by Daco
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, fine,” she answered. But the truth was, she was aggravated. She’d learned that SpaceX had delayed the launch of Falcon 9 until Monday, although the news brought opportunity; it’d give her more time to move Ben out of the country.
“You just look — ”
He stopped, appearing a bit dazed.
“Are you hungry?” she asked him as she walked to a table, where she found some flat bread and a small jar of apricot jam.
“I don’t know, yes, I think so,” he said.
She carried the food to the side table next to him.
“Let me help you sit up,” she said, slipping an arm under his shoulder blade.
“Yeah. Thanks,” he grumbled.
“How bad do you feel?” She brushed away the hair in his eyes.
“Sore, lightheaded.”
“Let me make you some tea.” Without waiting for his response, she returned to the table.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
Not turning to him, she said, “Get you to an embassy.”
“And you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Make it a priority.”
“Who are you, Jordan?”
She didn’t answer.
“Don’t lie to me.” His jaw tightened.
Still, she refused.
“Answer me!” His voice rose. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I don’t care what you’re doing, you’re coming home with me,” he said.
She carried a cup of tea to his side. “Like you’re really in a position to decide that.”
“Yeah, I am,” he protested.
“What you need, Ben, is to go home.”
“We need to go home.” His chest tightened.
“Ben,” she paused, then said in a firm voice, “it’s time for you to forget about me. Permanently.”
But he challenged her, saying, “What do you think this past year has been all about?”
She didn’t answer.
“You think what we had was nothing? Some game?”
She didn’t reply.
“Hasn’t it meant anything to you?” he asked.
She rose and walked to the table again. Neither spoke. Then she returned to him at the bedside with a few plums.
“Okay,” he started, “I was wrong about your grandmother being here, I get you’re involved in something. More than meets the eye.” She didn’t respond. “Like you’re some kind of spy for the government. A courier. I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s just a job, it’s not you.”
She handed him a plum.
“The biggest surprise in all this,” he said, “is seeing this tough exterior you put up. I don’t know who you’re fooling, but it’s not me.”
She finally spoke. “It’s no act, Ben. This is who I am.”
“Oh, it’s an act, Jordan. You forget, I’ve had a solid year to get inside that little head of yours. Maybe I didn’t see all of the cogs and wheels turning, but I sure got what spun ’em.”
“And this little head of mine, Ben, is what got you out of the back of that van.”
“Okay, so you have a few skills, but I think I can see beyond that. I know what makes you tick.”
“Ben.”
“I do.”
“Ben, you just think you know me.”
“I know every morning when you wake up you make this little squeak when you stretch, I know when you wake up you’re always happy, not grouchy like me. I know you like your eggs sunny-side up; you like your steak rare; you like to run at four in the morning; you grind your own coffee beans; you drink your coffee black, but not before your run; you’re a neat freak; you never leave anything undone, unfolded, or dirty. For God’s sake, Jordan, you may not talk about how you feel inside, but I know you.”
“Ben, come on, what’s a few habits?”
“I know you don’t like to look at yourself in the mirror because you feel lost; I know you feel like something’s missing. There’s a sadness in you, you’re not complete. I’ve never asked. I won’t. But I know it makes you quiet.”
“Ben,” she tried stopping him again.
“Deep inside you’re afraid, you’re afraid of letting the rest of the world see the real you. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because then you’d have to admit to the rest of us that you’re just as vulnerable.”
“Please, Ben.”
“You try to hide, but you’ve always been in plain view to me. I see you.”
She exhaled deeply and ran her hands along her thighs. “We all have these habits,” she tried to explain. “Routines, things we do.”
“Whatever you’re into, Jordan, it doesn’t have to define you. It doesn’t have to consume you. Walk away from it,” he said as if it were that easy.
“I can’t,” she finally replied.
“You mean you won’t.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Nothing is that important.”
“Ben, Ben.” She shook her head.
When her cell phone rang, she went straight for it. “I gotta take a call,” she told him and without waiting, she walked to the bathroom and shut the door. It was Farrokh.
“Go,” she spoke into the receiver.
“Have you heard?” Farrokh asked her.
“The launch is delayed.”
“Until Monday.”
“We can’t wait around here. I’ve got to get Ben out of the country.”
“Isbel’s in the hospital.”
“And?”
“The authorities are questioning her. It’s getting intense.”
“So what’s the problem? She doesn’t know anything.”
“I have to be here for her. I can’t leave,” he finally admitted.
“She doesn’t have anything to say. She’ll be fine,” Jordan argued.
“You’re going to have to find your own ride.”
“I don’t think so,” she said adamantly.
“You’re on your own.”
“Farrokh, you can’t do this. Fat Su will kill you if you do this.”
“You’re going to have to lift a car. I can’t give you mine. Not now. It’s sure to be spotted anyway.” His voice was rushed. “Unless … ”
“Unless what?”
“You can get Isbel out of the country, too.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“She risked her life for you and your friend.” The panic in his voice raced across the line. “You know she doesn’t have a chance if I leave her here alone.”
“You have an obligation to finish this job.”
“No!”
“Isbel doesn’t know anything. Or does she?”
“No.”
“Then she’ll be fine.”
“That won’t stop them. You know that. You know what they’re like.”
“It was an accident,” Jordan said to him. “The girl was an innocent bystander. All she has to do is play it cool.”
But Farrokh persisted. “They don’t believe her.”
“What do you mean they don’t believe her? What’s not to believe?”
“They think she’s involved,” he explained.
“I wish I could help you, honestly, but I can’t.”
Then he laid it on her. “You will help me, Jordan.”
“No.”
“If you want the launch codes, you’ll help Isbel.”
“Don’t be absurd. Do you want Fat Su’s thugs after you? And don’t forget about Isbel,
they’ll come after her, too.” Jordan paused. “You’ll be down before you ever knew what hit.”
She made the threat, but there was no way she was going to contact Fat Su to let him in on Farrokh’s game, not with this op going every which way but right.
Farrokh continued as if Jordan had agreed to take Isbel. “Isbel gets out of the hospital Sunday. You can take her with you to Turkmenistan.”
“No!”
“I’ll drop her off in the lobby early.”
“You’re not listening to me. It’s impossible, Farrokh. I can’t take Isbel with me. Have you thought about what the Chinese would do to her if they found out about her?”
“Don’t let me down. Please. She’s all I’ve got,” he insisted.
“Even if I could, it’s too dangerous.”
“Do you think Fat Su would be happy to hear about our little mess?” And without mincing his words, he finally said, “If Isbel goes down, then so do you.”
“Are you threatening me?” she hammered back at him.
“Are you deaf?”
“Who do you think will be kinder to you, Farrokh? The Chinese or Iranians?” And while Jordan made a good argument, she knew if she didn’t agree to take Isbel, she’d never get the codes out of Farrokh. He might even squeal to the Chinese NSB the first chance he had.
He didn’t answer.
She was arguing against herself.
She said, “Adding someone else to the mix increases the chance of failure twofold or more.”
“Thank you,” he replied as if Jordan had just agreed to take the girl.
And what could she say.
He quickly continued, “There’s a Samand parked two streets down, first left, second house on the left. Belongs to an older lady. She rarely uses the car, keeps the keys in it, and parks it in her garage. She won’t hear you, she’s hard of hearing, and if you grab it first thing, you’ll be gone before she’s awake.”
“So you have a car.”
“Just get Isbel out of the country,” he replied.
Jordan was irate. Farrokh knew all along that he had another vehicle lined up for her. She should have known. He’d blindsided her with all of this.
In anger, she said to him, “Why don’t you take Isbel yourself?”
“I’m going underground.”
“Take her with you.”
“I can’t. Not where I’m going.”
“Where’s that?”
“South to Iraq for starters. Then north.”
“And if I don’t do this?” she threatened him.
“I won’t give you the codes.”
Two taps wrapped on the bathroom door.
“I gotta go, Farrokh,” and Jordan disconnected the line. She had until Sunday to decide their fate. She could get the codes and consider Isbel’s fate next. Maybe Farrokh hadn’t thought of that.
Jordan opened the door. Ben was swaying in the doorway.
“What’s going on?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she said. “Come on, let’s get you back in bed.”
Ben gripped the doorframe. “You were talking about that young girl who broke her leg. Weren’t you?”
“How do you know some girl broke her leg?”
“My eyes may be swollen, but I saw her in the road, Jordan.”
Jordan was surprised that he saw anything in his state.
“She was part of the set-up, wasn’t she?” Ben pushed for an answer.
But all Jordan said was, “It doesn’t concern you.”
“You can’t leave her behind, not if she’s in danger. We did this to her.” He glared at her through his puffy eyes.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ben.”
He slumped to the side of the wall.
“Come, you’re still half-drugged.” She took him by the arm and led him back to the bed. When he was comfortably situated, she said, “I’m going out to get us something to eat.”
“Do you know what they’ll do to that young girl if the authorities take her into custody?”
Jordan stared down at him.
“Do you?” he repeated.
“Yeah, Ben. Actually, I do.” But she wasn’t going to detail just how poorly it would go for the girl.
“Then I know you won’t let that happen,” he said. “Not the Jordan that I know.” He tried sitting up. “She wouldn’t let that happen.”
“It’s out of our control.”
“You’d let an innocent young girl be put through torture? Someone who helped you and me? Someone who risked her life?” He groaned quietly as she helped him back down.
“It’s out of my hands. And yours.”
“I can’t let this happen. I’d never sleep in good conscience again.”
She shook her head without speaking. She couldn’t allow emotion to enter the equation, especially considering that Chou had specifically ordered her to take care of Farrokh after this mission concluded. If Farrokh was a liability, so was his daughter.
“Jordan.”
“I’ll be back,” she said.
• • •
Jordan returned to the room in less than an hour with a basket of food. The walk to a local restaurant had done her some good. Gave her time to clear her head and to check out the location of the vehicle she’d own in the morning.
With her mood lifted, she spoke to Ben in a kinder voice. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starved,” he said cheerfully as he sat up, letting the sheet fall from his chest to his naked waist. “Come sit down.” He patted the bed.
She laid a colorful scarf across the top of the sheets.
“Try this,” she said, handing him a Tah-chin.
He crammed the rice cake into his mouth.
“Slow down, there’s plenty,” she said.
“I can’t remember when I ate last,” he said with his mouth full. “What is this?”
“A saffron rice cake. It’s one my favorites, too.” She smiled at him, maybe for the first time since she’d seen him there in Iran.
“It’s good.”
“Here, dip it in this.” She handed him the yogurt sauce.
“They’d make a great bar appetizer.” He grinned.
“Yeah, well, you’d be cooking all day.”
He looked at the cake in his hand. “Really?”
“Looks are deceiving,” she said. “There’s nothing fast about Persian cooking. Here, try this.” She handed him a chicken kabob.
“Ah man, that is some kind of good.”
“You look like you’re feeling a little back to normal.”
He rubbed his head. “Except for this banger of a headache.”
“They really doped you up.”
“You could say that.”
She watched as he ate, consuming the food with both passion and hunger. Yogurt sauce dribbled down his chest.
“You’re making a mess,” she said as she reached to dab it.
He grasped her hand and kissed it.
She spoke softly, saying, “I know how you hate a mess.”
He pulled her closer.
“Ben.” Her hand fell to his leg barely covered by the sheet draped just below his waist.
He hushed her.
“You’re in no condition,” she tried stopping him, but she could see everything was ready with the bulge rising from beneath the sheet.
“You let me be the judge of that,” he said and leaned in closer to find her lips.
“Did you get enough to eat?” she asked as her way of protesting.
“Never.” His voice was low, wanting. His erection throbbed insistently against the sheet.
She wanted to resist, but the sensation he was drivi
ng through her was unstoppable.
“Come here,” he whispered as he slid a hand down her neck, followed by his lips.
“I can’t,” she said, her voice unnaturally strained.
“It’s okay, Jordan. It’s just me.” His hand found the nipple protruding through her dress. His lips followed. His hands fell lower.
“The food,” she said as he laid her back and positioned himself above her.
“Don’t worry.”
“Wait,” she tried to stop him. “Let me clear it from the bed.”
“I got it.” As he leaned forward, the sheet fell, revealing the flesh of his naked body. Then he grasped the corners of the scarf, placed everything into the basket and pushed it to the far side of the bed, saving an apricot between his teeth to share with her.
“You’re not well,” she said unconvincingly.
But he didn’t stop. He slid a warm hand along the bareness of her lower leg. Not stopping, his hand rose higher and crossed over to her inner thigh. “It’ll be okay,” he said.
She closed her eyes, surrendering to his touch, a touch she never believed she would feel again. She wanted to forget how much she needed him and how hard it was for her to resist his desires. But she couldn’t.
Who was she kidding; he gave her balance.
“It’s all good,” he said. Then raised her dress, exposing the curves of her waist.
His touch was smooth, gentle, strong.
“So good,” he repeated, letting his hand trail slowly downward. He played her body like an instrument, circling her waist to her navel with a hungry hand.
She exhaled, letting him explore deeper.
His fingers dipped inside her scant black thong and quickly slid between the wet of her intimate folds. She wanted him, now. But he teased her, pulling her thong only to her mid thighs. He slowly returned his hand to his playground.
She arched the small of her back as he stroked fast and light, her breath now heavy, near panting.
“It’s all going to work out,” he said as he teased her more by slipping his finger inside her, forcing her to beg for more, making her crazy with unspoken desire.
“You’ll see,” he whispered as he thumbed a nipple next, taking his time to make her breast rise and fall to his touch.
She opened her eyes. “What do you mean, Ben?” He never spoke this much when they made love, ever. A few whispers, but that was it.
His touch was now wayward and deep, captivating, hypnotic. “You don’t have to worry,” he spoke a moment later, his words soft, his breath labored. Then he slid off her thong, positioned his face between her thighs, and rolled a hot tongue across her intimate flesh, tasting her, heightening her ecstasy, and sending sparks of excitement throughout every inch of her.
