follow her; she didn't want him to get hurt. She just wanted Ben to forget about her and move on with his life. And most of all, she just wanted to get this job done and over with so she could start over again. Falling for Ben was hard. Way too hard. She would never, ever, make that mistake again.

“You'd make a great mother,” Isbel told her.

Jordan felt the air catch in her throat. “Thanks.”

“It's funny, me, I have no mother, and you, you have — ”

“Isbel!” Jordan said quite abruptly.

The girl almost dropped the cards she was holding in her hands. Then she lowered her head to hide her face.

“I'm sorry,” Jordan apologized. Isbel was only a kid. She had been through a lot and deserved a moment without feeling trampled upon by the only person she had left to trust.

The girl wouldn't look at Jordan.

“Isbel,” Jordan tried again, but this time in a kinder voice. “I want to tell you something. Will you listen to me?”

The girl glimpsed at her.

“I lost my mother, too.” When Isbel raised her head, Jordan looked kindly at her. “And my father,” she added.

“I'm sorry,” Isbel said softly.

Jordan folded the cards in her hand and laid them across her leg. “I was a little older than you when it happened.”

“How old were you?”

“Barely fifteen.”

“That's not much older than I am now.”

“You're right. Not much.” Jordan had had her grandmother. Isbel had no one. Who knew if Farrokh would make it back alive for her.

“You miss them?”

Jordan looked into the girl's scared eyes. “Yes,” she said. “All I can tell you is that it gets easier as time passes.”

Isbel didn't say anything. She seemed to accept what she'd been told.

“And if you look in the right places, you'll find a friendly ear. You know, for those times when you'll need someone older to help you understand things.”

Isbel looked puzzled.

“You know … when you … begin to mature in new ways,” Jordan finally said.

“Oh, that,” Isbel said knowingly.

“That sounded kind of awkward, didn't it?” Jordan laughed at herself. Isbel laughed, too. “I guess the whole point is that boys become more interesting.” Jordan grimaced; she knew she sounded preposterous.

Isbel just smiled.

“Did I really just say all that?” Jordan asked.

“Oh gosh, I don't know.” Isbel giggled. Then she lifted her head and drew in a deep breath. “Do you smell something?”

Jordan did the same. “That's odd, I sure do.”

The girl's face showed immediate concern. “You don't think it's a fire, do you?”

“No, no. It smells like something's burning … like food or … ” Jordan drew in a deeper breath, then stood. “Like burnt rice.”

“Rice?”

“Yeah. I think I might just have a look around downstairs. You stay put.” She tossed the cards from her hand to the bed.

At the door, Jordan looked back at Isbel.

“I know,” the girl said. “Don't answer the door.”

Jordan winked at her. “That's right.”

The smell factor read nothing but
stink
, which equated in real terms to something was wrong downstairs. Before leaving the room, Jordan slipped her weapon from its sheath. She checked the ammo and released the safety, then concealed it underneath the sleeve of her dress.

She opened the door — less than an inch — and listened. There was no sound in the hallway save the hum of an overhead fluorescent light. Most of the guests — not more than half a dozen — had already checked out or left for the day. Nevertheless, there
was
a distinct smell of burnt food in the air
.

She pushed the door open the rest of the way, checked both directions, then slipped quietly down the hall to the top of the staircase. She stopped and listened. It was quiet. Too quiet.

She started down the stairwell, taking each step one at a time.

A few steps before bottom, the wall cut away, revealing the lobby.

Not a soul was in sight, the front desk stood unattended, and while the room was lit, it felt dark as light gray smoke lined the top edges of the ceiling.

Jordan looked toward the kitchen and listened; she heard nothing.

Then a gust of wind suddenly slammed against the front of the building. The windows creaked and rattled and the front door burst wide open, smacking against the outside wall.

Jordan made for the door.

Stepping outside, she grabbed the door just as a police vehicle zipped past the hotel and down the street. Across the street, a family was walking down the sidewalk. Not waiting, she muscled the door shut before anyone noticed her or the smoke spilling outside through the open door.

On the way to the kitchen, she checked the front desk. Nothing appeared out of place, but then no one was there either. Jordan rushed to the kitchen — across the room, a burner was lit and smoke rolled from a pot.

The only explanation was that the owners must have left in some kind of hurry and forgot about the pot.

Jordan hurried to the stove to turn it off and as soon as she turned to go open the backdoor, she saw the horrid truth. There on the other side of the work island, the owners were lying in a pool of blood. Their throats slashed with a butcher knife thrown recklessly to the side as though dropped to the floor.