by Daco
She waved him off to do as he pleased.
He lit the cigar and exhaled a gray line of smoke toward the ceiling, then spoke to her like a child awaiting his order. “Perhaps you should come back later, after I have had more time to exam the authenticity of these documents,” he told her.
“You question my authority?” she toughened.
“I question your motivation, Ms. Roth. Or is it Miss Roth?”
“I am here to collect only what is mine, Officer Tavaazo.”
He raised a brow in response to her tone.
“So if you would be so kind,” she said forthright.
“How is it you came to learn about Mrs. Ahed’s presence here in Bandar Torkaman?” he asked.
“We are not unaware of police activity. It is our duty to pay attention to one’s host. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“You make it sound underhanded,” he retorted.
“I’m asking that you release Mrs. Ahed to me now. We will be of no further trouble to you.”
Tavaazo leaned back in his chair. “And your identification, may I see it?”
“Yes, of course. I’d be happy to.” She sat down and reached for her briefcase.
“No, on second thought, that won’t be necessary.” He leaned forward and began gathering the documents. “I think my assistant has already checked. Am I right?”
She stiffened as she sat upright. She’d had enough of his game playing and extended her hand for the papers. “If you don’t mind, Officer Tavaazo, it is late and I have a long ride in front of me.”
He placed the papers to his side. “You’re forgetting about Mr. Ahed,” he said as he placed his fist on top of the stack.
“Am I?”
“He’s in no condition to travel.”
She dropped her hand to the edge of his desk. “I’m sure he’s in good hands.”
“You haven’t a clue about this man.”
“If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Ahed is in the hospital.”
He pulled on the cigar and blew out more smoke. “So your plan is to leave him behind?”
“I don’t see that he’s ready to leave the hospital, do you?”
“And the daughter, where is she now?”
“With her father.”
“Is she?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see that the girl’s whereabouts is any of your concern,” and as soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she’d gone too far.
Tavaazo narrowed his eyes. “Let me be the judge of that,” he replied, revealing his anger.
And rather than argue the point, she let it go.
“Tell me,” he moved on, “how is it that you claim a woman with a Persian name and an Iranian passport is actually a Russian citizen?”
“Her mother was Russian, her father Iranian,” she was quick to explain.
“Ah. I suppose that would account for the fair, creamy complexion.” He gave her a dirty smile.
She didn’t respond.
“Yes, well you see, Ms. Roth, this still doesn’t answer my question.”
“Russia recognizes Mrs. Ahed as a citizen.”
“She carries an Iranian passport.”
“She’s half Iranian.”
He tapped a finger on top of his desk to slow the pace. “You should know our government does not recognize dual citizenship.”
“But we do,” she quickly replied.
“Help me understand. If one has diplomatic immunity, why does he or she run around with a passport that lacks the greater protection? Wouldn’t it make more sense for Mrs. Ahed to carry her Russian passport? If it were I, hypothetically speaking of course, I would keep the one that gave me the greater protection.”
“She lives in Iran. Why shouldn’t she carry the Iranian passport? Perhaps it makes life less complicated and avoids scrutiny like this.”
“She told us she was Iranian.” He rocked back in his chair.
“She’s both.”
“I think we have the right to retain Mrs. Ahed, especially if she represents to us she is an Iranian citizen.”
“No, sir, you may not.”
“Yes, you see, not only is Mrs. Ahed a liar, she doesn’t seem to have a permit for the weapon she’s carrying.”
Sonya held her tongue.
“Ms. Roth, I think it’s time to examine the authenticity of your papers.”
Chapter 17
Sonya’s and Officer Tavaazo’s eyes locked as they bit off a moment of silence. They were at a standoff, which was about to end.
“I suspected it would come to this,” she said as though reprimanding a child.
From inside her briefcase, Sonya produced a document signed by the ambassador along with a distinguished, high-ranking Iranian official. She placed it on top of his desk and slid it underneath his nose.
“What is this?” Tavaazo asked as he picked it up. The document’s seal was official, the signatures unmistakable, and its authenticity without question.
Sonya took pleasure in watching the color drain from his face.
“Please,” she said with a smile, “telephone if you must. And here are my papers.” She held them across the plane of his desk.
Cornered, all he could do was respond with an embarrassed, “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.” And to avoid her penetrating stare, he took great pains to extinguish his cigar.
She returned the papers to her briefcase, then produced one last document. “And here,” she waited for his attention, “is the permit that allows Mrs. Ahed to carry a weapon.” She held it up for him to read.
With her Bishop locked dead-on to his King, she had the weasel. It didn’t matter if she’d cheated by using the Russian ambassador’s credentials without his approval. There were times when necessity trumped protocol.
“I see,” he replied.
“I think we’re quite through here, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’ll take that weapon.”
Tavaazo rose from his chair.
Sonya joined him, but not without collecting her documents on his desk. “I appreciate your cooperation,” she said, giving him a salacious smile. She had the devil about her and enjoyed tormenting her victims, especially when they refused to roll over.
• • •
A key rattled in the lock of the cellblock door.
Dazed, Jordan woke from her self-induced coma. She was slow to face the door. The appearance of a guard meant that it was time for another round of interrogation. And after what Tavaazo and his friends had just put her through, she had a hunch rape was next on their agenda.
The guard threw an armful of clothes at her, then yelled, “Get dressed.”
“Why?” she dared to ask.
“Do as you’re told.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m not waiting here all day.”
Jordan stumbled to her feet, quickly dressed, and then followed the guard to the front office where Officer Tavaazo and Sonya Roth were waiting. At times, the mere sight of Sonya could be exasperating, but now, the woman’s face shone like the vision of an angel.
When Jordan reached them, Sonya spoke to her in Russian. Not waiting, Sonya threaded an arm through Jordan’s, saying, “This way,” and like clockwork, they turned toward the lobby to leave.
“Have a safe journey,” Tavaazo said, seeing only their backs.
“Keep moving,” Sonya said under her breath.
Jordan didn’t argue. But when they reached the door, Jordan stopped with a jerk. She faced Sonya. “My necklace? Do you have it?” she asked in a hurried whisper.
Sonya ignored the question and instead reached for the handle.
“No.” Jordan pulled back on her arm.
Sonya turned the knob.
“I can’t leave it,” Jordan said.
“You can,” Sonya said.
“He, he took it.” Jordan’s voice was weak.
“Let it go.”
“I can’t.”
Sonya faced Jordan, then said, “Don’t.” Her meaning was clear — Jordan was placing them both at risk — they needed to get out of there and fast.
But Jordan persisted. “It’s … ” her voice cracked, “ … all I have left of her.”
And in hearing those few words, something changed in Sonya. Her face not only hardened, she stood taller. She glanced over her shoulder back at Tavaazo, standing at the opposite end of the hall.
“Hold this,” she said and gave Jordan her briefcase.
The once quieted hall erupted without sound as Sonya pounced toward the man. Her heels struck heavily against the tired old floors like a hand to a drum.
And like stone, Tavaazo stood utterly motionless.
It was her move: Queen to Pawn, which spelled only one thing — certain death.
When she reached the man, she stopped six inches from his face. “You have something that doesn’t belong to you. I’d like it now.” She thrust her hand to his throat.
“Sorry?” He pulled back.
Matching his move, she advanced, saying, “The necklace.”
Tavaazo swallowed hard.
Sonya stood her ground and waited him out.
“Oo-hh,” he drew out the word, “my apologies.” He dug a hand inside his pocket, found the necklace, and dangled it to the side like a carrot.
Sonya maintained her stare as she seized the necklace from his thieving hand and said not another word.
Once seated within the safety of her car, Sonya unclenched her fist and stared at the necklace as though it had just revealed more than its own set of secrets.
“I once had a necklace,” she finally explained. “It belonged to my mother, too.” Then she lifted the jewel and lowered it into Jordan’s hand.
Jordan slipped the necklace over her neck and tucked it inside her dress.
Sonya continued. “But I did not have such a diamond,” she said. “Mine was a ruby. Like a pigeon’s blood.” Sonya stopped. Her untold story was finished with the tale as clear as if written over a thousand pages.
Jordan didn’t respond.
Noticing the burns on Jordan’s arms, Sonya said, “I see they treated you nicely.”
But Jordan said nothing.
“How many?” Sonya asked.
“Five.”
“Five?” Sonya murmured. “That little man and his filthy cigars.”
“Only two were — ”
Jordan stopped and Sonya let it go, too, saying only, “A small price to pay for one’s freedom, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes,” Jordan agreed as if thanking her.
Sonya punched the button to roll up the window between them and the driver. Once it clamped shut, she spoke. “It seems you have added a passenger to your manifest since we met last.”
“Yes, so it seems,” Jordan admitted. “How much up to speed are you?”
“Well,” Sonya started, “that depends. If you mean whether I know Farrokh has gone underground and the Iranians are looking for both him and his daughter, yes, I know that. I also know that your boyfriend and some ‘unidentifiable person,’” she looked at Jordan, “who instigated his jailbreak are also wanted. Not to mention, we don’t know if Farrokh has leaked anything to the Chinese NSB, and as soon as we pick up his daughter, Isbel, who saved your … well, let’s just say when we catch up with her shortly, that situation will be resolved. Yes, I’d say I’m quite up to speed unless there’s something else I haven’t heard.”
“Isbel called you?”
“Yes, and aren’t you lucky you left your phone in the car.”
“Time was short. I carried only what I needed.”
“It’s a good thing the girl called me.”
“I don’t store names and numbers on my phone,” Jordan explained. “The girl must have scrolled through numbers recently dialed. I hadn’t purged everything yet.”
“Might I suggest that you make it a priority.”
“So what’s the stat on Farrokh?” Jordan diverted the topic. “I assume you are looking for him.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Sonya rotated her body toward Jordan so that there was no avoiding her. “So tell me, Agent Jakes, why did you allow yourself to fall prey to Farrokh? Because nothing could convince me that you would do anything to jeopardize this op. What possessed you to pick up the girl? If Farrokh was such a threat, why didn’t you take him and the daughter out when you had the chance? And once you had her, why didn’t you dump her and your boyfriend off at the nearest truck stop, or at least get them across the border into Turkmenistan, tuck them in, and kiss them goodnight?”
Sonya paused to catch her breath, then continued without missing a beat. “Too much has gone wrong. It’s like watching a bad dream spring to life. And furthermore, who sleeps on the beach? Do you know what I went through to get you out of there? You’re lucky you have friends. And if you weren’t the only expert around who could set off — ”
“Don’t.” Jordan touched Sonya’s leg. It was enough to stop Sonya cold in her tracks. Jordan slowly drew her eyes away from Sonya’s and toward the rearview mirror. “Some things are better left unsaid,” she was referring to the missile, “even among friends.”
There were very few who knew the full nature of this op; even fewer who knew it was underway.
Sonya reached into her jacket. “Here,” she said and slipped Jordan her papers along with the new passports. “Add them to your collection.” Then she withdrew Jordan’s weapon from her briefcase.
Jordan took the weapon and thanked her.
“Not that you’ll need it,” Sonya continued as she searched through a folder, “but here’s the registration required to carry that gun.”
Jordan strapped the gun to her thigh. “It’s hard to explain,” she said in a lowered voice. “The loose end here is Farrokh. I was supposed to quiet him after Libra launched, but then Ben came along quite unexpectedly. After the girl broke her leg and the authorities started questioning them, Farrokh decided to run. For all the obvious reasons: the girl, Ben, Libra. It’d all eventually point back to him; he worked there that’s how he got the codes, remember? Look, Farrokh threatened to go to Fat Su if I didn’t take the girl.” Jordan paused when she noticed the driver looking back at them in the rearview mirror.
When he looked away, she began again. “Farrokh only cares about the girl. It’s his kid. To keep her safe, they had to separate, they couldn’t afford to be seen. I get it, but look, I had no choice. He had too much to fall back on. Time was short, we were on the go, I had to make a judgment call. I couldn’t be sure if he’d make contact with the Chinese or what he might have told the girl.”
“Go on,” Sonya said.
“There wasn’t time to take him out when he dropped off the girl and even if I had wanted to, he was ready. He had the edge on me. Plus, he had the codes. So I took the girl for the codes. It wasn’t going to be forever. Yeah, I could have dumped her at a truck stop, anywhere, but I couldn’t be sure what she knew or what Farrokh told her so I played it safe. I knew as long as I had his kid, Farrokh wasn’t likely to squeal or do anything dumb. If I dumped her somewhere and she so much as squeaked, we’d be uncovered.”
Frustrated, Sonya drew in a deep breath.
“I have to tell you,” Jordan continued, “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Farrokh so we’re kind of stuck. We have to keep the girl safe. There’s no other way. If Farrokh surfaces and the girl’s nowhere to be found, there’s no telling what he’ll do. And not only that, I have a hunch Farrokh told the girl just enough to stay in the game. I don’t know what. It’s somet
hing I would have done if she were my kid.”
Sonya piffed.
“But the girl,” Jordan explained, “she’s a basket case right now. She’s doped up on meds and sleeping a lot so she hasn’t said much. And she’s young. Bottom line, we can’t let her fall into the hands of the Iranian authorities or the Chinese NSB.”
Sonya nodded. “Exactly.”
“My plan is simple,” Jordan continued. “Position the girl so we’re done with her and finish the job. Don’t get me wrong; it’s not like I didn’t want to clean up the mess.”
“Did you tell Farrokh where you were taking the girl?”
“Turkmenistan,” Jordan replied. “So where is she now?”
“I’ve got her stashed at a park southwest of the hospital.”
“Perhaps you could consider driving the girl across the border,” Jordan suggested.
“Jordan.”
“So … what’s the plan then?”
Sonya narrowed her eyes. “You mean who has the honors?”
“Didn’t you hear a word of what I just told you?” Jordan said, exasperated. “We have to keep the girl alive.”
But all Sonya said was, “We’ll have Farrokh before he and the girl make contact.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” Sonya insisted.
“She saved my life.”
“Don’t give it another thought. You can wait in the car if it clears your conscience.”
“And Farrokh?” Jordan asked next. “What if you don’t catch up to him? What if he turns up and the girl’s gone?”
“He won’t.”
“Sonya, we can’t be sure.”
“Let’s just say, I’m sure.”
Jordan gritted her teeth.
“Think of it like this, Jordan. If the Chinese get hold of him or even the Iranians, Farrokh’s going to take the fall. No one will care what he says. No one will believe a word he says, least of all Fat Su.”
“How can you know that?”
“When he ran with his kid, he lost all credibility with the Iranians, he’s a criminal now. Let’s just hope Libra flies before the Chinese find out what happened. Taking Farrokh and his kid out of the game now is the only way to keep our cover.”
