The Libra Affair (30 page)

“Have you reached Jordan yet?” he asked Sonya who was standing at the window.

“She doesn't answer her phone,” Sonya lied.

“Try her again.”

Sonya never intended to cut him his deal.

“Give me your phone.” He held out his hand.

“And whom do you plan on calling?” She turned to him now.

“Don't toy with me. You know exactly who. Now hand me the phone or I'll use the hospital's.”

The nurse entered the room and spoke to Sonya. “The patient needs to walk some more if he has a chance to go home tomorrow.”

Sonya gathered Ben's slippers and motioned that they were going for another walk.

“I'll take him,” the nurse told her.

“I don't mind,” Sonya said.

“I need to notate on the chart how he's doing. Why don't you have a rest, dear? You've been so helpful.”

Sonya and the nurse helped Ben to stand. And as soon as Ben and the nurse left the room, Sonya dialed Jordan's number.

“We need to talk,” she told Jordan.

“What's going on?”

“Your boy is onto us.” Sonya clicked the tips of her nails on the arm of the chair.

“What do you mean?”

“He's figured out ninety percent of what we're doing
is what I mean
.”

“He knows we're using his experiment?”

“Yes.” Sonya came across as exasperated. “He hasn't put it all together, not yet. But he's close. Too close.”

“It took him long enough,” Jordan remarked.

“That's not what concerns me.”

“Oh?”

“Oh is right,” Sonya repeated. “He thinks he's going to help us.”

“That's admirable.”

“Be serious, Jordan.”

“I'm sorry, I find it amusing.”

Sonya continued. “He's insisting that I bring him to you when the doctor releases him.”

“I'm sure you can outmuscle the man.”

“He's persistent.”

“So when do you think they'll discharge him?”

“Tomorrow, if all goes well.”

“That's good.” Jordan sounded pleased. “So get him out of the country before anything else happens; he'll never know where you're taking him.”

“He's pretty determined to see you.”

“So handle him.”

“It may not be as easy as you think.” Sonya stopped clicking her nails.

“What are you getting at?”

“He says whatever we're up to, we're going to screw it up.”

There was a pause, then Sonya explained, “Your boy knows SpaceX delayed the launch of Falcon 9. He says with the delay, we can't be sure of the experiment's proximity in space — latitude, longitude, coordinates — whatever they call position in space,” she struggled to find the correct term, “and your boy says if you altered his program, it'll have to be reprogrammed, if you want it to work.”

Jordan banged the steering wheel. “We took all that into account. What is he talking about?”

“I don't know.” Sonya's voice heated. “I'm not the scientist here.”

Jordan reflected. “He must be talking about the correction in polarization.”

“How so?”

“The skew.”

“Meaning?”

“It's the adjustment the laser makes while taking into account the curvature of the Earth,” Jordan explained.

“Which means what?”

“The laser has to be rotated to compensate for the curvature of the Earth between the target and laser beam, plus there's a narrow window of time to actually make the strike when you consider the Earth is spinning and not stationary.” Jordan said more simply. “You can't lock onto a target if it's not in sight. It's simple math. Are you with me?”

“Wasn't this all accounted for?” Sonya questioned.

“Yeah, but — ”

“Wait.”

The door to the room swung open. Ben and the nurse entered the room. Sonya glanced up just in time to see Ben bounding directly toward her.

“Let me talk to Jordan,” he demanded in English.

“Hold on there,” the nurse spoke to Ben. “The cords … ” She hurried to keep pace with him to prevent the IV stand and cords from becoming tangled.

Sonya turned away from Ben. “Someone wants to speak with you,” she told Jordan in Russian, then placed the phone into Ben's hand.

“Jordan,” Ben started.

The nurse snatched the phone from his hand, and said, “Now just a minute, let's straighten out these cords. Sit down. Please.”

Ben fought against the woman as he was forced to be seated.

“Mr. Ahed,” the nurse said in a brisk tone, “you need to calm yourself. You don't want to tear your stitches.” Then she handed Sonya the phone and reached for Ben's arm to measure his pulse.

Sonya patted his shoulder, trying to calm him, but he wouldn't settle down. She reached for the bag on the IV stand and said to the nurse, “Isn't Mr. Ahed low on fluids?” She had to do something to get the nurse out of the room.

“Yes, yes,” the nurse said, eyeing at the bag. “I'll go get one before I take his vitals. He's too anxious at the moment anyway.”

Ben reached for the phone, but Sonya held it from him until the nurse left the room. When the door closed, she gave him the phone, but warned him, “Make it quick.”

• • •

“Jordan, are you there?” Ben's voice shot through the phone.

“I'm here,” she replied. “Are you all right, Ben?”

“Listen to me.” He was out of breath. “I know what you're up to, not everything, but I've got a pretty good idea.”

“Ben — ” Jordan started to deny what he was saying.

“No, listen to me,” he insisted, then dove into explaining as if he were a member of their team. “If you haven't accounted for the relative position of the Earth at the time of your strike, you'll miss whatever it is you're aiming at. It's as simple as that. Do you understand me?”

Jordan didn't respond.

“Do you hear me?” he repeated.

“I hear you,” she said unaffected.

“When the laser is released into space, if it isn't specifically directed to strike your target, it could hit Falcon 9 or even the Space Station. Do you know what that would do?”

“That's not going to happen,” she finally admitted.

“It very well could,” he insisted.

“How?”

“The computer program was written to abort and reload if the Falcon 9 was delayed to avoid any corruption. So if the program has been altered, there's no telling what will happen without me looking at it. And as you very well know, we've been delayed.”

“But that doesn't make sense.”

“Yeah, it does. An application was written to scan and repair any errors
or
potential threats. An application inserted outside the designated parameters would definitely be tagged. We had to be sure the beam wouldn't strike an unintended object.”

Jordan fell silent. If the program aborted and reloaded, the application she planted was likely to be detected as something foreign or a virus, and then expunged, which meant their mission would be dead in the water.

“And look Jordan, if your application corrupted the rest of the program, and something screwy gets reloaded, you better know, if you're aiming at something on the Earth, there's no telling what you'll strike. Whoever wrote your program, if they didn't account for the change in the Earth's daily tilt, the laser beam will miss your target. And like I told you, if it hits the Space Station or Falcon 9, you'll have the worst disaster in space history on your hands. On that note, I don't know the date and time the experiment is scheduled to be released now, not with this delay, which means if your application can't identify the window to make the strike, there's no telling what it'll hit.” He paused. “Whatever you're up to, you'd better let me in on it before you have a real disaster on your hands.”

She was pushed to the wall. She had to let him in now whether she liked it or not, but she'd keep the details limited.

“Talk to me, Jordan.”

So she did. “Are you certain your experiment will be delayed?”

“I'd bet the farm on it.”

“Can the program be accessed now from Earth? You must have some means to communicate with it in case something goes wrong, right?”

“Yes,” he answered, “but only if I can log onto the NASA computer system.”

She paused and then asked, “Will you do it?”

“On one condition,” he said unyieldingly.

“Name it.”

“You come clean with me.”

“Ben, you're placing me in an awkward position.”

“And you don't think I'm sitting over here in the dark?”

“It's a matter of national security.”

“
And
my experiment.”

“Okay,” she said, “I understand how you feel.”

“Do you?” he came back at her.

“I'd feel the same if the situation were reversed. But you have to understand too much is at stake. More than you can know. I'm sorry, emotions can't be a part of this.”

“I see that now.”

The conversation quieted.

Then he went in for the kill. “So what exactly did that mean to you the other night when we made love at the sea?” His words soared straight at her. “Tell me, Jordan.” He paused. “Was making love a matter of national security?”

“Ben,” Jordan's voice was soft.

“How do you really feel about me? Do you love me?”

• • •

Sonya gasped. Ben ignored her, waiting for Jordan's response.

“Can we talk about this later?” Jordan asked him.

“No,” he replied. “I want the answer. Now or never.”

“I — ”

“The honest answer, Jordan.”

“I — ”

And before she answered, he interrupted her for the third time. “Whatever you say, it'd better be the truth. Just don't lie to me.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I've known you long enough, I'll know if you're lying.” It sounded ironic, considering their circumstances and the number of lies she had already told. “What we had together, Jordan, was real. What you're doing is the lie. I'm willing to get beyond all that.”

After a long pause, she finally said, “Isn't it obvious?”

Her response wasn't good enough for him. “That's a cop-out, Jordan. Commit to an answer. Just do it. Make your choice.”

The door to the room opened and the nurse reappeared with the bag of fluid. “I need to draw some blood and take his vitals,” the nurse said as she walked directly to Ben. “Can you continue this conversation another time?”

Ben gripped the phone and leaned away from the nurse. “Now or never,” he said to Jordan. And when she said nothing at all, he told her, “You don't even have the courage to tell me a lie.”

“Come on,” Sonya said to him.

But he held up a hand to block her, too.

“If you want to get out of this hospital tomorrow, you'd better do as you're told,” Sonya said as she reached for the phone.

With no other choice, he handed her the phone. “What does it matter? I'm done with Jordan. Done. Over.” His voice was harsh; his words nothing but bitter.

• • •

Jordan spotted Farrokh walking on the side of the highway. Traffic was light, and as planned, she pulled the car in front of him and waited for him to get in the backseat.

“It's hot today.” With an already moist sleeve, he wiped his forehead drenched with sweat.

But all Jordan said in return was, “It'll be hotter tomorrow.”

“Baba,” Isbel chimed in. “I was so worried.”

“Nothing to worry about, my child. You are in very good company,” he told his daughter.

“Yes.” Isbel looked admiringly at Jordan, then grimaced with pain.

Jordan noticed the girl's expression. “I think you need some pain medication; it's been awhile.” Then, glancing back at Farrokh, she explained, “Isbel's leg is infected.”

“How bad is it?” he asked.

“She should be fine,” Jordan said, “but a doctor will need to look at her to be sure.”

After Isbel's medication kicked in, the girl fell asleep. The three of them rode in silence while Jordan focused on the long stretch of highway in front of them. Everything seemed settled until they rounded a bend in the road and saw a wall of sand appear on the horizon.

Farrokh sat up and leaned forward. “I hope that's not what I think,” he said in a whispered voice.

“You and me both,” Jordan said.

He scooted back in the seat and lowered the window to listen. That's when they heard the distinct sound of engines grinding in the distance and smelled the exhaust.

“It's the military,” he said.

“Has to be,” Jordan agreed, then downshifted to slow the car. They both knew, without saying a word, their circumstances were about to change.

“It's hard to get a count. Do you have glasses?” he asked her.

Jordan was already reaching inside the glove compartment. She retrieved the compact pair of binoculars she kept in a kit and handed them back to him.

Farrokh dipped outside his window and strained to see into the distance while Jordan leaned in toward the windshield.

Jordan called to him, “My impression is ten to fifteen vehicles, maybe twenty. Half of them transporting men.”

“I count three flatbeds each with two tanks.” A moment later, he said, “Add a transport carrier with Jeeps.”

Jordan banged the steering wheel. “This means one thing.”

Farrokh dipped back inside the car. “War games.”

“Has to be,” she agreed.

They were nearing Gombazli. They both knew that the convoy would turn there and head north into the desert toward military outposts, which would place them entirely too close to Libra. The missile silo housing the Libra was buried beneath the sand at the edge of the Iranian and Turkmenistan border. It was easy to reach. A fifteen-minute drive down a dirt road beyond a small farming community led directly to the site. Now the obstacle wasn't that the silo sat in a restricted area, but that it would be crawling with soldiers.