The Libra Affair (6 page)

Ben faced the counter and then searched the room.

Jordan knew she had three possible ways to handle Ben: divert, confront, or eliminate.

A smart agent wouldn't think twice, she'd just eliminate the problem and walk away. Then again, a dead body in an international terminal might delay the flight. The only real option was to divert Ben from boarding the plane.

The flight wasn't due to board for half an hour. She had time.

Jordan rose. Changing her stride, she walked slowly, like an older woman, and crossed over to the other side of the corridor. She stood next to a newspaper stand and watched.

After exhausting his efforts in the waiting area, Ben headed toward a snack bar.

This was her opportunity: she'd slip in line and lift his passport. That'd keep him off the flight.

Walking back across the corridor, Jordan fell in behind a man standing directly behind Ben. A group of young men fell in behind her. Hidden within the bundle, Jordan set the action in play.

She bumped the man in front of her with her bag and then leaned into the back of his leg with a gentle knee. As soon as he stepped sideways to maintain his balance, she moved forward and bumped into Ben while feeling for his wallet and passport. The prayer dress obscured her busy hands while she worked, but neither his wallet nor his passport was in any of his pockets; save his front pants pockets, but she couldn't go there in full without being detected. So she quickly turned and left the line, but as soon as she did, she heard his voice calling after her.

“Jordan?”

She kept walking, hoping to blend into the crowd.

Ben threw some money on the counter and quickly caught up with her. “Jordan,” he repeated as he rolled around in front of her and stared into her face.

She quickly diverted her eyes down, playing the part of a woman taken aback by a male stranger who had inappropriately approached her.

“I'm sorry,” he said to her. “I thought you were — ”

She kept up the act and cringed as she drew away from him. The Roosari and prayer dress along with the brown eyes had thrown him, but she wondered for how long.

Not ten seconds later, he called after her again. “Ma'am.”

She had her answer — it hadn't taken long for him to piece together something was amiss.

When he caught up with her again, he said, “Can I ask you a question?”

She tried to keep moving, maintaining the stride of an elderly woman. A group of Middle Eastern men at a coffee stand noticed them.

“Just a — ”

Ben stopped speaking all of a sudden.

Not facing him, Jordan quickly made her way back to the waiting area where she took a seat between two couples. She knew he hadn't given up, not yet. Not after she saw that look in his eyes; the determined expression he wore when working his science or fixing a failed appliance.

If she'd just been able to get the passport. It had to be stashed inside his duffel bag, which meant she'd have to create a diversion to get inside it.

A quieted voice spoke from behind her — one she recognized from between a set of sheets, one that had whispered to her at the height of her ecstasy. It was a voice that felt like her own; it was a voice that was a part of her. She only wished she'd had the courage to tell him exactly how she felt; she wished she could have.

“I know it's you,” Ben said to her.

She felt her heart skip a beat.
How?
she thought. She glanced at the couples on each side of her. They were both engaged in conversation.

“You think I wouldn't know you?” he said softly.

His words danced all over her mind.

“I'd know you anywhere,” he said.

She was cornered. He wasn't going to give up, not without giving it a good fight. She glanced over her shoulder; he was seated right behind her. “How?” she asked him.

“Scent.” The lone word flowed from his lips as though he had just kissed her.

Jordan rose from her seat. She was back to square one: confront, divert, or eliminate. With the airliner now boarding, it was time for her to make a definitive move.

Ben followed her as she led them away from the waiting area.

When they reached the concourse intersection, she stopped and faced him. “Ben, I'm going to cut to the chase here. Do you have a ticket to Tehran?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“You can't get on that flight.”

“Who are you, Jordan? And why are you dressed like that? You're not Iranian, are you?”

“Actually I am an Iranian citizen,” she replied.

He shook his head, not wanting to believe her.

“I'm going home for a visit,” she added.

“You certainly don't look Iranian to me,” he said in a serious tone, staring her dead in the eye, not blinking once.

“Looks, well, looks can be deceiving,” she said to him and then repeated the same words to him in Farsi to prove her point.

“Yes, looks can definitely be deceiving. So answer me this — ” He paused. “Why the brown contact lenses?”

“Men in my culture, they don't believe women with blue eyes are virtuous,” she said. “We're considered devils, inbred with Westerners. When I'm alone, it's easier to travel this way.” She hoped he would buy the mumbo-jumbo.

But he scoffed.

And before he could challenge her on point, she turned the tables on him and put him on the spot. “Why are you following me? We broke up, remember?”

“Jordan,” he spoke loudly, “if that's really your name — ”

“Ben,” she scolded, trying to defuse him.

“I know you're not traveling under the name Jordan Jakes.”

“Who told you that?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it does matter. I want to know who's filling your head with lies.”

His chest visibly tightened. “Are you Jordan Jakes?”

“Of course I am, where did you get the idea I wasn't?” She spoke harshly.

“The attendant for Lufthansa told me you had a different name. She didn't want to, but then — ” He stopped suddenly.

Diving in, Jordan said flat out, “It's not safe for you to enter Iran. I don't want to see you get hurt.”

Not listening to her, he said, “I want to meet your family.”

“You can't,” she said.

“Are you married, Jordan? Should I call you Jordan?” The intensity in his voice was rising. “And just what name are you traveling under? Tell me that?”

Lowering her voice to calm him, she saw the hurt inside of him; emotionally, he was bleeding to death. “Ben, it's still me, I'm still Jordan. And, yes, I'm sorry to tell you this, but I
am
married,” she said because it was as good an excuse as any other, and if this was what he needed to leave once and for all, then all the better.

“I don't believe you,” he stammered. “You're not married.”

“I should have told you,” she said sympathetically.

“You're just trying to get rid of me. You're not married, your body told me that when we made love. Remember that?”

“Please, Ben. Just go back home.”

“No. You haven't answered my questions. And I've come a long way to get answers. Like why you really left me.”

“Ben.”

“Who are you?” he pushed.

The only answer she gave was her silence.

“I deserve an answer,” he said. “You owe me that.”

“Nobody owes anyone anything.” She paused. “It was fun while it lasted. We had fun.”

“It was more than fun. What we had was great. More than great. Or did you forget that already?”

More silence.

“Are you hearing me?”

She stood her ground.

“It was great for me. And I'm person enough to admit the truth, even if you won't,” he said.

A family of six pushed between them. The father bumped into Ben. Unaffected, Ben stood firm, staring into Jordan's face. “I'll go on one condition,” he finally said.

“What?”

“You answer one question.”

Somehow she knew he would stand there forever until she agreed to his demand. But she had a flight to catch. “Ask it,” she said, hoping this painful experience would just end.

“Tell me honestly,” he said. “Do you love me?”

It wasn't the question she'd expected. She figured he would go back to the “who are you” question. Although with him showing up in Germany like this — desperate and heartbroken — his question wasn't terribly farfetched. In fact, it was the perfect question for her to answer, truth aside, if it would keep him off the plane.

So, taking her time to bolster her response and let the impact hit him hard, she stared into his eyes until the branch broke.

“No.”

Ben had come a long way to hear that “no,” but at least now he could move on and close another unsuccessful chapter in his life. Without goodbye, a kiss, or another word, Jordan simply turned and left him standing there, drowning in a pool of pity.

All he could do was stand there and watch as the gap between Jordan and himself grew more and more distant. When Jordan was no longer in his line of sight, he turned and looked into a faceless crowd. All the travelers seemed to know where they were going, what they were doing. Even the dull light shining from the glass ceiling above seemed to know rain was on the way.

Across the court, he spied an Italian cafe that he had passed earlier.

“Why not?” He actually spoke the words aloud. He needed a distraction; he needed something to remind him he was still alive; the ticketing counter could wait.

Next in line, Ben diffidently stepped forward and asked the young girl behind the counter, “Do you speak English?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied.

He ordered a chocolate gelato and found the only vacant table. He sat watching the crowd, trying to renew his lost sense of taste. The idea of zipping over to Italy — now that he was in Europe — suddenly occurred to him. It was an intriguing idea; it was tempting, very tempting. He certainly was in the right place to catch a flight to Venice, maybe even Rome.

There was Germany, too. Plenty of guys have been known to drown their tears in a keg of beer. He could do that. He didn't have to be anywhere soon. What was his rush when he could indulge himself with a few bratwursts in curry sauce with a side or two of sauerkraut and warm potato salad along with a few dozen steins of beer?

Ben ran his hand down the side of his pants, where he inadvertently brushed across the ring in his pocket. He had a good mind to dig it out and throw the stupid thing as far and as hard as he could. Then maybe, just maybe, some lucky girl would find it, and
badda-boom,
all of her dreams would come true.

Married — Jordan's not married.
She was no more married than the man in the moon. What a lie. She'd lied to him. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized she only said she was married because
he
suggested it. And speaking of rings, she wasn't even wearing a ring. If she were married, she would have been wearing one.
Man.
He could have asked her if she was on
Saturn V
heading to the moon and she would have agreed to that, too. Did she really think he was that dumb, that he wouldn't figure this out? Maybe she did, because he'd stood right there, not twenty minutes ago, and accepted every word she said to him.

So why all the lies?

And why was she slipping into Iran like this? It had to mean she knew someone there … maybe a relative. Someone she was close to … like her grandmother. That had to be it. Considering Jordan spoke Farsi, as surprising as that was, it only made sense that she was going to see her grandmother. The only other consideration was she was bonkers. And as crazy as all this mess seemed, Jordan just didn't fit that bill.

If she'd wanted him gone, she could have called the authorities, but she didn't go that far. Because that would have been discrediting
them
, everything
they
were together.

She'd said “no.” Well, she'd lied.

There wasn't a “no” in her bones. Beyond the artifice of her brown contacts, he saw the same look in her eyes that he'd seen before when she'd sneak a casual look at him from across the table, or when he opened the door and saw her standing there, simply waiting for him, or when she lay uncovered in his sheets in the throes of their passion. He saw the woman who hungered for him. He saw the woman who needed him, who longed for him. He saw the woman who was satisfied with life because the man she desired most, whom she loved deep down inside to her innermost core, felt exactly the same about him.

She'd played him. There was no question in his mind now that she'd staged the fight at the bar Saturday night. She knew she was leaving. The way they'd made love Friday night, the tears she'd cried in her sleep, said it all.

Heat raced up the back of his neck. He wanted her. She needed him.

Ben raced down the corridor to the gate. “Sorry I'm late,” he said to the attendant and handed her his boarding pass.

She slipped the paper through the computerized boarding pass terminal. When the machine rejected the pass, she looked up at him. “Oh, you're Mr. Johnson. I'm sorry to tell you we reassigned your seat. We called your name several times.”

However, the plane was still parked in the docking bay and the loading ramp had not detached, so there was still time. What did it matter that last call to board had long passed.

He followed the attendant to the desk. “You must have something left with a plane that size.”

“I'm sorry,” she replied, “all of the seats in coach and business class are now taken.” The attendant banged away on the keys. “It looks like first class has one,” she said and then looked up at him. “But it's very expensive, nothing like your coach fare.”

“I'll take it,” he said fast.

The telephone situated next to the computer rang. A stewardess entered the waiting area from the loading ramp and spoke to the attendant in a harsh voice.