The Libra Affair

by Daco

  “Stop what?”

  She felt herself succumbing to his desires. How many times had she been tempted to snip off one of those ringlets while he slumbered — too many times to remember was how many. And looking at him now, she wished she had clipped just one and stored it away in her secret box.

  “I didn’t think you were married,” he said.

  “It doesn’t matter what you think,” she replied, irritated with herself that Ben was able to lure her to him.

  “I figured out you’re going to see your grandmother. You never told me you were part Persian, but I can see that now.”

  She’d let him think that. Fine. He placed his hands around her hips and pulled her close. She didn’t fight it. She knew she should have, but didn’t. And the closer he pulled, the easier it was to simply unfold and fall into his lap.

  “Now, isn’t that better,” he said as he slowly planted a kiss on her lips.

  She let him kiss her because the space was tight, he was stronger, and it’d give her a moment to think. On the other hand, she could have resisted; she could have taken him out with a few simple moves.

  “I missed you,” he whispered.

  Nothing inside of her could harm a hair on his head. Not when his hot, nervous breath tumbled from her face and down her neck, followed by a pair of consuming lips. She couldn’t fight it, she didn’t want to, so she gave herself leave and fell into his groove.

  “Jordan,” he repeated her name as he always did.

  His lips were sensuous, lusty, and all-devouring. She needed him, all of him. She wanted him now. Letting him kiss her like this was probably wrong — of course, it was — but it was impossible for her to stop. She found herself sailing deep into the dream she had lived over the past year. It felt as though she had never left his side, that life was supposed to be like this, that she belonged with him. She would never be able to forget the fold of his body next to hers. She was lost, completely lost … until he started to lift her dress and the reality of the situation sparked.

  Waking abruptly, she bounced up and spoke. “We can’t do this.”

  Still in the throes of the moment, he tried pulling her near. “Yes,” he whispered in a rough voice, “we can.”

  “Stop, Ben.”

  “I’ve always wanted to be a part of the Mile High Club.”

  Their altitude suddenly changed. The plane dropped a couple hundred feet in elevation and Jordan fell into his arms.

  “Stop,” she said as his hands began to wander.

  “It’s just a little turbulence,” he said.

  Then someone knocked on the bathroom door. “Please return to your seat,” the flight attendant said.

  “Bad weather?” Ben whispered to Jordan.

  “Yes. We can’t be seen like this; it’ll cause a stir.”

  “We’ll be okay,” he said.

  Jordan loved the man’s confidence, but if he hadn’t figured out yet that she was an undercover agent, he was nothing but thick. A part of her wanted to smack him silly and tell him to wake up; they were in a serious situation, although there was something about his childlike innocence that made her weak at the knees.

  “Look,” she said, pulling herself together, “we can’t stay in here. The attendant knows I’m in here, she’s waiting for me to take my seat. And I’m sure they’re looking for you, too.”

  “They know I’m here somewhere.” He raised his brows. “Like visiting someone back in coach.”

  “And if that’s the case, they’re bound to get upset when they don’t find you, which means the bathrooms are the next obvious place they’ll look. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that a conservative Muslim woman wouldn’t be found dead in a place like this with a man. Under any circumstance. Do you read?”

  The plane dropped in altitude again.

  “Okay,” he agreed. “I guess you have a point.”

  She wanted to say “you think?” but instead said, “Let me go first. Wait a few minutes before you leave.”

  The attendant tapped on the door again and asked if Jordan needed any help.

  “I’ll only be a moment,” Jordan answered her. They listened as the woman walked toward the front of the plane. “Okay, I think she’s gone. Wait two minutes.”

  Ben pulled her close and ran his hands along her waist.

  “Not those kind of minutes,” she said.

  Ben took her face in his hands. “Okay. Then later.” He went in for the kiss.

  She whispered into his face, “You’re killing me, Ben Johnson. You know that?” and she returned the kiss.

  The storm had intensified. They both heard the unmistakable crack of lightning and thunder rumbling.

  Not waiting any longer, Jordan opened the bathroom door and peered into the aisle. It was clear. She slipped outside but instead of returning to her seat, she made her way toward the front of the plane.

  The attendant was stopped next to Ben’s seat and speaking with the elderly woman in the seat next to his. The woman shook her head, turned toward the window, and closed the shade. The attendant moved along, spoke to a few more passengers, and then headed toward the galley.

  A man rose from his seat at the front of the business class section. He moved directly toward the first-class section and stopped at Ben’s seat, where he, too, spoke to the elderly woman.

  Gut instinct: trouble.

  Jordan slid into an empty seat alongside three young children huddled together. Seeing a toy on the floor underneath the seat in front of them, Jordan bent down to pick it up, while also keeping an eye on the man. He slowly walked through the rest of the first-class section as if studying each of the passengers, but didn’t speak to anyone else.

  He was no ordinary man. He was packing; she saw the weapon in his jacket. The way he moved said he wasn’t just an ordinary cop, he was undercover. And since he stopped only at Ben’s seat, it meant just one thing: the Iranian authorities were onto Ben. He’d been red flagged. Making her move, Jordan zipped back into the aisle and returned to the bathroom. Just as Ben opened the door without a word, she pushed him back inside the small room and joined him.

  “That was quick.” He smiled stupidly.

  She shoved him down onto the seat and said, “Shut up and listen to me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Do you have your passport on you?”

  “No,” he answered. “It’s in my bag.”

  “Where’s your bag?”

  “In the overhead cabin.”

  “Right above your seat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I need you to trade seats with me.”

  “You think?” he replied playfully.

  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “Promise?”

  She stared into his face. None of this was part of the plan: protecting Ben, saving his life, and making out with him a mile high. Nevertheless, she quickly agreed, saying, “Yes, I promise.”

  “Say it,” he said.

  “Say what?”

  “Say, ‘I promise to make it worth your while.’”

  “What? Are we in second grade again?”

  Ben angled his head.

  “Okay, yes, Ben. I promise I’ll make it worth your while. Does saving your tail count, too?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “And if I bend your arm and break it, you cool with that, dude?” Because that was exactly what she was going to do — to make it worthwhile — to save his life.

  “Jordan, I never knew you had that kind of kink in you, you dirty girl.” He pulled her close.

  “Ben, you … you … ” She forced herself to bite her tongue, all the while thinking how dense could he be?

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Speaking
in Farsi, Jordan responded with indignation, saying she needed two minutes. A man returned his apologies, but he didn’t go far because she heard the door to the bathroom directly across from them open and close. It had to be him. “Someone’s looking for you,” she whispered in Ben’s ear.

  “Who?” he returned the whisper.

  “Well, that’s a good question. I didn’t get his name, but I can assure you this: he doesn’t work for the airline.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. No one is looking for me.”

  “I’m guessing somewhere along the way someone pinned you as a person of interest, maybe even a terrorist. I wouldn’t be surprised if this man is on this flight to take you out, so I wouldn’t say that’s ridiculous. If you want the truth.”

  He hugged her waist and kissed her belly. “Jordan, Jordan, you watch too much television, you know that, girlfriend?”

  She freed herself and turned toward the door. Ever so slightly, she pushed on the door until she could see into the aisle. The handle on the bathroom door across from them still said Occupied. She released the tension on the door and faced Ben. “He’s over there,” she mouthed.

  Ben nodded playfully. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’m scared.”

  “Look,” she said sternly. “I’m just five rows up from here, on the left,” and she took his hand from her waist and pointed it in the correct direction so he understood. She didn’t want him guessing which way was left — coming or going — not at a time like this.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Ben, listen to me, it’s the aisle seat. A couple of elderly sisters are sitting next to me. They don’t speak English so don’t engage them. You’ll offend them if you do. They won’t be accustomed to speaking with men, especially Westerners. You get me?”

  “Oh, sure,” he replied.

  “Ben, I’m serious. You’re in hostile territory. You don’t want to make any kind of stink. It’s too easy to get arrested in this country.”

  “I’m cool.”

  She gave him a hard look. “Seriously. I mean it.”

  “Okay, I get it. There’s only one woman I’m interested in talking to.” And on a lighter note, he asked, “So tell me, what’s the deal with the dress?”

  “We’ll talk about that later.”

  He winked at her.

  “You know,” she said, “if you weren’t so cute, I never would have gone out with you.”

  “I am kind of cute.” He reached for her waist.

  “Cute and a whole lot of something else.” She paused to listen. “Okay, it’s time to move. You go first this time. Make it quick. Oh, and you don’t know me. Are we clear?”

  “Your husband’s not on this flight, is he?” He grinned with a lopsided smile.

  She socked his shoulder.

  “Ouch, woman,” he rubbed his arm, “you sure can hang a left.”

  “Just play along and I’ll make real good on that little promise, okay? Now get up.”

  Jordan cracked open the door. The coast was clear. She hopped back and stood on the commode. “Go.” She nudged him forward.

  As soon as Ben started down the aisle, the door to the bathroom across the aisle slowly slid open. The man Jordan saw earlier stood in the opening, he was watching to see where Ben would stop.

  She detailed the stranger up and down: Iranian, undercover agent, packing. His jugular pulsed hard and rapidly, his eyes narrowed, his jaw tightened, and as soon as the man ran a hand across the weapon in his jacket, that was enough to set her in action. She had to stop him.

  She glanced in both directions. Still clear.

  She lifted her dress, jerked open the door, sprang out of the stall, and planted a foot in the man’s groin.

  The man fell backwards exactly as anticipated, landing on the open commode. Before he lifted his head, Jordan powered in, took him by the neck, and made the break. He was dead before she said goodbye. Hopping back into the aisle, she released the door. It started to slide shut. Only it didn’t close all the way. A foot hung out the door.

  Ben looked back as he reached his chair.

  Reacting instantaneously, Jordan stepped over the foot to conceal it with length of her dress.

  He gave her a sly smile as though playing along with some phony-baloney game. In return, she produced a slight wave and waited for him to take his seat. Then she shoved the dead man’s foot back inside the stall, hopped inside the room with the body, and began patting down the man’s clothes. She found his weapon first, checked the safety and the ammo, and secured it underneath her dress next to her own weapon. Next, she located his wallet and took the cash. Feeling quickly, she found his passport and identification badge in another pocket.

  Every instinct was right on; he was hostile secret service. She found his phone and quickly scrolled through the incoming calls. She was set. Shoving his leg to the side, she stuffed the man’s wallet along with his ID, badge, and cell phone between his legs and into the commode, then flushed.

  Back in the aisle, she pushed up a sleeve and checked her wristwatch. The flight wasn’t due to arrive in Tehran until a little over four hours from now. She glanced over her shoulder and back toward the hostess area. The attendants were nowhere in sight.

  As she passed Ben’s seat, he elbowed her to get her attention. “You get him?” He mouthed the words silently while grinning up at her.

  She winked at him and gave him a nod. If he wanted to think this was a game, so be it. The less he knew the better.

  Not a minute later, she slid into the seat in first-class. Twenty minutes later, the captain turned off the Fasten Seatbelt sign. Thirty minutes and counting, an attendant raced toward the front of the plane, calling for a doctor.

  Chapter 7

  When the woman next to her fell asleep, Jordan rose from her seat and opened the overhead compartment. After locating Ben’s papers, she slipped his wallet and papers inside the sleeve of her dress and headed toward the first-class bathroom. With a travel-sized tool kit, she went to work to create Ben’s new identity with one of her alias passports. Ben, who would thank her later, was about to find himself the newest citizen of Russia. Before leaving the stall, she gathered the scraps and flushed the debris down the can.

  Back at her seat, she knew it’d only be a matter of time before the Iranian authorities figured out their man was down. And until their forensic pathologist got a look at him, they wouldn’t know the cause of death. By then, she would be long gone, and Ben, she fervently hoped, would be flying home.

  Looking back toward coach, Jordan saw the back of the plane was walled off from passengers with one attendant standing guard, which meant the body had been discovered and moved. The other attendant was busy taking roll call, which meant it was time to pay Ben another visit before the woman got to him. As Jordan approached his seat, she saw that he’d dozed off. The woman in the middle seat was sleeping, too, but the one next to the window was awake and looking out the window. Stopping next to him, she adjusted her watch and when no one was looking, she slipped the new passport and visa inside his top shirt pocket and then nudged him. “Ben,” she said quietly.

  “Ben.” She nudged him again. When he blinked, trying to wake himself up, she said to him, “Your passport and visa are in your pocket,” then she nodded toward the pocket.

  “Oh, thanks,” he said in a groggy voice, not fully opening his eyes.

  “They’re checking identification,” she told him.

  He said, “Okay,” with the word rattling off his tongue like shredded paper, but he also shook his head as if understanding her meaning and then closed his eyes again.

  Before heading back to her seat, she tapped his pocket and said to him, “Just go with it.” She knew he heard her because he nodded again. “I’ll bring your duffel bag back later. Go back to sleep.”

  • • • />
  Back inside her airline office — the bathroom — Jordan punched in a series of numbers on her cell phone to contact her boss Snake. When he answered, she immediately said, “Scales are off balance.” It was code for, “There’s a problem.”

  “That’s a horoscope you’ll have to read on your own,” he replied. “This shop has closed for business. We are no longer taking calls.”

  She knew what that meant: no one was going to lift a hand to help her or anyone else. She was off the grid and on her own. Under normal circumstances, she would never have made the call, but after she caught sight of the Iranian agent trailing Ben, she had to give Snake a heads-up.

  Before he disconnected the call, she quickly said in a code he’d understand, “Look, someone dropped a Mars in my solar system, but I death-kicked the planet out of orbit.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Snake said, which meant he knew about Knox and the can of worms he’d opened. “But again, I’m sorry, there’ll be no more readings, we’re closing the business.”

  “And one more thing, I’ve got a coattail obscuring my sun sign, goes by the name of Kominski,” she said, referring to Ben’s new Russian identity.

  “If he’s a Cancer, there’s no cure.” Eliminate the liability.

  “Wait — ” But it was too late; Snake disconnected the call.

  • • •

  “ID?” the flight attendant said to Ben, who’d woken up just seconds before.

  He felt his chest, found the passport, and handed it to her.

  The attendant stood, scanning her list for his name. Perplexed, she looked back and forth between Ben and the passport. “I don’t seem to have your name on the passenger list,” she said.

  He waited, figuring it had something to do with his seat being given away and then getting another one at the last minute. He also had some vague recollection of what Jordan had said to him about going with it.

  The woman held the passport to his face. “But this is clearly you.” She showed him the document and asked, “This is you, isn’t it?”