Free The Libra Affair by Daco Page B

“But again, I’m sorry, there’ll be no more readings, we’re closing the business.”
    â€œAnd one more thing, I’ve got a coattail obscuring my sun sign, goes by the name of Kominski,” she said, referring to Ben’s new Russian identity.
    â€œIf he’s a Cancer, there’s no cure.” Eliminate the liability.
    â€œWait — ” But it was too late; Snake disconnected the call.
    â€¢ • •
    â€œID?” the flight attendant said to Ben, who’d woken up just seconds before.
    He felt his chest, found the passport, and handed it to her.
    The attendant stood, scanning her list for his name. Perplexed, she looked back and forth between Ben and the passport. “I don’t seem to have your name on the passenger list,” she said.
    He waited, figuring it had something to do with his seat being given away and then getting another one at the last minute. He also had some vague recollection of what Jordan had said to him about
going with it
.
    The woman held the passport to his face. “But this is clearly you.” She showed him the document and asked, “This is you, isn’t it?”
    He glanced at his photo as he yawned, it was all a blur, but he nodded to her all the same. “Is it a problem?” he asked causally.
    â€œNo, I guess not.”
    â€œProbably some typo,” he suggested without going into any detail about the seat change.
    â€œYes, perhaps,” she agreed, then returned the passport to him.
    Ben stuffed it back inside his pocket and closed his eyes.
    â€¢ • •
    Once the crew completed the passenger check, Jordan reopened the compartment above her seat and retrieved Ben’s duffel bag. With it in hand, she headed to the back of the plane, not missing the area sectioned off beyond the bathrooms. This stinking agent had put a wrinkle in her plans — breaking Ben’s arm to send him packing back home wasn’t going to work. It’d only tag him to the dead guy. There’d been one too many injuries on board this flight and she didn’t want to raise any more suspicions. All she could do now was hope Ben got past security with his new passport. Once he made it into Iran, she’d have more time to figure out how to get him back home.
    When the flight attendant passed her, Jordan asked the woman, “Is there a problem?”
    â€œMinor accident,” she replied and kept moving toward the front of the plane.
    Ben was still asleep when she placed his duffel in the compartment above his seat.
    When the plane landed, Jordan shot off the aircraft without waiting for Ben.
    The airport terminal was an elaborate but simple construction of glass windows and walls with two-story pillars reminiscent of a traditional Iranian palace. It was easy to be drawn into its beauty and embrace the Persia of yesteryear. But there, waiting to greet the arriving passengers were soldiers armed with automatics — a stark reminder that the citizens of Iran were now living under strict rule.
    Without incident and ahead of the crowd, Jordan managed her way through customs. From a close but concealed distance, she watched for Ben. When she spied him from across the room, she saw in his demeanor that he was confused and vigilantly searching for her, but she couldn’t afford to be seen with him, not if a problem arose …
    â€¢ • •
    As Ben stepped inside the airport terminal, he felt the perspiration roll down his cheeks and along his sideburns. Confused and angry, he examined the passport again to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. He wasn’t.
    Who in God’s name was Gustav Kominski?
    He felt his heart bang against his chest wall. Why had Jordan done this to him? Why set him up like this?
    He looked back toward the plane. It was too late to go back.
    There was nothing else to do, but try to get through customs like everyone else. They’d never know he wasn’t Russian.