The Libra Affair (19 page)

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.”

“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.

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.

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.