The Libra Affair

by Daco

  “I had to get back to my husband.”

  “And you couldn’t wait?”

  “I did. Three hours.”

  “No, you didn’t wait. You broke into a police station and stole papers that weren’t ready. You were rude. Impatient. And a very bad guest.” Tavaazo began to pace.

  “It shouldn’t have taken so long,” she tried to defend herself as he circled around to the back of her.

  “And if that wasn’t enough, you shoot a sprinkler head to sound the alarm?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Perhaps I should send you downstairs to clean up the mess.”

  She said nothing.

  “Why don’t you tell me about your vehicle?” he asked her.

  She looked up at him. “Is there a problem?” she asked innocently, but it wasn’t enough to stop Tavaazo from his next move.

  Tavaazo backhanded her without remorse.

  She keeled forward.

  Tavaazo jerked her up by the hair.

  “I’m telling you the truth,” she tried again.

  “Hold her arms,” Tavaazo ordered one of the officers.

  Jordan knew what was coming next. She’d known it the moment Tavaazo lit his cigar.

  Tavaazo jerked the cigar from his mouth.

  • • •

  “Hello,” Isbel spoke into the receiver of Jordan’s phone.

  It sounded as if someone had answered the call, but they weren’t saying anything.

  “Hello? Please is anyone there?” Isbel asked again. Then it occurred to her she ought to say who she was. “I’m not Jordan. We need help.”

  “Who is this?” the woman on the other end of the line finally asked.

  “Isbel Okhovat.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “I found it on Jordan’s telephone. Who are you?”

  “I’m a friend. What are you doing with Jordan?”

  “She was giving me a ride.”

  “To where?”

  “Somewhere in Turkmenistan.”

  “Ashgabat?”

  “Yes, I think that’s it.”

  “Where is your father?”

  “He’s gone.” Isbel felt her chest rise. “He’s gone,” she repeated. Then threw a hand to her mouth so she wouldn’t cry. “You know him?”

  “Where is Jordan?” the woman asked instead of answering Isbel’s question. “Let me speak with her.”

  Isbel spoke in a shaky voice. “She’s not here. The police took her away.”

  “Where are you? What city are you in?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

  “Calm down, Isbel. You must have some idea.”

  “It’s some small town near the Caspian Sea.”

  “Okay, never mind about that for the moment,” the woman said in a soothing voice. “Tell me why the police took Jordan?”

  “We got caught sleeping on the beach. We had to go to the police station to pay some money. It was taking a long time. The alarms went off. Then Jordan came for me. We went to hospital to pick up the man and that’s when the police took her.”

  “What was wrong with the man?”

  “He was sick. I don’t know, maybe he wasn’t. Jordan said to act sick. She told the police he was sick. She told them I was sick, too.”

  “How long ago did all of this happen?” the woman asked next.

  Isbel tried to remember. “I don’t know, maybe an hour ago. It’s hard to think. Maybe longer.”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “I’m still at the hospital. In the parking lot. Inside the car.”

  “Do you think you can stay there without being seen?”

  “I don’t know where I would go.”

  “What kind of car are you in?”

  “It’s a white Samand. We had to change the plates.”

  “Isbel, you’ve got to figure out which city you’re in. Is there a name you can see on the hospital?”

  Isbel suddenly cried out, “Oh no, they’re back.” She quickly sunk down in the driver’s seat.

  “Don’t panic, Isbel,” the woman told her. “Try to stay calm.”

  “Oh no!”

  “Try to stay calm, Isbel. Now tell me, whom are you talking about? The police?”

  “Yes, the police. They’re circling the parking lot. They’ll find me.”

  “Do you know how to drive?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know. My leg is wrapped in a cast. I think I can.”

  “How close are they to you?”

  Isbel rose and looked over her seat. “They’re on the other side of the parking lot.”

  “Listen to me, Isbel. You’re going to be fine. Just do what I tell you.”

  “I can’t because I — ”

  “Isbel! Listen to me.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “Just start the car.”

  Isbel started the engine.

  “Is there an exit to the parking lot that’s close to you?” the woman asked next.

  “Yes.”

  “Back out slowly. You’re going to leave the parking lot and head toward the main street. You need to blend into traffic.”

  “Oh no!”

  “What?”

  “A man saw me.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Just someone. Nobody. But he saw me.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Leaving in the car in front of mine.”

  “Forget about him,” the woman scolded. “When he’s gone, just pull through his spot and follow him. You’ve got to act normal. Take a deep breath and lay the phone down; just don’t disconnect the call. Let me know when you’re in traffic.”

  Isbel drove out of the parking lot and onto the main thoroughfare, doing exactly as the woman instructed her to do until a police siren screamed from behind her. Panicked, the girl floored the accelerator. Without thinking, she stomped her cast-bound foot on the clutch, trying to change gears.

  The police car was gaining on her.

  Isbel cried, “No, no.”

  The woman’s voice shot from the phone on the seat next to Isbel. She was saying something, but Isbel ignored her and just gripped the steering wheel. The car jerked. The voice from the phone grew louder. Isbel had to do something fast. Approaching an intersection, she yanked the steering wheel to the right and turned onto a cross street.

  The siren screeched as the police car neared the intersection.

  “Isbel! Isbel! Pick up the phone.”

  The girl reached for the phone, but in doing so, she accidently knocked it to the floor. Now it was out of her reach.

  The siren grew louder. The police car turned.

  “No, no, no,” Isbel cried as she gaped into the rearview mirror. She tried shifting gears, jerking on the stick. The car clunked, jerked, and kangarooed forward. Isbel had no choice. She steered the vehicle over to the side of the street, where it instantly stalled.

  Isbel’s heart was racing. “I can’t go to jail. I can’t go to jail. I can’t. I can’t,” she frantically repeated.

  The police car sped past her vehicle and continued down the street.

  “Isbel! Isbel?” the woman called to her.

  “It’s gone,” she said. “They didn’t see me. Maybe they weren’t after me.”

  Isbel searched for the phone and found it on the floor. Picking it up, she spoke into the receiver, “I’m here.”

  “What’s going on?” the woman asked.

  “They’re gone. They’re gone.” Isbel was still unnerved.

  “Good. Now calm down, Isbel. You’re okay. Do you hear me? You’re okay. Take a couple deep breaths.”

 
“Just a minute.” Isbel held the phone to her lap and drew in several deep breaths. When she held it back to her ear, she spoke to the woman, saying, “Okay, I’m okay now.”

  “That’s right. Now let’s figure out where you are,” the woman said reassuringly.

  “I’m on a side street. The car stalled,” she told the woman.

  “Okay, so look around you. What do you see?”

  Searching the shops along the street, she said, “I see a car dealership.”

  “Is there a name on the dealership?”

  “I don’t see one.”

  “What else do you see?”

  “Okay, just a minute.”

  “Look for anything that might have the name of the city on it? Maybe a newspaper stand — ”

  “There,” Isbel blurted out. “I see a café. It has a sign on the window.”

  “And?”

  “It says Bandar Torkaman Café.”

  “Good. Good,” the woman praised her.

  “I must be in Bandar Torkaman,” Isbel said with revelation. “That’s right, now I remember.”

  “Good, now listen to me, I think it might be a good idea if you kept a low profile,” the woman said next.

  “I don’t know how. I don’t know where to go.” Isbel’s voice was starting to reveal panic again.

  “Listen to me,” the woman tried to calm her. “I have a plan, I’ll get you out of there, but first, I need you to try to stay calm. Don’t panic on me, can you do that?”

  Isbel panted. “I won’t. I’m going to stay calm.”

  “Now, before you go anywhere else, I need to have a clear understanding of what’s happened. You need to start at the beginning. Tell me everything that’s happened. Start with the day you broke your leg. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 16

  “This whole op of yours is flowing like sand through an hourglass,” Sonya said to Snake over the telephone. “It’s bad enough your girl and her boyfriend are gallivanting around all over the country, now she’s got Farrokh’s kid. Jordan is nothing but a magnet for disaster.”

  “She’s one of our best,” Snake returned.

  “So explain to me why your agent who’s so good has allowed herself to become entangled with some small town local authorities?” Sonya paused. “If you want my opinion, I say it’s time to pull the plug.”

  “I understand you’re pissed — ”

  “You phrase it so delicately,” she said.

  “Pardon my insensitivity, I forget with whom I speak,” he said in a saccharin voice. “But look, my dear lady, need I tell you that pulling the plug is not an option. We’re in motion.”

  “Yes, and your girl is in trouble.” Her voice was snide. “The boyfriend has compromised everything. Let’s face it; it’s time to take him out of the game.”

  Snake grumbled. “I hear you, but there’s too much inside heat back home. Heads are still turning.”

  “Tell me love, how did Ben Johnson ever get into Iran?” she asked pointedly.

  He ignored the question and instead said, “I get you’re angry for being pulled into the field, but you also knew there was a distinct possibility that could happen. The point is, we had to get Johnson out of Evin before he exposed this op, or risked your exposure.”

  “You’re so sweet to think of me.” She knew he meant what he said. As a cooperative Russian operative, she was a valuable asset to the CIA.

  Snake cleared his throat.

  She said, “How could Jordan let her boy make that call to the embassy?”

  “We didn’t factor in the possibility that he’d go rogue,” he replied. “Nor did Jordan.”

  “Exactly. You left too much to chance. And the fact of the matter is, my love, the boyfriend is still a liability.”

  “No one expected this to happen.”

  “It means there’s a trail that wasn’t supposed to exist … after I picked up the pieces back in Tehran.”

  “It ain’t going anywhere. Anyone who was looking has hit a brick wall, including that idiot Knox. There’s nothing more to find.”

  “I disagree,” she said with an edge to her voice.

  “Look, you and I both know Johnson may prove useful in the end. If everything goes haywire, we’ve got the perfect guy to pin it on. Try thinking of him as a fortuitous perk.”

  “Perk?” She laughed disbelievingly before repeating the word. “Perk?”

  “Just get Jordan out of the brig and back on the move.”

  “I’ll do it. But it’s going to cost you.” Sonya had him by the short hairs and they both knew it. “And I mean big,” she said in a raspy tone of voice.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered,” he said. “Just tell me which account.”

  She laughed blithely. “You think it’s that simple, do you?”

  “Name the price.”

  “Seduce me with an offer I can’t resist.” The line went silent. She had him right where she wanted him so she leaned back in her chair and gave it a twirl. She was prepared to wait him out all night.

  And after a few awkward moments, he caved. “Get Jordan out and on the move and I’ll ring up a reservation in Venice.”

  “Sorry?” she said in an unsatisfied voice.

  He cleared his throat. “Okay, I know a spot.”

  “I’m listening,” she said.

  “In the south of France.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s private.”

  “Ah.”

  “Small cafés.”

  “Mm.”

  “A short walk to the beach.”

  “Secluded?” she asked.

  “Enough,” he answered.

  “When?” she pushed.

  “If this op pulls off as planned, I’ll send you the coordinates.”

  “I do love it when you play tough,” she purred.

  “Now,” Snake cut off the pillow talk, “did you get the email I sent? It should have everything you need to create new passports, even for the girl, and I gave you the make, model, and serial number on Jordan’s weapon to produce the permit.”

  “Let me check.” She swiveled her chair back around and faced her computer screen. “It’s here.”

  “How soon can you get up to Bandar Torkaman?”

  “I can leave in twenty to thirty minutes. Get there in four to five hours.”

  “Sonya,” he got to his next point, “we can’t risk the Chinese getting to the girl. She’s seen too many faces. She knows too many names. We need to secure her.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “Sonya,” his voice warned. “Son — ”

  She disconnected the call.

  Sonya had a couple of objectives. Her first was to eliminate the father-daughter side of this equation. The second was to get Jordan back on the road — there was no reason she couldn’t go it alone with the missile. Lastly, she was going to provide Jordan’s boyfriend with a personal escort out of the country before he did any more damage. In time, Snake would get over her taking charge.

  The telephone rang again.

  Sonya looked at the phone. With a finger, she tapped Ignore.

  • • •

  “Sonya Roth,” she said, extending her hand to Officer Tavaazo.

  “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting terribly long,” the officer replied with a spurious smile, not his hand.

  She knew he was baiting her. Two hours was enough to compromise her patience. “No, not at all,” she lied. “Let me get straight to the point because I’m sure you have dinner waiting for you at home.”

  Tavaazo extended an arm, showing the way. “Why don’t you join me in my office?” He escorted her to the end of the hallway.

&nbs
p; Sonya seated herself in the chair closest to the door, suggesting to the man that her time was limited.

  “May I get you something to drink?” he asked as he sauntered to his chair.

  “No, thank you,” she replied as she felt her trigger finger flinch — this man was impossible.

  Tavaazo sat at his desk with his shiny awards and plaques perfectly positioned on the walls behind him so that he appeared to be the subject of a framed portrait. He only lacked a crown, a staff, or scepter. Atop his desk, not a pen, pencil, folder, or piece of paper was strewn sideways, rumpled, or stacked clumsily. A mug was placed precisely in the center of its coaster. A glass ashtray with a thin cigar sat to the side. And a pen set, seldom touched, was positioned front and center for purposes of announcing the man’s importance; however, it was no staff and it certainly wasn’t a king’s scepter.

  “It’s not often that we have such dignitaries as yourself visit us,” he said.

  She replied modestly, “Nevertheless, here I am.” Then she drew the subject to a close by giving him a slightly suggestive smile to work his ego.

  “You know,” he said, “it is our custom here in Iran for all women to present themselves in public wearing a Roosari.”

  “Yes, but I’m a Russian diplomat.”

  “Even those of you who are visitors in this country should show respect,” he said, allowing his eyes to roam below her shoulder-length hair.

  “If I’ve offended you … ” she started.

  “No, no, by all means, be comfortable.”

  Sonya pulled a scarf from her briefcase and slipped it around her head. There was business at hand and she could play at this game, too. “I’m afraid you are detaining a Russian citizen, Jarrat Ahed,” she said.

  “I see.”

  “She has diplomatic immunity. I have her papers.” Sonya took the passport and diplomatic papers from her briefcase, then rose from her chair and placed the documents in the middle of his desk.

  The officer picked through the pages one at a time.

  But neither his silence nor his decisive sifting and sorting through the documents were enough to unnerve her. Petty tactics were just that, petty, and Sonya Roth was well beyond the basics.

  Some minutes later, he placed the documents in front of him. He picked up the pencil-thin cigar lying in wait on the lip of the ashtray. He tapped it against the glass rim and cut a sharp eye toward Sonya. “Do you mind?” he asked, holding up the cigar as if she might protest.