The Libra Affair (36 page)

It took more than a few hours for Ben to dictate the application to Kara while she typed it in and read it back to verify accuracy. When the process was complete, he waited while Kara saved the file, sent it over to POCC, and had it uplinked it to the Space Station Control Center.

Returning to the line, Kara said, “I'm back. And you'll be happy to know, POCC accepted it and the uplink was successful.” She waited for a response. “Ben?” she said. “Ben? Are you there?”

He didn't respond.

Jordan turned toward Ben. He was slumped over the bench with his head down and the phone lying to the side.

“Ben,” Kara called out again.

Jordan raced to Ben's side and nudged him to wake up.

“What? Hello?” Ben said.

“Are you okay?” Kara asked him.

“Sorry, I think I fell out a minute. How'd it go?” he asked her.

“Like a charm. We're all set,” she said.

“That's great news. Thank you, Kara.”

“Jason sends his regards,” was the last thing she said before they concluded the call.

Ben handed the phone back to Jordan. “That was no easy task.” He rubbed his eyes.

“Thank you, Ben.” Jordan massaged his shoulders. “I know a lot of people took a leap of faith to make this happen, especially you.”

“And about that leap, you want to tell me what object we're aiming my laser at down here on Earth?”

Jordan didn't speak; she continued to massage him.

“Let me guess,” he said. “How about a cruise missile? An intercontinental ballistic cruise missile?”

She played stupid. “What makes you say that?”

“You don't actually think I can't read programming language?” he countered. “And, I'll tell you this, it's lucky Kara couldn't, Jason, too, otherwise, this whole thing would have been
game off
.”

“If you read it, then there's nothing for us to talk about, is there?” she replied, then took a seat next to him.

“It puzzles me why we're over here in Iran setting off a missile aimed at the heart of Europe that my laser is supposed to destroy. That's what's happening here, isn't it, Jordan?”

She angled her head and listened.

“A missile the Iranians aren't even supposed to have,” he added.

She didn't try to confirm or deny what he was saying. She simply folded her hands and placed them into her lap between her thighs.

But he wasn't ready to throw in the towel. “All I hope is that it's not a nuclear warhead.”

She gave him a look that said no without having to admit to it.

“What's the point in all this?” He was pushing for her to say something, anything, but she wouldn't. “So what is this, World War III?”

She knew it was time to throw him a bone, so she shook her head no, hoping that would do the trick. It didn't.

“I beg to differ. That's exactly how this looks to me.”

“No, Ben. It's nothing to worry about. I promise you that.” But her words only infused him more.

“You think because you track and detonate a missile midair that it won't start a war beyond any mankind has ever seen?”

“It won't. I'm telling you. No one gets hurt.”

“This is exactly why I'm leaving science. You can't trust your own government to be ethical.” He was visibly steamed.

“It's not like that.”

“Oh, yeah? Then what's it like?”

“Politics. It's only politics.”

“Right,” he said. “So here we are, Americans sneaking into Iran to set off a warhead aimed at Europe so that the Europeans think Iran is waging war against them. And let's look at these coordinates, where exactly do these coordinates place your missile? Ah, yes, Germany — how fitting.”

“Can we leave it alone?” she said. “No one is going to get hurt.”

“No, Jordan, we can't leave this alone. So what happens next? Do the Europeans rally and then retaliate against Iran or all of the Middle East?”

“It's not like that.”

“And just whose side of this war are we on? Who do the Americans gallop in to rescue?” His voice was riddled with disbelief.

She didn't know how to stop him. He needed some truth, something to hold onto so that he could get beyond this whole ordeal.

“So I'm curious, Jordan, are we going to rescue the Europeans in our home-cooked war or what?”

She had to tell him something. “Let me answer you by asking a question.” She paused to gather his attention. “What country are we in?”

“Iran.”

“Yes, Iran. So let's leave the conversation right there. You have your answer.”

However, he was only more inflamed. “The Americans are going to rescue Iran? Aren't we going about this backwards?”

“No, not really.”

“Somehow I just don't see the point.”

“If you really believed that, Ben, then you wouldn't have allowed my application to
beam up
to your box.” She looked at him without emotion — despite the fact that his face was contorted and full of emotion — because she had to maintain her position above anything she felt for the man.

“Yeah and I'm asking myself why I took that leap of faith.”

She had already gone too far in what she said to him, but she was also tired of all the lies.

“Stop lying to me, Jordan,” he nailed her solid.

She stared into his eyes. The dam was breaking and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She couldn't tell him directly, but she couldn't lie to him any longer either.

“Tell me, Jordan.”

“You're on track, Ben. You can figure this out if you'll just calm down and think it through.”

He quieted, staring back at her.

“I'm just not at liberty to disclose anything to you.” In saying this to him she justified her actions by telling herself that he had the right to know what was going on, morally, if for no other reason. Moreover, it wasn't as if she was the one doing the talking.

Suddenly, he calmed and eased back into his seat. “So Europe — Germany — wants to retaliate, Europe gets on the bus. They look to their allies. The U.S. first.”

“I can see that,” she interjected to keep him going because she was tired of keeping him in the dark; she was tired of him not believing in her, and mostly, she was tired of the lie that she knew he would figure out and hold against her. Or was it simply that her job had finally taken its toll?

He continued. “But the U.S. declines and sides with Iran. Because you said that, you said the Americans would rescue Iran.”

“I asked you what country you were in.”

“Same difference. You were giving me the answer.” He paused. “But why?” Then he zeroed in on a linchpin. “Oil.”

“Something like that.” She sat forward in her chair.

“If it's not just about the oil, then … ”

“You're one chip away.”

“If it's not the oil, why does the U.S. side with Iran? Why not their allies?” He was confused.

“You're almost there,” she led him on.

“Another country, a major player comes to the aide of Europe,” he suggested.

“Keep going,” she encouraged.

“It's not Russia,” he said. “Not with our friend Sonya here.”

She nodded.

“Not India, not Japan. It has to be someone big. Someone like China. It's China.”

She tipped her head to the side.

“So it's the U.S. verses China for the oil.”

“Almost, but not exactly.”

“Almost, but not exactly,” he repeated her words. “The Chinese see a way to overtake Iran. They plan to march into Iran, but the U.S. befriends Iran along with the support of the Russians, and together we keep the Chinese and everyone else out of Iran.” He looked at her. “But that still leads to war, Jordan.”

“Unless?” she pushed him toward the answer.

“China somehow gets framed and everyone blames them instead.”

And that's when she finally said, “Bingo.”

“Then what?”

With the answer played, she felt free to speak. “The rest of the world blames China and world politics take over from there. Embargos, trade sanctions, whatever the powers-that-be think should happen.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we gain a short-term economic advantage over China. Or more like we level the playing field. In case you haven't noticed, the Chinese are running the world economy. And at the same time, if this all works out, we're back in Iran like the good old days of the shah.”

“We get the oil.”

“We get a better price on oil, but more importantly, we control the Middle East.” She folded her arms and sat back in her chair. “But I didn't say all that, you did.”

“So how do the Iranians explain the missile?”

“They're not to blame, they didn't do it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they were sabotaged,” she explained.

“By the Chinese.” He finally understood.

“And not only that, the Iranian weapons program is fully exposed, which means we get to march in and control the game. It's better than letting them sneak around and build up a dangerous arsenal.” She'd given him the party line; now, it was time to let him hear how she felt inside. “On a personal note, if we pull this off, we help the people of Iran. The common man, woman, and child. With all the sanctions and embargos that have been slapped on Iran, the common person is forced to live buried underneath, these people are barely surviving. It shouldn't be like that, not when this country is rich with resources. And not when only a few at the top benefit. And another thing, women need help. Do you have any clue what it's like for an Iranian woman? Being considered no more than half a citizen, the property of her husband or father, and the chance that she could be sold into prostitution and executed for her forced indiscretions? If we can make a difference there, if we can move them toward a democracy, we can make a difference throughout the Middle East. We have an opportunity to change these people's lives.”

Their conversation quieted.

Then he asked, “So how do you prove the Chinese are to blame?”

“That involves a little of step one and step two.”

“You've already got the culprit?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

She shook her head no.

“So where does that leave you?”

She read the concern in his voice, but refused to say more. “Ben, this is as far as I go with the story.”

“You're not going to China, are you?”

“Come on.” She rose from her chair. “You need some rest.”

“And me? Where do you think I'm going to be when all this happens?”

“Sonya is going to drive you and Isbel — remember that sweet young girl who was good enough to help save your life — to Turkmenistan.” Jordan paused to make her point, and then added, “I need you to look after Isbel until her father comes back for her.”

“And my experiment? No one will ever be the wiser.”

She tipped her head in acknowledgment. “All the public will ever know is that your experiment was successful and that our atmosphere can be cleaned up. You'll be a hero. Maybe even get the Nobel.”

“And what happens after Turkmenistan?” he asked, because apparently he could care less about the accolades.

“Home,” she answered. “You get to go home and have your life back.”

“And Isbel? Where's her home?”

“Stop worrying, Isbel and Farrokh will be fine. All we need is for you to take care of the girl until the job is done. And I promise, right after that, I'll see to it myself that you get a ticket home. Deal?”

He didn't agree or disagree. “I just don't get all of this,” he said. “This whole mission, whatever you call it, it seems convoluted. Maybe I'm naïve, but why can't we as people just sit down and resolve our differences with the plain and simple truth?”

“Life is like a scale, Ben. For the world to be a safe place, we continually have to seek balance. That goes for each of us in our individual lives as well as world leaders fighting for limited resources. It's not about truth or solving our differences — we'll never be able to solve our differences — it's about balance, and right now, the world is off-balance. The Chinese have too much control over world economics, they have too much power.”

He didn't respond, although he appeared to finally understand.

“Jordan.” Farrokh touched her shoulder.

Jordan's eyes sprung open; she glanced at her watch. It was Wednesday morning just before four
A.M.
Her alarm wasn't due to sound for eight and a half minutes.

“We've got company,” he told her.

“Ah, jeez.” She bounced upright.

“They're back.” He nodded to the unit next door.

She scrambled out of the Jeep and onto her feet. “How many?”

“Three.”

She began to braid her hair. “You got a vehicle count?”

“One truck.”

“They sure didn't waste any time.”

“What's our move?” He stood ready like a soldier.

“They can't be here when Sonya arrives. Let's give them half an hour.” She rubbed her eyes. “They're cleaning out the unit, right?”

“Looks that way. The truck is backed up to the door.”

“With three men,” she reached inside the Jeep and grabbed her bag, “they're bound to be in and out of here in thirty minutes to an hour.”

“What about the man?” he asked, referring to Ben. “Do we wake him up now?”

“No, let him sleep until we figure this out. We've got two hours before we launch Libra. If those guys are still here in thirty, we won't have a choice, we'll have to take them out.”

“Why not do it now?” He wiped the sweat from his brow with a sleeve. “We could rendezvous with Libra using their vehicle.”

“That's a thought. A real good thought.”