by Daco
He let out a smug laugh. “What do I want,” he repeated her words. “I want you to tell me your name and what you’re doing in my country.”
“It’s too late for that,” Jordan replied.
“Who do you think you are talking to?” he spat back at her.
She didn’t reply.
“Shut up and drop to your face.” He threw a pair of cuffs to Farrokh. “Cuff her,” Tavaazo said, nodding to Jordan.
Jordan held her position. “Don’t,” she said to Farrokh.
“Now,” Tavaazo yelled.
“Jordan?” Farrokh looked helplessly at her.
“On my count of three, your friend here is finished,” Tavaazo said.
Farrokh took a step toward Jordan.
“One,” Tavaazo started. “Kick her to the ground. Now!”
“Two.”
Farrokh kicked Jordan to the ground.
“Cuff her,” Tavaazo said, revealing his pencil-thin smile.
Farrokh did as he was told.
Then Tavaazo threw Farrokh another set of cuffs and said, “Cuff the blonde.” Then he spoke to Sonya. “Hold out your hands, Ms. Roth.”
With the gun to her head, she did as he asked and Farrokh cuffed her.
“Now get back,” Tavaazo said to Farrokh.
Farrokh stepped back.
“Down on your knees.”
Farrokh obeyed.
“Now for you,” Tavaazo spoke to Farrokh. “Well, well, it seems I’m missing an extra set of cuffs. It looks like we’ll have to harvest a pair from one of these women first.”
“What do you want from us?” Farrokh braved the words.
“Justice,” Tavaazo said. “Truth,” he added, but it was obvious the man wanted respect, something he was unable to earn.
“Sir, please,” Farrokh begged, clasping his hands together.
Tavaazo ignored him, and instead mused, “Which one shall it be?”
“We’ll cooperate,” Farrokh stammered. “There’s no reason to kill anyone.”
“Perhaps this one.” Tavaazo rammed the gun into the side of Sonya’s head. “Yes. I think the other one will be more fun to keep around a little longer.” Tavaazo was ruthless, his expression sinister.
“No,” Farrokh tried. “Please. You’re making a mistake.” He was desperate.
“What’s wrong? Haven’t you ever seen a dead body?” Tavaazo sneered at him.
“No,” Farrokh lied.
“Liar, you’re all liars.”
“Sir, you’re an officer of the law. What are you doing?” Farrokh asked.
“Bringing you to justice.”
“Please, this is all a mistake.”
“You’ll enjoy watching these whores die. These dirty infidels.”
“Take me instead,” Farrokh said.
“One by one. You get to watch them scream, b-e-g, and plead.”
Sonya struggled.
“Stop!” Tavaazo shouted at her, ramming the gun into her head. They struggled more.
“You give me no choice,” Tavaazo cried. “Say goodbye.”
Then out of the blue, a shot rang out.
Sonya screamed.
Jordan cringed.
And Tavaazo dropped to the ground. Sonya toppled alongside him, hitting her head.
Ben stepped into the light. If there was such a thing as a smoking gun, he was holding it, although it hung at his side in defeat. His expression was grim but indomitable — Jordan knew a chunk of his soul was forever crushed.
Farrokh scrambled to his feet. He raced to Sonya. He dropped to her side and took her into his arms. “Sonya, Sonya,” he called her name, then patted her face.
Sonya was stunned.
Jordan slowly rose to her feet. She was both speechless and aghast as she searched Ben’s face.
Ben stared into Jordan’s eyes. Time seemed indefinable. His arm went limp. He dropped the gun. Then cut his eyes toward Tavaazo’s body.
Jordan shook herself out of it and looked at the body. A pool of crimson surrounded Tavaazo’s head. She hurried to the body and with one foot, she gave it a solid shove. Over it rolled. Tavaazo was dead. Ben’s shot was clean, efficient, and rendered like a skilled marksman.
Jordan looked back at Ben. He hadn’t moved an inch. She was flummoxed. He’d saved them. Sonya, her.
“You killed him,” Jordan said. There was a small quiver in her voice.
Ben nodded, unable to speak.
“You could have killed Sonya.”
“But I didn’t,” he finally spoke.
“Ben?”
“And I wouldn’t have.”
“Where did you learn to shoot like that?”
“Deer hunting.”
“Deer hunting?” Jordan crooked her head to the side. She’d never known that part of him. He had never spoken of it. And even odder, Ben pulled the trigger when morally and ethically he didn’t believe in killing, not beast or foe.
“I hated it,” Ben explained, “but I was good at it.”
“So why — ?” Jordan stopped. She didn’t know what to say; her emotions were swirling within.
Ben answered her question. “My father made me do it, like everything else in my life.”
Jordan walked to Ben, stopped mere inches from his face, and looked deep into his eyes. “You had me from the first taste of beef barley. That first night we were together. When you asked, I just couldn’t say it.” Her voice weakened. “I had no choice.”
Ben surrounded her in his arms and kissed her hard.
And as Jordan kissed him in return, she whispered to him, “I do, Ben. I do love you.”
“See how simple that was to say.” He smiled as he kissed her more.
Some moments later, Sonya regained consciousness. “Stop slapping me,” she cried to Farrokh. “Please.”
Farrokh hugged her. “Thank goodness, you’re alive,” he said. “Are you hurt?”
“No, no. No, I’m just fine.” Sonya sounded indignant. “If you wouldn’t mind, would you please help me up.”
“Yes, of course.”
Jordan pulled her lips from Ben’s and glanced over her shoulder at Sonya and Farrokh. It was a peculiar sight to see that woman in Farrokh’s arms, she thought. And Jordan couldn’t help but wonder if Sonya was embarrassed by Farrokh’s response to her well-being, or simply pleased. There was more to that story than Jordan cared to know, at least for now.
“Let me check on them,” she told Ben, then pulled away and walked to Sonya. “You okay?”
Sonya admitted, “A little dazed, but no worse for wear, as you Americans like to say.” Then Sonya glanced back at Farrokh. Her face flushed, but she quickly regained her composure. “Farrokh,” she said, “would you be so kind?” She held out her arms.
“Right.” Farrokh searched Tavaazo’s pants for the keys to the handcuffs.
When the cuffs were freed, Sonya said, “Spasiba,” thanking him in her native tongue.
“Khahesh Mikonam,” he returned in his own language.
“Let me take care of Jordan,” he told her.
When she was free, Jordan nodded toward the body, and said, “Let’s take care of this.”
Jordan faced Sonya who stood next to her. “You okay?” she asked her again.
“Yes, fine,” Sonya answered.
“I think we can manage it from here,” Jordan told her.
“Let me get the door for you,” Sonya said and walked with them to the unit.
When they finished with the body, Jordan spoke to everyone, “Okay, let’s get going.” She looked longingly at Ben. When he nodded, she knew words weren’t necessary. He had killed a dangerous man to save them and was risking his life all because he loved
her. Just knowing this, Jordan suddenly found a new level of strength to get this job done so she could take Ben home — not get him home, but take him home to be with her, to meet Willoughby, and to have a life together that she’d never believed was possible.
Before turning to leave, Sonya spoke to Jordan. “I used an embassy card at the hotel. Tavaazo must have been looking for us.”
“I figured as much.” Unconcerned, Jordan shrugged. “That, or he just followed you.”
“I’m sure I would have seen him.” Sonya’s voice fell as if she questioned herself.
“Maybe. He was a weasel, that man, and he might have been pretty good at staying covered.”
Sonya walked with Jordan to the truck.
“Thanks for everything,” Jordan said to her, keeping it brief.
“I’ll take the girl,” Sonya finally said.
Puzzled, but not really surprised after what had just happened, Jordan asked, “Are you sure? You don’t have to.”
“I said I’d take the girl,” Sonya said. “I’ll drive her across the border.”
“Where to?” Jordan asked.
“I’ll head south toward the preserve. I’ll find a dirt road to cross over, and then meet you back at the airstrip in Serahs, Turkmenistan.”
“Why are you doing this? You don’t have to.”
“Because I don’t see that you have much of a chance.”
“Thanks for your vote of confidence.” Jordan smiled.
Sonya returned an artful smile. “Besides, the girl could be useful.”
“Don’t count on it,” Jordan said. She wasn’t about to let the girl slip into a life of espionage, not when she was just about to be free from it all. But she’d deal with this later. Jordan turned to Isbel waiting inside the truck and said, “There’s been a change. I want you to go with Sonya now.”
“But I thought … are you sure?” the girl asked, uncertain.
“Yes.” Jordan nodded. “It’s best for you and safer.”
Jordan turned to Farrokh. “Isbel is going with Sonya. Help her out of the truck.”
Without further discussion, Sonya turned and headed toward her vehicle. She threw up a hand and waved as she said, “You’re welcome,” and not two minutes later, Isbel was loaded into her car and off they went.
Jordan led the convoy to the desert. They left the small town of Sarakhs and passed through the fertile pastures of Kaandakali and as soon as they were beyond the green of the last farm, the barren desert appeared like the turn of a page. They were greeted by a strong wind, rushing in from the south and filling the air with a fine cloud of sand. Jordan rolled up her window and switched on the windshield wipers, but it was little help against the sand.
Ten minutes into the drive, the walls surrounding the silo came in view and there was no sign of the Iranian Army. It was more than she expected.
• • •
A quarter-mile from the silo, the convoy stopped next to an outlying water tank and shed. Farrokh parked the Jeep, then he and Ben jumped into the back of the burlap-covered truck. They were leaving the Jeep behind because they needed it after Libra launched. Anything closer than a quarter-mile radius would burn when the missile launched.
When they reached the silo, Farrokh covered his face with a scarf and headed toward the entry point. It was hard to see with the sand spitting into his eyes, but he could have been blind and been able to type in this code. When a voice answered over the intercom, Farrokh announced that he had a delivery of supplies. It didn’t take long to convince the man underground to accept the supplies after explaining that there’d be no more shipments for two weeks with the war games taking place. Of course, punching in the correct entry code helped to gain the man’s confidence, too.
“Let me grab the boxes,” Farrokh spoke into the intercom. Then he ran back to the truck and called to Jordan in the driver’s seat. “We’re in, let’s grab a box.”
At the back of the truck, Farrokh jumped inside and grabbed a medium-sized box for himself and another for Jordan. Only these boxes weren’t filled with food; they were loaded with ammo. Once Ben was out of the truck, Farrokh handed him a small box containing his medications and supplies.
Farrokh shouted to Jordan over the roar of the intensifying wind. “I was thinking, we should leave Chou’s identification somewhere inside the silo after Libra blows.”
Jordan shouted back to him. “You want to frame Chou?”
Farrokh set down his box. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. It flapped in the wind. “I’ve got his prints,” he said, then held the paper so she could make out the codes for the launch.
“Why are we having this discussion right here and now?”
“It beats framing Fat Su,” Farrokh said. “Think about it — we have a chance to get the job done quick and clean.”
The wind whipped the burlap cover on top of the truck.
“We can’t go changing the op now,” she said.
“We’ve been changing this op by the minute,” he argued. “Think about it. Nothing has gone as planned. For a simple op, we’ve had nothing but problems right from the start.”
“Let’s just get inside.”
Farrokh stuffed the paper back in his pocket. “Just think about it, Jordan. It makes perfect sense. When I’m in Peru, you can tell Fat Su you took care of me.”
• • •
When Jordan turned away from Farrokh, a gust of wind slapped sand in her eyes. After rubbing them and adjusting her scarf, she heard the distinct roar of a major sandstorm, developing due south. She checked her watch. Libra had to fly before that storm arrived. They couldn’t take a chance of the hatch malfunctioning if it got buried too deep in sand.
Jordan turned to Ben. “When we get inside, whatever you do, don’t say a word. Stay inside the elevator, out of sight. Don’t press any buttons. The doors will remain open.”
“Got it,” Ben called back to her.
“The second the elevator stops, put on your mask. Don’t take it off.”
“Okay.”
At the entry point, they went inside a small concrete room. Farrokh punched the button and they waited for the elevator to arrive. The doors jerked opened and they entered the car. Jordan set her bag down as Farrokh punched the button to descend. When the car stopped, they put on their masks just as the doors started to part.
Jordan and Farrokh popped the tops of two canisters of the tear gas. Farrokh tossed his payload off toward the living areas of the silo. Jordan took the center area and raced toward the control room.
Before entering the room, she pitched a second can inside just as the man at the control desk was rising from his chair. Not waiting, she fired a clean shot and took him out cold. She hurried to the body, rummaged through his clothing, and found the man’s launch key.
Farrokh took care of the man inside the mess hall, secured the second key, and then joined Jordan at the control desk.
“Ready?” Jordan asked through her mask.
Farrokh held up his key. “Ready.”
Together, they inserted the dual-launch keys.
“Let me verify the laser is in position and ready for lock-on,” she said, then punched in a series of numbers on her satellite phone and waited for a signal reply. “We’re on.” Ben’s experiment was now in space and Laser One was operational. She faced Farrokh to start the count. “On my count of three.”
“No,” Farrokh suddenly said.
Jordan looked at him.
He shook his head no. “You don’t have the correct code.”
She whipped up her gun and pointed it at him.
“If you kill me, Libra will never fly,” he said.
If Farrokh were going rogue, she’d take him out cold, then bust through the wall panels — welded or not — cut some wires, an
d bypass a code-based launch.
“What do you want, Farrokh?” she barked at him.
“Chou’s ID.”
“We can’t do it your way. Fat Su will know what happened. Everything will fall apart.”
“Where is it?” Farrokh persisted.
“I’m not giving it to you.”
“Get it.”
“Why are you doing this, Farrokh?”
“It’s the only way.”
“Are you asking me to shoot you?”
Then he admitted the truth. “Fat Su ordered me to take you out. He told me you were the liability.”
She lowered her gun. “Don’t mess with me, Farrokh,” she shouted at him.
But he didn’t fight back. “I swear,” he said, then raised both of his hands to make his point.
“Are you trying to prove you can’t be trusted?”
“I knew what you’d do.”
“Did you?”
“You would never have agreed to this until I forced your hand.”
“I trusted you.”
“You still can.”
“No, Farrokh, you’re changing an international op. You can’t know the consequences.”
“I thought it through.”
She shook her head with disbelief. They were so close.
“Think about it, Jordan. Is it any mystery why Chou showed up at the hotel?”
“To warn me about the delay, the war games, maybe to help.”
“And the bazaar?”
“Those were the Russians. Sonya didn’t trust you.”
“No,” he insisted. “How do you think I survived? It was Chou. He was only making sure we were doing what they hired us to do: launch Libra and kill each other. The Chinese wanted us both dead, I know that now. At first I thought it was only going to be you, but after what you told me, I realized they were setting us both up to get rid of any possible leaks.”
“I don’t believe that,” she cried, despite the fact that she’d already reached the conclusion that the Chinese were making Farrokh the scapegoat. She just never considered herself to be targeted as a liability, too.
“Jordan, it doesn’t matter who’s right. This is the only chance — for you, me, Isbel, and him.” He nodded his head in the direction of the elevator where Ben was waiting.