The Libra Affair

by Daco

“Don’t talk, just listen,” she said to him.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Yes.”

  Farrokh raced back to her. “It’s her.”

  “I thought so.” Jordan turned to him.

  “She’s trying to turn around. What’s your call?” Farrokh asked.

  “Are they after her?”

  “It looks that way. What’s your call?” Farrokh asked her again.

  “We go in full force,” she replied. “Grab Ben a gun. Get your mask and I’ll get some smokers.” Then she turned back to Ben and said, “It’s going to get ugly. Stay in the car. Keep the windows rolled up. If anyone comes your way, shoot to kill. Aim for the chest.”

  She grabbed the beret from her belt, threw it on her head, then twisted her braid and shoved it underneath the hat.

  Farrokh returned with a gun, released the safety, and handed it to Ben. “Jordan, I’m not killing anybody,” Ben started to argue.

  “Do what you have to,” she said to him and shut the car door.

  “Come on,” she said as they raced toward the front. “Farrokh, you take the north face, I’ll go right. As soon as you open the door, I’ll toss my smoker between the truck and the unit. Send yours where we’ve got a gap. Go on my signal.” She gave him a smoker and they put their masks on.

  “Hey, stop,” a man outside yelled to Sonya.

  In position, Jordan threw a finger toward Farrokh.

  Farrokh lifted the garage door.

  As the door rose, Jordan popped the top and pitched the smoker between the truck and the opening of the next unit. Smoke showered the area; it was enough to obscure the lights next door.

  Farrokh tossed his smoker toward the driver’s seat of the truck.

  A man standing outside of the truck went for his sidearm.

  Before he fired, Jordan aimed and took him out cold. The man fell to the ground. That left one inside the unit and another in the back of the truck.

  Farrokh dropped and rolled to Jordan.

  She shouted through her mask, “I’m going in. Take the man in the back of the truck.” Farrokh nodded as she dropped to the ground and went on the crawl.

  Gunfire lit from the back of the truck. Single shots.

  A man yelled, “Stop!” He was inside their unit.

  The shooter continued to fire.

  Jordan was on the move. Inside the other unit, she crawled along the wall toward the back until she bumped head-on into a man.

  He swiped at her, making contact with her arm.

  She lost her weapon.

  A hand-to-hand struggle ensued. They rolled toward the center of the unit.

  More shots fired from the back of the truck.

  What was keeping Farrokh? He should have taken the man out the man by now.

  On the roll, Jordan bumped her hips forward, spread her legs, and wrapped them around the guy. She pinned him in a body-lock, but he had the weight advantage and ended up on top.

  The shooter continued to fire shots, pinging the crates just inches from them.

  Reacting, the man hurled his body and Jordan’s toward the wall. There, he freed an arm and lobbed a punch toward the side of Jordan’s head.

  She ducked, taking half a blow; the cement floor got the rest.

  He grunted. Coughed and hacked with pain.

  She cast her weight forward and delivered him a head-butt that sent him spinning. He faltered. She rolled onto his back, grasped his neck, and ended the struggle.

  Outside, the man with the gun was still at it.

  Where was Farrokh?

  Scrambling, she found her weapon, then moved quickly along the inner wall toward the open door. The smoke was thinning but still heavy enough to obstruct a clear view. Farrokh was nowhere to be seen; it was too risky to shoot. Not waiting, she crawled left and returned to their unit. There she waited just inside the lip of the wall.

  A single shot rang out. Then a thunk.

  Farrokh must have got him. She waited to be sure.

  Smoke continued to dissipate. Morning light was emerging.

  She threw off her mask and panned the perimeter.

  The first man she’d hammered was lying face down. Another man to the side — the shooter. Adding the man inside their unit, the liability count was three — everyone was now accounted for. Then she noticed Farrokh flopped to the side of the truck.

  She sprinted to the other men first to rule out survivors. Then she rushed to Farrokh and threw two fingers to his jugular. He was alive.

  “Farrokh?” She shook him hard.

  He opened his eyes. He was dazed. “Jordan,” he said, peering at her through his mask. “Did you get them all?” he asked, pushing the mask from his face.

  “I got two.”

  He sobered. Then jerked upright. “Two? There were three. One inside the truck, one outside, and your man in the unit.”

  “But you got the man inside the truck?”

  “No.”

  She lowered her voice as she felt the blood drain from her face. “It wasn’t me.”

  He whispered, “Maybe he shot himself? Maybe the guy inside the unit got him.”

  “No.”

  “Who took him out?” Farrokh’s eyes widened.

  “Maybe we miscounted.”

  “You saying his own man took him out?”

  “I don’t know.” Jordan dropped to the ground to scan the perimeter from underneath the truck.

  Farrokh continued. “The last thing I remember, I was running to the side of the truck. The smoke was thick. I must have run into the side of it. Jordan, I never fired the first shot.”

  “Someone else is here. Go front, I’ll take the rear.” They immediately split.

  Farrokh checked the cab, then moved around toward the front of the truck.

  Jordan snaked toward the rear. Sheltered by a tire, she peered around the end of the truck.

  A lone silhouette appeared at the edge of the complex.

  Jordan aimed.

  A woman walked into plain view as if strolling through a park. Jordan disengaged her gun and shouted, “Stand down. It’s Sonya.”

  Jordan met her halfway.

  “Where would you be without me,” Sonya said to her.

  “Nice work.” Jordan smiled.

  Sonya smirked. “I aim to please.”

  Jordan said, “For a minute there, I thought we miscounted.”

  Farrokh joined them next. “Where’s Isbel?”

  “Around front,” Sonya told him. “Perhaps you’d like to leave her there for the moment?” She faced Jordan. “So what’s your plan now that you have a pile of bodies?”

  “Lock them up and take off,” Jordan answered her. “We don’t have time for anything else.”

  “There’s another problem,” Sonya said.

  Jordan waited for her to explain.

  Sonya said, “The borders are crawling with armed units. I don’t think your kids” — meaning Ben and Isbel — “can make it through the back gate,” — meaning a dirt road — “if anyone catches up with them, they’re bound to spot the girl.”

  “What about the trunk?” Jordan suggested.

  “That won’t work. They’re searching vehicles from top to bottom.”

  “Great.” Jordan wanted to curse, but held her tongue.

  Then Farrokh said, “It’s all because of the protest in Tehran, it has everyone on high alert.”

  “That and with these war games security is tightening up,” Jordan added. “I’d be surprised if an ant has slipped through.”

  “Jordan.” Sonya’s tone changed. “The ambassador called. He wants me back in Tehran in case he calls for an emergency evacuation. I can’t stay gone any longer. I’m sor
ry, it’s time for you to take custody of your kids.”

  “I was hoping otherwise, but I’m not surprised,” Jordan said.

  Sonya drew back. “You’re the one who put this army together, not me.”

  Jordan turned to Farrokh. With Sonya bailing, they’d just have to deal with it. “Come on, Farrokh,” she said to him. “Let’s get these bodies inside.” They lifted the arms and legs of the first guy.

  Jordan looked at Sonya. “Give us a few minutes before you bring the girl around to us.”

  Sonya nodded.

  Jordan and Farrokh placed the body behind a stack of boxes, then added the second and third ones to the pile. Sonya stood watching.

  When they finished, Farrokh said, “Okay, that’s it. I’ll lock it up.”

  When the door was secured, Jordan said, “Why don’t you grab that hose over there at the side of the building and give the cement a quick wash. It’ll keep anyone from becoming suspicious too soon.”

  “Got it,” he said and went to work.

  Jordan walked to Sonya. “I’ve got to check on Ben.” Then she headed toward the Samand. At the car, she looked inside and saw that Ben was still lying on the seat with his gun pointed toward the window. “It’s okay to come out now.” She opened the door and reached a hand to him.

  “What happened?” he asked as he accepted her hand.

  She spared him the details and said, “Minor distraction.”

  “So now what?”

  She ignored the question and began searching the vehicle. Nothing could be left behind when they dumped the car.

  Sonya entered the unit.

  “Where’s Isbel?” Ben asked when he saw her coming.

  “In the car,” she told him. Then she stopped next to Jordan. “Are you ready for the girl?”

  “Is Farrokh finished?” Jordan asked.

  “It’s a river of blood.”

  “Give him a few more minutes,” Jordan said.

  It wasn’t long before Farrokh finished watering the cement and returned the hose.

  “The Jeep’s loaded,” Jordan told Farrokh. “If you’ll toss the rest of the trash and light the dumpster, we’ll be all set.” Then she looked at Ben. “You and Isbel are riding with me,” she told him.

  “What about Sonya?” he asked.

  “She’s been called back to Tehran. She has to go.” Then moving on to the next objective, she said, “We’ve got to dump the Samand. Sonya, before you leave, would you do us one last favor?”

  Sonya agreed with a nod.

  “Ben, I need you to drive the Samand and follow Sonya. She’s going to find a spot to leave the car, then she’ll bring you back. Wear these latex gloves so you don’t leave your prints behind.” She handed him a pair.

  Jordan faced Farrokh next, she was about to signal for him to get in position, but then noticed blood on his sleeve. “Farrokh,” she said half-alarmed. “You’re bleeding.”

  He looked down and searched his body from side to side.

  “Your arm,” she said. “The left one.”

  Farrokh examined his left arm. His sleeve was wet with blood. “That’s odd,” he said. “I thought it came from those guys.”

  “Let me see. Hold out your arm,” she told him, then raised his sleeve. “Ben, look inside my bag. There’s a first-aid kit. Grab the Ace bandage and a large Band-Aid.”

  “Didn’t you feel it?” Jordan asked Farrokh.

  “No,” he said. “The feeling in this arm is limited, but it’s still odd I didn’t feel a thing.”

  “One of the bullets must have clipped you. Try flexing your arm,” she said and then watched as he slowly bent his arm. “It looks like your arm is swelling.” Ben handed her the bandage and she began to wrap the arm. “If this continues, you’re going to lose the use of this arm, which means you won’t be able to drive a stick.”

  “I can drive,” Ben said.

  “Come now, Ben, have you ever driven a military Jeep?”

  He stiffened his stance. “It’s not like you’ve got a lot of choice.”

  Sonya agreed. “He’s right, you know.”

  “I don’t know.” Jordan expelled a labored breath. “Maybe we need to scrap the Jeep and just go with the truck.” She finished wrapping Farrokh’s arm.

  But Farrokh said, “And drive that monster over the border into Turkmenistan? Anyone who even looks our way will find us dead in the water. And let’s not forget, we’ve got rugged terrain to cross. Traveling by Jeep is the only way to go.”

  “Jordan,” Ben said. “I can drive the Jeep.”

  Jordan stood back and looked at Ben as if sizing up a soldier before combat. “That makes more sense anyway,” she thought aloud. “Farrokh can ride shotgun and be armed. He’s trained to shoot; that alone makes him the better shot even if he’s limited to one arm. Isbel and I will travel by truck. After Libra is in play, we’ll all travel over the border by Jeep.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” Sonya said. “Okay, so come on,” she said to Ben, “we don’t have all day.”

  “I need two minutes before you leave,” Jordan said to her, then faced Ben. “We need to get you dressed in a uniform.” She looked at Farrokh, then cut her eyes toward the closed unit. “Farrokh, can you get the one without the crap all over it?”

  He knew what she meant — to go get the uniform off the dead guy who wasn’t covered in blood. It’d spare Ben from seeing the dead bodies and keep his mind straight before they drove into the desert.

  Farrokh said, “Right,” and started toward the unit.

  “I’ll go get my car.” Sonya turned to leave.

  Jordan looked at Ben. “Go put your bag in the Jeep. Farrokh will be right with you.”

  “Are you sure it’s necessary for me to change?” Ben asked.

  Jordan stepped close to him. “You want to live through this?” When he nodded obligingly, she continued in a stern, uncompromising voice. “Then don’t question my authority. Are we clear?”

  “I’m just saying — ”

  “Don’t. Everyone falls in line and does exactly what I tell them to do, are we clear?”

  “Yes, but — ”

  “Good.”

  “But I — ”

  Jordan pointed due west toward the barren desert. “You see that over there? If you can’t or won’t follow my directions, then you might as well start marching and hope to hell you get across the border without getting shot.”

  Ben backed down real quick. “Okay, he said. “I’m with you.”

  Then she continued giving him orders as though their disagreement had never occurred. “After you drop your bag in the Jeep, wait for Farrokh. He’ll bring the uniform to you. I’m going to back the Samand out of the unit.” Without another word, she turned and headed toward the car.

  By the time Sonya drove back around the facility, Ben was already dressed and waiting at the wheel of the Samand. Sonya located a junkyard a couple blocks away, which allowed them to dispose of the Samand with little time wasted.

  Back at the storage complex, Sonya stopped her vehicle and let Ben out of the car. The door to their unit was closed and a fire in the dumpster was burning the last of their trash, including the chairs, table, and makeshift shelf. There was no traceable sign that any of them had ever been there.

  Ben headed toward the Jeep parked in front of the truck. Farrokh was waiting for him. Isbel was already inside the truck with Jordan sitting at the driver’s seat.

  Sonya walked to the truck and spoke to Jordan. “Good luck,” were her final words. Then she headed toward her car parked behind the truck.

  Jordan faced Isbel. “I need you to be brave.”

  “I will,” Isbel replied.

  “Ready?” Jordan said to her.

 
“Let me wave goodbye to Sonya.”

  “Make it quick.”

  Isbel leaned her head out the window to wave goodbye.

  “Sonya!” the child screamed. “He has a gun!”

  Jordan grabbed her gun, cocked it, and leaned out the window. But it was too late, a man had Sonya by the neck with his gun pointed at her head.

  Chapter 32

  Officer Tavaazo held the gun to Sonya’s head.

  “Move!” he said as he shoved Sonya forward.

  Sonya dug in her heels and moved slowly against the weight of Tavaazo’s body.

  Jordan froze. She could take out Tavaazo, but it’d be too late for Sonya. He’d shoot her the second Jordan so much as flinched.

  “Put your gun down or I shoot,” Tavaazo shouted to Jordan.

  “What do you want?” Sonya said to the man.

  “Justice,” he cried. “Now move.”

  “You can’t get away with this,” Sonya cried.

  Tavaazo shouted at Jordan next. “Don’t keep me waiting. Drop your gun.”

  Jordan stared at the man. If she put down her gun, she knew she was as good as dead.

  Farrokh rushed the scene. He stopped cold in his tracks.

  “You, too,” Tavaazo shouted to Farrokh. “Throw your gun over here.”

  Farrokh cast Jordan a horrified look.

  “Do it now or I shoot,” Tavaazo demanded.

  Any hope Jordan had that Farrokh would manage the situation was now destroyed. The only way out of this would be if she could get close enough to Tavaazo to kill him with her bare hands.

  “Get out of the truck. Nice and slow,” Tavaazo said as he neared Jordan. “And you,” he spoke to Farrokh next, “get down on your knees, hands behind your head.”

  Farrokh did as the man asked.

  Without looking back, Jordan waved a subtle hand to Isbel to stay put, then she emerged from the truck.

  “Get down,” Tavaazo said to her. “On your knees.”

  Jordan lowered herself to her knees, but didn’t dare take her eyes off the gun in his hand. The trigger was ready to snap at any second. Then she glimpsed into Sonya’s eyes. Her tough exterior was shattered. The woman was frightened. They both knew what Tavaazo was capable of doing.

  “What do you want, Tavaazo?” Jordan asked, trying anything to stall the man.