The Libra Affair (39 page)

“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, and 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.

“Give me one good reason why I should do this. Tell me why I should believe anything you say.”

“You'll never make it into China. If I didn't take you out — and they were counting on that possibility — Fat Su planned to finish the job. He has a squadron of jets standing by, he's ready to shoot down your plane the second you cross into China. They never trusted you either.”

“No. That's not true. They trusted me to get this job done,” she argued.

“And that's as far as you go.”

She'd thrown the same words at him earlier. What if Farrokh was telling the truth? What he was saying made sense. If the Chinese NSB were cleaning up possible liabilities and leaks, why wouldn't they take care of both of them after Libra was in play? Neither of them was Chinese. They were only agents the Chinese NSB believed they had turned — never to be fully trusted — if they turned once, they'd turn again. Farrokh must have figured this out; maybe he tried convincing Fat Su he was still a viable asset; maybe he said they both were still viable.

Or maybe Farrokh cut himself a deal, but now that Chou was dead, the game had changed on him. But if that were the case, he could still take her out and claim ignorance about Chou.

Or if the Chinese did cut him a deal, maybe Farrokh figured out they never intended on honoring it. He must have known he was pinned a liability, especially if she had been. It only made sense. Chou must have come along to ensure the job got done exactly as the Chinese NSB originally planned — and to make sure that she and Farrokh killed each other — and if that didn't work, Chou would clean up. Why else would Farrokh have told her she was pinned a liability?

It suddenly made sense to her to use Chou as a scapegoat. Farrokh was right. Why go to the effort to frame Fat Su when they had Chou?

She had to go with her gut. “Who else is in on this?”

“No one,” Farrokh said. “It's just me.”

“Sonya?”

“No. Not a chance. It's all very simple, Jordan. Fat Su and Chou planned on us killing each other down here so they could frame the Americans once your body was found. I'm Iranian, my government would never fold on one of their own.”

She stared at him.

“You've got to face it, Jordan … all the Chinese wanted from you … and me … was to set off Libra. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I wanted to, but — ”

“You were going to kill me?” she yelled at him.

“Were you going to kill me?” he yelled back.

“You bailed on me!” she stammered.

“So I made you believe. I'm sorry.”

“Farrokh!”

“I had to know whether I could trust you.”

She was speechless.

“It all changed when you took Isbel,” he said. “Then I knew for certain that I could trust you.”

“Yes, it all changed.”

“Come on, Jordan, this op was no good for either one of us. It's been plagued from the beginning. We just didn't know it. Those are the risks we take.”

She considered the angles. The fact that he outed with his instructions to eliminate her when it gave him no benefit, regardless of how she looked at the picture, it proved that he had to be telling her the truth. The Chinese NSB meant to make her the scapegoat and there was only one thing they could do to reverse that plan: frame the Chinese by using Chou.

“We leave Chou's info here,” she said. “It'll be proof enough the Chinese launched Libra. It clears both the Americans and Russians.”

“And a gun with his prints all over it.” Farrokh held up a gun in his gloved hand and smiled. “It seals the deal.”

“What haven't you thought of, Farrokh?” She smiled at him through her mask.

“I planted the storage unit, too.”

“I'll get the papers,” she said. Then she rose from her chair, taking her key. He followed her. Inside the elevator, she searched her bag for the pouch containing her IDs. It wasn't in the pocket where she normally kept it. Nor was it inside her bag. The pouch must have fallen out; it had to be inside the truck.

She looked back at Farrokh. “I have to go up; my pouch isn't in my bag. It must have fallen out.”

Farrokh waved for Ben to get off the elevator. “You can wait here,” he said to Ben.

“I'm trusting you're playing straight with me, Farrokh. If you harm a hair on his head, I'm personally going to strap you to Libra.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he replied.

She stepped inside the elevator and spoke to Ben. “I've got to go up. I left something behind.” Then she looked at the gun in his hand and discreetly checked to make sure the safety was still disengaged.

“Tell me what it is, I can get it for you,” he said to her.

“No, wait inside.” Then she brushed a hand across his chest and gave him a gentle nudge to get off the elevator.

Outside, the storm had advanced closer than what she expected to see. The wind was fierce. She covered her head and leaned into the wind as she raced toward the truck. She sprang the door open, climbed in, and searched the floor until she found her pouch. Farrokh was correct; this op has been plagued since the very beginning, right down to the stupid mistakes like misplacing this pouch.

Back inside, Jordan handed Farrokh Chou's Chinese passport. “Put it somewhere the Iranians will believe Chou lost it on his way out,” she told him.