The Libra Affair

by Daco

  “I’m leaving,” Jordan returned.

  The two women rushed to gather their personal belongings, while Jordan turned and raced down the hall. But before she reached the door to the lobby, she tried the door to an office. It opened. With no one inside, she veered inside and closed the door. There, she crouched down next to the wall and waited.

  It wasn’t long before the two women were racing down the hall to leave the building.

  When the coast was clear, Jordan raced back to the clerk’s office and collected her papers. Then she left the building through an emergency exit at the opposite end of the building.

  She quickly made her way around to Isbel at the back of the lot where she was sitting underneath a tree. “Come on,” she said to the girl.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Fire, I think.”

  Inside the car, Isbel peered through the window.

  “You need to get down and stay out of sight,” Jordan told her. Then she pulled out of the parking lot and made toward the hospital. They didn’t have long before the authorities — or the doctors — would figure out what was happening.

  Four minutes later, she pulled the car into the Imam Khomeini Hospital parking lot. She circled the lot, looking for a vehicle that was the same make and model of the one she was driving. With the Samand being one of the most common vehicles on the road, it was easy to find one.

  She took another pass around the lot before stopping at the vehicle.

  “Keep an eye out from behind,” she told the girl. “If you see anyone coming, let me know. I’ll watch from the front.” Then she tucked the registration papers under her arm and hopped out of the vehicle.

  Working fast, she swapped the plates and then exchanged her set of papers for the ones inside the parked car.

  She drove to the opposite side of the parking lot, parked the car, and told Isbel to remain out of sight. Two seconds later, she was sprinting toward the automatic doors of the ER.

  At the reception desk, Jordan spoke to the attendant. “Could you please tell me where I might find my husband, Mr. Ahed?”

  “Yes, let me check.” The woman entered his name into the computer. “They’re taking him to surgery now.”

  “Surgery! What’s wrong with him?”

  “I’m sorry, it doesn’t seem to say.”

  “Well, it must say something,” Jordan insisted.

  “No, it only says he’s in pre-op.”

  “Where is that?”

  “You can’t go in there,” the attendant tried to explain.

  “Where-is-it?” Jordan leaned into toward the woman.

  “Ma’am, you can wait in the lobby.”

  “Where?”

  “Go through those double doors, head left, and follow the signs.”

  “Thank you.” Jordan turned to leave.

  “They won’t let you in,” the attendant called after her.

  But Jordan kept moving. Before reaching pre-op, she found a nurses’ closet. She circled in and out of it with a surgical gown thrown over her clothing.

  Blowing through the pre-op doors, Jordan saw several bays with drawn curtains. She found Ben in the second slip closest to the door.

  At his side, she spoke hastily, “Ben, Ben,” as she shook him.

  When he didn’t respond, she began disconnecting wires and tubes.

  The nurse opened the curtain to his slip.

  “Are we ready?” Jordan spoke to the nurse.

  “I think you must be in the wrong OR,” the nurse replied.

  “No, no. I’ve been reassigned,” Jordan said. Then she tossed Ben’s chart onto his bed between his legs.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you,” the nurse said.

  “I’m new.” Having heard the doctor’s name, she quickly added, “Dr. Hamin asked me to assist.”

  “I’m the head nurse and I don’t know anything about this.”

  “Perhaps you should check with him,” Jordan suggested.

  “Yes, I think I will. Would you mind waiting out here.” Without another word, the nurse hurried after the doctor.

  Jordan yanked the tubing free from the stand and tossed the excess wires and cords onto the top of Ben’s sheets. She released the brakes on the bed and pushed the bed into the hallway.

  “Ben, wake up. Wake up,” she said to him.

  At the first corner, she turned right. Ben was groggy and still unresponsive. Halfway down the hall, Jordan realized she should have gone left.

  “Hey, you! Wait!” shouted the nurse as she rounded the corner.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it covered,” Jordan called back to her.

  “Stop now!” the nurse shouted.

  Jordan kept pushing the bed. At the next intersection, she turned right and raced down the hallway. Their options were running out and fast.

  She found an empty room, pushed the bed inside, and closed the door.

  A moment later, she heard the nurse racing down the hallway, calling for help.

  “Ben, wake up.” Jordan shook his shoulders.

  He moved his lips, trying to speak.

  “You’ve got to wake up.” Jordan worked to free the IV from his arm. But as soon as it was free, blood spewed.

  “Hey,” he muttered.

  “Ben, it’s me, Jordan.”

  “Where have you been? You can’t believe,” he tried to complain, but his speech was slurred.

  “It’ll be okay.” She gathered the sheet and wrapped it over his arm to stop the bleeding. “I need to find a bandage.”

  “What are we doing?” he tried to ask.

  “We’re doing what we do best,” she replied.

  “Oh, no.” His eyelids flapped rapidly as they closed.

  Jordan rummaged through a cabinet looking for a bandage. “Come on, come on, there’s got to be something. Ah. Found it.” She returned to Ben’s side; he was out of it again. She worked quickly to secure the bandage on his arm. “Ben, try to stay awake, will you?”

  He opened his eyes.

  She kept talking. “You wouldn’t happen to know why they were about to cut you open, do you?”

  But he closed his eyes.

  “Ben, listen to me.”

  “What?” He opened his eyes again, squinting.

  “Why were they taking you to the OR?”

  “I don’t know. Were they?”

  “Let me see.” She grabbed the chart between his legs and glimpsed at it. She read the first word she saw aloud. “Appendix.” Not reading any further for lack of time, she tossed the chart into a garbage can. “The doctor was about to be in for a big surprise. Didn’t those fools see your scar?”

  “Oh, brother,” he said.

  “How are you feeling?” She had to keep him talking.

  “Tired. My head hurts. My back. Stomach.” Then he reached for his ribcage to the left of his stomach.

  “We’ve got to get you out of here,” she said. “You’re going to have to walk.”

  “I really don’t feel so good.”

  “It’s only the medication. Do you think you can walk?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We can’t take the main elevators. Not now.”

  “What a shame,” he said.

  “Here, let me help you sit up.” She pulled him upright. “Try sitting up for me, it’ll help clear your head.”

  “What about my clothes?” He complained.

  “That’s the least of your worries, dear.”

  “Dear?” He tried forming a smile.

  “Dear, honey, sweetheart, whatever you like.”

  “Am I dreaming?” He swayed.

  “Ben, focus.”

  “I’m trying. I�
��m trying.”

  Footsteps tromped down the hallway, passing the room.

  “Don’t tell me?” he said.

  “Sh-h.” She held a finger to his mouth. “I’m going to have a look around.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not leaving you. I promise. I need to figure out how we’re going to get out of here, okay?”

  He dropped back down to the mattress and closed his eyes.

  She hurried to the door and peeked into the hallway. The coast was clear.

  Where were the stairs?

  She spotted a storage room across the hallway. Maybe there was a map of the facilities on the wall. She zipped across the hall, entered the room, and found herself inside a large supply room.

  “Perfect,” she said to herself, then left.

  “Ben, wake up.” She nudged him. “You’re never going to believe this.”

  “What?” He squinted at her again.

  “The elevator to the morgue is right across the hall.”

  “They have an elevator to the morgue?” he asked.

  “It’s time to go,” she said as she started to push the bed to the door.

  When the coast was clear, she drove the bed across the hall and into the storage room. When the elevator arrived, she threw the sheet over his head.

  “Don’t move an inch,” she told him. “This may get a little hinky.”

  He sighed.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

  Once they were inside the elevator, Jordan relaxed against the back wall. She had the route planned and knew exactly how they were getting out of there. It was perfect, just perfect, she thought.

  But when the elevator stopped and the doors opened, everything changed.

  Chapter 15

  “Don’t move,” an officer shouted. “Hands up.”

  Jordan stood motionless as she stared down the barrel of an automatic machine gun. No way was she able to take on a weapon like this. Not unless she was prepared to be toe-tagged and laid supine on a metal slab along with the other bodies in the morgue.

  “Step out of the elevator,” the officer said to her. “Make it nice and slow.”

  With no choice, she stepped off the elevator.

  “Turn around. Face the wall and keep your hands up.”

  She did as he asked.

  The officer called to the nurse across the room. “Nurse. Come get the bed.”

  The nurse hurried to the elevator. She lifted the sheet from Ben’s face and said, “It’s him.”

  “Get him out of here,” the officer said next.

  More officers filed into the room.

  The officer spoke to Jordan next. “Lower your arms and place them behind your back.”

  “What am I being charged with?” she demanded.

  “Quiet,” the officer shouted at her. “Now lower your arms.”

  “I have a right to know,” she argued.

  “Now,” the officer replied.

  She knew she had no choice. Unless she could fly-kick the sucker and scramble for cover, she was trapped. She glanced from side to side to calculate her odds and quickly determined the odds of survival were just too low. Giving in, she held her hands behind her back.

  “I don’t understand. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, Mr. Ahed is my husband. He didn’t want surgery,” she said.

  The officer pushed the gun into her back, and said, “Quiet. Do as you’re told.” Then, to one of the officers, “Cuff and search her.”

  “What is this?” Jordan protested as the man patted her down.

  “She has a weapon,” the officer said, then quickly raised her dress.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” she cried.

  The officer took the weapon and handed it to his superior.

  “Make sure there’s nothing else,” he said.

  The officer continued, then announced, “She’s clean.”

  “Lead her out,” the superior ordered. And together they paraded Jordan out of the hospital.

  At the station, the officers took Jordan to an interrogation room where they reworked the cuffs and attached them to a steel bar on top of a metal table, then placed her ankles in irons to restrain her from kicking.

  Jordan was prepared. This wasn’t the first time she would undergo interrogation. Nor would it be the last.

  Officer Tavaazo, whom they met earlier at the seaside, entered the room. He wore his thinness like a rake as he approached the table. He pulled out a chair and slinked into an empty seat. The arresting officers stood behind him.

  Jordan didn’t speak.

  Tavaazo pulled a cigar from his pocket, lit it, and inhaled the smoke as if tasting something of a delicacy. And after the smoke dissipated, he finally spoke. “So tell me, ma’am, what is your name?”

  “Jarrat Ahed,” Jordan answered. “And I don’t understand why I am here. I am an innocent woman.”

  Tavaazo picked up her passport and began examining it. “Mrs. Ahed?” he said to her in a questioning tone.

  “Yes,” Jordan said. “Am I being charged with something? What have I done? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  He placed the passport back on the tabletop and slid it to the side as if positioning a fine piece of art. “I’m still waiting for my answer.”

  “I’m sorry?” Jordan replied.

  Tavaazo sprung from his seat without warning. He banged the tabletop with a fist and shouted into her face, “Your name!”

  “Jarrat Ahed,” Jordan repeated.

  Tavaazo relaxed his shoulders and returned to his seat, staring boldly into Jordan’s eyes.

  Jordan looked downward at the surface of the table. She knew if she had any chance of convincing this man of her new identity that she’d better play the helpless female. Let him think he had won the game.

  Recomposed, Tavaazo started again. “This passport says your address is in Tehran. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, of course,” she replied.

  “What were you doing sleeping on the beach?”

  “I told you.”

  “I’m going to ask you again. What were you doing sleeping on the beach?”

  “My husband was too sick to travel, we couldn’t — ”

  “Stop lying.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Tavaazo came across the table. “I don’t believe you,” he spat.

  Jordan cringed, but only for the show of it. She could keep this routine up all day.

  Tavaazo toked on his cigar.

  “He’s sick with the flu,” Jordan added, then forced out tears. “I couldn’t keep going. I didn’t know where to go. We had to stop.”

  “Yes, the man is sick. Very sick,” Tavaazo said mockingly.

  Jordan nodded.

  “But he doesn’t have the flu.”

  “But he does, someone at the hospital was making a mistake. A terrible mistake.”

  “No, Mrs. Ahed, I don’t think so.”

  “What are you saying?” she asked, trying to figure out what angle Tavaazo was playing.

  “What is a simple woman like you, Mrs. Ahed, doing carrying a semi-automatic weapon with a scope, laser spot, and silencer?”

  “Protection.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “It was a gift.”

  “Gift? From whom?”

  “A cousin.” She quickly volunteered a name. “Farrah Moradi. She doesn’t live here. She lives in Iraq.”

  “How was the weapon registered?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You are not permitted to carry a gun without registering it. And certainly not without taking a course on how to use it, especially a weapon like this one.”

&
nbsp; “I didn’t know,” she replied modestly.

  “Come, come, Mrs. Ahed, everyone knows these things. Now why don’t you tell us where a simple woman like yourself got such a weapon.” Tavaazo paused. “Because you certainly didn’t get it from around here.”

  “I don’t know where she got it.”

  “You seem to have an answer for everything except for telling the truth.”

  “But I am, I’m telling you the truth.”

  Tavaazo paused to make his next point. “Have you ever seen the inside of an Iranian prison, Mrs. Ahed?”

  “I’m an innocent woman.”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” he sang. “Not exactly. No, I’m afraid not.” He shook his head at length.

  Jordan protested. “I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not right to detain me like this!”

  “Oh, we can detain you as long as we think necessary.” Tavaazo rolled the thin cigar between his fingers in both an arrogant and effeminate manner.

  “I have rights.”

  “No, madam. Not any longer, not until I say you do.” Tavaazo pulled on the cigar.

  “I want to speak to a lawyer.”

  But Tavaazo ignored her request and instead blew smoke in her eyes. “First,” he said, “the warden strips you. You wouldn’t be of the modest sort, would you?” He paused, but not long enough for her to answer his question. “Then you are shaved, disinfected, and if you’re lucky, you will be placed among the company of the other criminals. But you, no, no, no, I rather think you won’t be so lucky. I think you will go straight into isolation where you will remain until you can begin to,” he raised the level of his voice, “tell the truth.”

  Jordan knew her helpless act wasn’t going to work, not with this man, not now. “I demand a telephone call.”

  Tavaazo slammed a hand on the table, shouting, “No.”

  Jordan looked down at the table. She knew Tavaazo was about to get real nasty.

  Tavaazo stood. He blew another round of smoke in her face. “Look at me when I speak to you,” he said to her sternly.

  She looked up and braced herself, but it was too late. Tavaazo backhanded the side of her head and face.

  “Please,” she pleaded. “I don’t know what you want.”

  “Tell me,” Tavaazo continued, “what type of woman sneaks into a police station to steal papers that are being specially prepared for her … as a favor?”